The thing is astounding. How satisfying, how convenient, to pull your death along at the end of the string. Your Harpy, bronze and darkness, your absolutely terrifying Mommy, the little nods to myth. It's been years since I read the book, but I am guessing that last line is a lead into canon. (Book, damn, in Penrith.) How you can *not* call yourself an author when what you write is of such knife-edged perfection ...
Ack, I will shut up on the grounds of sycophancy, and tell you instead, three hours, and all the way through it my pissed-off female parent telling me the life stories of people I have never met and and not wish to, who have died/reproduced/moved/HAD GRANDCHILDREN HINT ... Ugh. No wonder it turned out how it did.
Oh, delete, delete. I was being exasperated and rude. Three hours is still amazing and hilarious under the circumstances. How did you manage to bear down and do the deed?
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The thing is astounding. How satisfying, how convenient, to pull your death along at the end of the string. Your Harpy, bronze and darkness, your absolutely terrifying Mommy, the little nods to myth. It's been years since I read the book, but I am guessing that last line is a lead into canon. (Book, damn, in Penrith.) How you can *not* call yourself an author when what you write is of such knife-edged perfection ...
Ack, I will shut up on the grounds of sycophancy, and tell you instead, three hours, and all the way through it my pissed-off female parent telling me the life stories of people I have never met and and not wish to, who have died/reproduced/moved/HAD GRANDCHILDREN HINT ... Ugh. No wonder it turned out how it did.
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Three hours is still amazing and hilarious under the circumstances. How did you manage to bear down and do the deed?
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