Funny you mention that! Myjusticecake and I were just talking about this the other day.
We really enjoyed doing the podcasts, but for the moment, there’s not really much to talk about. We’ll probably resurrect Knickerweasels once DA3 gets closer to release.
I’ve been seeing a lot of posts wherein people pledge to read a bunch of books in 2013, which I heartily endorse. I’m also probably going to read a bunch of books in 2013, but I’ve noticed that, in recent years, my reading parameters have gotten sadly narrow.
So, I’m asking for your recommendation for books that are NOT fantasy, science fiction, or urban/modern fantasy. Any other genre is fair game, from kid’s books to social theory. Novels, short story collections, poetry, non-fiction, whatever you have read and think is cool.
I’m going to try to read one a week and then make a short post about my reactions to it. Please note that this might mean I shit on something you love. That doesn’t mean I am shitting on you! People connect with media in all sorts of ways and for all sorts of reasons, and my lack of connection with a particular work does not invalidate your experience of it.
Also, I love lots of stuff that is terrible and would never blame anyone for hating it.
So. Recommend away! When I get fifty books, I’ll make a post with the list.
Flutie, The Master and Margarita is already on my list. ;)
Hee hee. Actually, though, I don’t think you’ll like M&M very much. It’s very much a product of its time (it helps to know some 20th century Russian history), and it’s probably a little too heavy on the idealization of domestic feminine power for your taste. Like, what was pretty freaking transgressive for Soviet Russia would probably make a 21st century Canadian gal roll her eyes.
If I were to recommend you Old Dead White Guy Literature: Russian Edition, I’d probably pick something from Nabokov’s vast trove of treasures, perhaps The Real Life of Sebastian Knight. (Or maybe Solzhenitzyn’s One Day In the Life of Ivan Denisovitch. Bleak, but oh man, really, really good. It kind of fits with the idea of story-as-testimony, rather than story-as-salvation, along the lines of that conversation we had the last time I was in town.)
Other books I think you might dig: Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture; Nickel and Dimed: On Not Getting By in America; Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man; John Gardner’s On Becoming a Novelist; The Devil and Sherlock Holmes or The Lost City of Z both by David Grann. Also have you ever read To Kill a Mockingbird? The Awakening? Rebecca? Goddamn, I loved all three.
So the current holiday card list (with addresses) is:
and I’m waiting on an address from myleftsideisdown
Whew! Anybody else want to exchange holiday cards? (All I ask is that if I send you something, you send something in return, since I go complete ga-ga for snail mail. :D) If so, just drop me an ask or a fanmail.
Also, if we exchanged cards last year and you don’t see your name on this list, I’d love to send you something again — I just can’t find my list from last year anymore, so please just send your address again!
Cards will probably go out later this week.
So I’m probably going to send out Holiday Cards soon. So far on my address list I’ve got:
I also remember sending out cards to warsongraven, ouyangdan, tanglebones and several others last year; if y’all are still game, I’d love to exchange cards again, but I’ll need your addresses again.
I’d love to add people to my list! My only caveat is that if I send you a card, please send me something in return, because it just makes my day so much to get things in the mail. I go totally NUTS for it. :)
So if you’d like to exchange holiday cards, drop me an ask or a fanmail.
Supernatural: The Official Companion Season 7, by Nicholas Knight. Titan Books, 2012. (pg. 12)
OMFG. QUICK: SOMEBODY WRITE FANFIC ABOUT THIS.
“This is, by far, the stupidest thing we have ever done,” said Dean.
“Got another idea?” asked Sam. “‘We don’t have time to hustle pool,’ was what you said, remember?”
“Alright, alright,” said Dean. He looked up at the apartment building. “Three-oh-eight, she said. Jesus, what a dump.”
“If we’re doing this, let’s do it.” Sam got out of the car, settling his gun at the small of his back.
“Goddammit,” said Dean and followed him.
Three-oh-eight was at the end of the grottiest hallway Dean had ever walked down and, given the general state of the motels they stayed in, that was saying something. Someone was screaming curses behind three-oh-five, the place smelled of onion and piss, and the walls were marked with ancient water stains. It was amazing, Dean thought, looking around, just how shitty people’s lives could be. Whatever else Dad had done to them, he’d never let them end up in a place like this.
Sam leaned into the door of three-oh-eight, eyes intent. After a moment, he glanced at Dean, held up two fingers, and then flicked his eyes right. Dean stacked up behind him and eased the safety off his 1911. Sam knocked.
THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED.
And myjusticecake, my jewel, finds it in ten minutes. Of course. Thanks doll! :)
The meta I was thinking of was laespada’s SPN and the Underclass series, a pretty meaty chunk of meta that I can’t wait to refresh myself on. (Sorry there’s no way to easily access all the posts at once, but I think you can just start from laespada’s starting page and click the links to previous posts in the series.)
ETA: And windmillcrusader confirms the link, just as I’m writing this post! Thanks, windmillcrusader!
No, it isn’t. But myjusticecake and I are very, very swamped with work and other fandom commitments right now, as well as travel, personal stuff and so on. Life just got in the way, you know? So we’re taking a hiatus for a little bit until we can get everything back on track.
But no worries! We both still love doing the ‘cast, and we plan to restart it soon enough, especially as we get closer and closer to DAIII and more info is released.
He follows the line of the terrified boy’s arm. The woods are dark and alive, and for a moment it’s hard to remember where he is - but then his arm throbs, and he inhales the smell of evergreen and leafmould, clenches his hand on the ridiculous backpack.
Three hours gets him to the road, just as the sun is peeking over the horizon. The smell of the blacktop is almost dizzying, the carbon ghost of exhaust thick in his nostrils. He crouches in the tree line, watching. He catalogues the contents of the backpack by touch. Shirts, energy bars, a couple of books. Three cars pass by before he hears the rattle and cough of an older vehicle and stands, fighting every instinct. He stretches his spine, pastes on a smile.
Lookit them pearly whites. Ain’t as impressive as mine, brother, but mighty pretty all the same.
The truck pulls over. “You look in need of a helping hand, son.” The driver is older, in plaid and a farmer’s cap, eyes sharp but kind.
“That I am,” says Dean. “Got a bit lost. Was camping.” He hikes the backpack a bit.
“How far you headed?”
“West. As far as you can take me.”
“Alright, hop in.”
The door swings open, and Dean puts on hand on the edge of it, lifts his foot, and then can go no further. Den! his mind screams at him. The truck smells of the man, strongly, cigarettes and beer and a hint of shaving cream and sweat. It’s dim, and close, and once in, there will be nowhere to go. Not in fucking Purgatory anymore, he thinks, and forces his foot to the footwell, climbs in, shuts the door. He breaks out in a sweat immediately.
(Follow the link to AO3 for the full drabble.)
Jesus Christ, cake. If this is what I have to look forward to from you for the rest of the season, my feels will be in a puddle by 8x05. (Just in time for the vampirates to sail right over them.)