Step one: wake up. This happens pretty reliably. When it stops happening, I will be dead, and that will simplify matters immensely ( Read more... )

So every day, I write what I'm currently reading in my planner, for 'Seanan is a very odd duck who sometimes likes to have a disturbingly clear snapshot of what she was doing last week, and also needs some mechanism to keep her from rereading The Stand on a monthly basis' purposes. Yesterday, I counted up the books for 2008-so-far ( Read more... )

I read. I read a lot. I have long since mastered the ancient art of 'walking and reading at the same time', largely because it means I don't wind up in a position where I have fifteen pages left in the book and I can either carry it to work the next day or put it on my dresser to read later and then forget about it until there's this ginormous ( Read more... )

Stephen King writes short stories because he can. He's said as much, in both interviews and the introductions to his short story collections (which I love beyond all reason). They're not huge money-makers, especially compared to his novels, they're not easy, but he by-God writes them, because he can. He then sells them, because he's not a moron ( Read more... )

You've probably seen this already, but I hadn't until just a few minutes ago, so...

Terry Pratchett has been diagnosed with a very rare form of early onset Alzheimer's.This is possibly the least fair disease in the world. It eats parents, and grandparents, and fabulous people who had a lot more healthy years in them (thanks to modern medical ( Read more... )

I sometimes think that every bibliophile has one book that means absolute comfort and security to them. It's the book they re-read compulsively or according to some ritualized inner schedule, it's the book they quote even when it doesn't make any sense, it's the book that goes with them on important trips or when things are emotionally wearing. ( Read more... )

Dear Mr. King ( Read more... )

Friday after work, Chris and I wandered into Berkeley to meet up with Michael and see 'The Fog', reasoning that nothing reduces stress like a bad horror movie. (This is a fairly true statement if you happen to be, well, us. We're simple people, sometimes.) Since we couldn't quite make the five o'clock show -- not without rushing so much that it ( Read more... )

It is a Tuesday morning, bright and shiny and sunny and crisp and cool -- the sort of day that San Francisco was invented to provide. I'm wearing a tank top guaranteed to cause vertigo in anyone who chances to look at it directly while I'm in motion, my hair is fluffy and clean, and life is good. (The part where I finished reading Robin McKinley' ( Read more... )

It's Thursday morning, and I'm full of perky, despite:

a) The heavy, unseasonal rains which have turned my yard into a swamp and caused me to wake up freezing at two-thirty in the morning (as well as driving Lilly under the covers to stay warm, and nothing is more annoying than rolling over onto your cat in the wee, small hours after midnight ( Read more... )