Sometimes it’s called “Writing my last essay on a looming deadline for my Master’s degree” but it just is easier to say I’m lazy.
Nonetheless, I do have a looming deadline, and that is why I have not yet posted my review for Crystal Rain. Or The Virtu. Or The Mirador. Or Swordspoint. Or The Privilege of the Sword. Or Forests of the Heart. They are all excellent novels, though. You should read ’em
Which means I shall return on September 4th. With reviews. And thoughts. Because that is what I do. Or what I try to do. If I fall ill/into a depressive bout, you will just have to do without me, which need not be hard since you do not know me too well. Or at all. (But then you would not be here, so, er.)
Here are a few thoughts:
1. It is totally uncool that this girl is being made fun of for her silly answer. I will grant you that answer is uber not-intelligent. But, you know, she’s competing for an American crown. She is not competing for the “We Make Fun Of America” crown. Pro-America, not Anti. We’re clear on this, yes? And then she basically was given: “Americans are dumb. Why? Go!”
Dude, I can think of nothing that would have won her the crown for an answer to that question. Nothing. All through that answer she probably thought, I hate the world. I hate it for doing this to me, asking me this horrible question. I bet Americans can’t find America on a map because subconsciously they’re ashamed of how mean they can be to beauty pageant contestants, by asking them questions that truthful answers will lose us the crowns to, and this sentence has lost its grammar but I don’t care. I think that poor girl should be given an award for not breaking into tears right there. I would’ve, and I don’t even want to win an American beauty pageant.
2. It is amazing how much Harry Potter fanfiction is set in an Alternate Universe. Or perhaps it is not so amazing. The books are so… bipolar. Bad prose, great dialogue. Nicely-developed characters (let’s not talk about Lily and James, mkay? Or the Marauders), extraordinarily unplottable storylines. That layered passion, those unsexed interactions. (That travesty of an Epilogue.) The narrative mind aches to take those lovely characters with their lovely dialogue and put them in a world which has sex and makes sense and has an actual aftermath. [And has it occured to anyone that having Harry end up with Ginny Weasely is a little, well, Oedipal? Red-headed feisty women, yarrr. C’mon. Admit it. That’s why everyone has him sexing Snape instead. Snape loved Lily, Harry loves Ginny – it’s a clear parallel on two levels and it’s kinda weird; dump the redheads and keep the connection and BAM! Instant HoYay!]
3. What is with all the people who find my blog because they are looking for Felix Harrowgate fanart? Seriously. I mean, I do not talk about Felix Harrowgate fanart. Or fanfiction. And while I find him a fascinating character I also find him too well settled into his world to fantransport into my version of the same. It’s not like he’s Harry Potter, where the world is loosely bound and so the characters as easily transplanted however I want… And it’s a repeated motif. At least once a week, someone finds me because they’re looking for Felix Harrowgate. It’s not like I’m not grateful – I am! – but I am curious.
And here is an admission of stupidity:
I really, really hate having to figure out travelling at around the speed of light. That whole “Oh we spent less time than you did, bound-to-earth-and-therefore-now-OLD-suckers, haha.” That bugs me. I am always concerned with how much time a character has lived, and it bugs the fuck out me when I am reading, for instance, Karin Lowachee or Richard Morgan and have to backtrack through careful or deliberately careless explanations of OnShip Time and OffShip Time. Maybe this is because my Arts degree doesn’t allow me to do complicated math – it really doesn’t, you know – but I want charts and diagrams for each novel which messes with time and aging and stuff. So I can understand what is going on. [As a corollary, I find it annoying when it is a hard to figure out how old people are as a series progresses. Felix Harrowgate is approximately 31 as of The Mirador. Mildmay is approximately 25. I calculated this with my non-mathematical brain. It was difficult. (It might be wrong, which is worse.) And it does not help that the books have an amazingly large number of calenders (numerically, two) and we have to keep track of both.]
Thusly. My apologies for my absences, frequent as they are. I assure you they are unavoidable, and you must take my word for it because you have never met me in real life. Hah.