Actually, Analytics tells me you’re not all imaginary, but I have NO IDEA where you’re coming from. Comment and say hi, would ya? Especially the visitor from Ethiopia.
Things what occurred in my absence:
— Chuck invalidated my entire last post, but in a way so excellent that I can’t even hate them for it. Also, Supernatural and I made up. It was the fireworks that did it, but Pamela sure didn’t hurt. I forgive you, Kripke. You know I can’t stay mad at you.
— My bestie had a baby! He’s super cute and my new favourite. Many people don’t see the appeal of newborns, prone as they are to a limited repertoire of activities, but this is exactly what’s in their favour: you can cuddle them almost indefinitely, because they have NOTHING BETTER TO DO! Seeing as her other son is now two, and old enough to know he doesn’t HAVE to give hugs on demand, this is a superb development for me. Thanks Rach!
— I read lost boy lost girl by Peter Straub last night, and thought it was fantastically creepy and unsettling, while also being a stonking good read. I’ve been meaning to read Peter Straub’s solo work for years. YEARS! The Talisman and Black House have been two of my favourite books for a large chunk of my life, but somehow I never seem to get around to investigating what Peter Straub does when he’s not pulling Stevie K’s endings up by the bootstraps. And what it turns out that he does is be awesome.
— After After After. Which still doesn’t have a better name, but the story and the world and the people who live in it are really starting to come together. Scary. And amazing. Also daunting, overwhelming, terrifying, etc. But then you have that moment, when another piece slides into place and you feel the click as it slots together — and suddenly you’ve got something bigger than you had before, and all these paths open up to creep along, feeling your way blindly until you find the one where the lights flicker on. I love that feeling. That inexplicable, tingly feeling of knowing something is RIGHT. Like I’m not inventing this world — it exists, buried somewhere. I’m just unearthing it, piece by piece, word by word.