Speaking Of Books, And We Weren't...
Thank you so much for all your kind comments on the past couple of entries! I ran off to my cousin's wedding for the weekend (and very pleasant it was too), so I wasn't able to respond to all of them, but I really appreciate them all. ♥!
(On the way to the wedding, the term 'spit-roast' as sexual slang came up. My mother didn't know what 'spit-roast' meant in a sexual context and spent some time on the car journey trying unsuccessfully to work it out.
Riona's Mum: Spit-roast. Spit-roast. ...you baste it?)
Unrelatedly: you may recall that I received a thank-you note from a Mr Derren Brown a few months ago, in response to a ukulele that I sent him in a fit of flist-encouraged madness. It was a weird thing to do, and I was terribly embarrassed afterwards, but he was rather lovely about it. As we have recently acquired a scanner, have some scans!
This man has ridiculously pretty stationery.
Also ridiculously pretty: his handwriting. Look at it! It's gorgeous!
I'm not as massively fannish about Derren Brown as I was a year ago, but I think I'm always going to be rather fond of him, because he would have been easily within his rights to ignore the weirdo who sent him a ukulele and instead he wrote her a letter of thanks by hand. Awww.
Last night, my dad and I were discussing the formula for a successful young adult novel. I commented on the fact that paranormal romances never seem to involve unicorns.
THEREFORE.
Our idea for a bestselling young adult novel: a paranormal romance, set in an American high school, in which the love interest is a were-unicorn. He is extremely pissed off about this; he's always thought of himself as a bit of a bad boy, and he hates that every month he turns into a beautiful, pure creature and canters around, healing the souls of virgins with his tears. COMPLICATED SITUATIONS ARISE WITH REGARD TO SLEEPING WITH THE HEROINE, BECAUSE THEN SHE WILL NO LONGER BE A VIRGIN AND HIS INNER UNICORN WILL BE REPELLED.
We are going to be millionaires.
(On the way to the wedding, the term 'spit-roast' as sexual slang came up. My mother didn't know what 'spit-roast' meant in a sexual context and spent some time on the car journey trying unsuccessfully to work it out.
Riona's Mum: Spit-roast. Spit-roast. ...you baste it?)
Unrelatedly: you may recall that I received a thank-you note from a Mr Derren Brown a few months ago, in response to a ukulele that I sent him in a fit of flist-encouraged madness. It was a weird thing to do, and I was terribly embarrassed afterwards, but he was rather lovely about it. As we have recently acquired a scanner, have some scans!
This man has ridiculously pretty stationery.
Also ridiculously pretty: his handwriting. Look at it! It's gorgeous!
I'm not as massively fannish about Derren Brown as I was a year ago, but I think I'm always going to be rather fond of him, because he would have been easily within his rights to ignore the weirdo who sent him a ukulele and instead he wrote her a letter of thanks by hand. Awww.
Last night, my dad and I were discussing the formula for a successful young adult novel. I commented on the fact that paranormal romances never seem to involve unicorns.
THEREFORE.
Our idea for a bestselling young adult novel: a paranormal romance, set in an American high school, in which the love interest is a were-unicorn. He is extremely pissed off about this; he's always thought of himself as a bit of a bad boy, and he hates that every month he turns into a beautiful, pure creature and canters around, healing the souls of virgins with his tears. COMPLICATED SITUATIONS ARISE WITH REGARD TO SLEEPING WITH THE HEROINE, BECAUSE THEN SHE WILL NO LONGER BE A VIRGIN AND HIS INNER UNICORN WILL BE REPELLED.
We are going to be millionaires.