Sarah Gailey invited me to participate in their newsletter as part of their Building Beyond series, which consists of a collection of worldbuilding prompts answered by various writers and fans. I had a ton of fun writing about the prompt, and I wanted to share it with you all here too in case you missedContinue reading “Building Beyond: I Was Featured on Sarah Gailey’s Newsletter!”
I started a “Best of 2020” list. Then, I started over. I scrapped it. Started again. I looked through my books, ran my fingers down their spines, and tried once more. I threw together a spreadsheet from Goodreads, sorted it by date, then by rating, then by author. Deleted it in frustration when the books didn’t feel the way I needed them to. I couldn’t do it.
Within the context of its time, The Player of Games is a shockingly progressive novel. Given that it was written at the height of the AIDS epidemic, I’m impressed that Ian M. Banks chose to deliberately and consciously include queer themes and explicitly endorse homosexuality as something that is not just okay, but also aContinue reading “Does The Player of Games by Ian M. Banks Hold Up to a Modern Reading?”
In some ways, she was very close to getting it right. From a sensory and emotional standpoint, Novik’s writing is evocative and authentic. Unfortunately, the context surrounding the “assault” (a maleficaria attack described in terms of rape) leaves much to be desired.
While I’ve already waxed poetic previously on this novella’s merits in a full review back in March, a small reprise is called for as we near its release date. The prediction I made back then still holds true; I don’t think I’ve stopped recommending this book any time it’s even slightly relevant to someone’s interests.
My life has been a microcosm of the systemic sexism that places all women and femme-presenting people in danger every day. I often ask myself: why me? Why did all these things happen to me, in particular? Why do they continue to happen to me, for that matter? Am I the common denominator?
When I was a freshman in high school, my Honors English teacher had a poster on her wall above the whiteboard. It was a faded yellow, with a plain, sans serif, black font. Arial, possibly, though I couldn’t say it for certain. It had been printed on a standard printer and then clumsily laminated, likely in that very building.
Today and throughout history, we have had multitudes of authors writing delightfully lyrical prose, every word, every phrase, every sentence forming a love letter to writing and the worlds we’ve created.