( The Movies )

( The Movies )

My friend SB has a friend who is a writer. She's also one of those tiny people with a personality that's not forceful, but is contagious. Two minutes in her vicinity and I find myself consciously trying not to borrow speaking patterns (and consciously thinking, I hate when I use a girlie voice; I want to sound like that). We went to see her read ( Read more... )

1. Job hunting is depressing. There are, maybe, two or three jobs a week that it makes sense for me to apply for. I feel like I need to be doing something else on this front, and I don't know what it is. But today was lost to sleeping in and laundry and whatnot, and tomorrow is going to be send-resumes-so-I-feel-good-about-my-weekend day ( Read more... )

I would like to post for you an intelligent, thoughtful post about the absolute delight that was the David Mitchell reading tonight. I would like to be literate, and clever, and repeat word for word all the wonderful things he said - not least that he likes to think of Powell's as a Borgesian city that contains little outposts of Portland, not the ( Read more... )

And this is why, every time a collection comes out that's all male, or an awards list is released that's all male, or any number of other things happen and are all male, we talk about it. We point it out. Because every one of these instances reinforces the idea that male is the norm, and female is other; they reinforce the gender inequality that ( Read more... )

Tuesday is for writing. But I'm stuck in Blake Butler's Scorch Atlas; I kept having to put it down, last night, to take a sip of wine or play a little Zelda (which I just need to get done with so I can't use it as a procrastination supplement any. more.). It's too much, too visceral, too dark and brutal and yet so creatively, beautifully, ( Read more... )

A day spent procrastinating - a weekend, really - and an evening spent reading book blogs has me humming with discomfort, with possibility, with stubbornness and resistance and a knot in the back of my throat that tells me I'm hiding something from myself - I'm hiding from myself, behind something - and the reveal isn't far off, if I can stay on ( Read more... )

I think it'll take some time to figure out why A Lion Among Men nearly reduced me to tears, but for now, it just did. And pawing through the previous books only amplified the feeling.

It's a fake-out, this one. It's the Lion's story, yes, but it's this story's history, too.

Oh, TIRED. Tired, tired, tired, tired also of having things to scribble about and failing to do so. But I'm spending the next 14 days or so - or however long it takes - in the kind of crazy novel-world only Neal Stephenson can invent, and I'm already boggled and bewitched. Oh, language! What astonishing things can be done with you ( Read more... )