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By Ellie, May 4, 2010 10:55 pm

Yawn… almost midnight and I still haven’t finished the blog post. Not to worry. An update is still scheduled for this week. I’m just playing my favorite game right now: Get Easily Distracted by Leisure Research.

If it’s not Newfoundland recipes, it’s Newfoundlanders. You’ll find out more tomorrow. But suffice it to say, some of these meals look fantastic. Too bad there aren’t moose in North Carolina. I’d bag one and chop it into a stew.

Here, take a look.

Even the moose heart sounds delicious… but I think I’ll try the figgy duff before devouring organs that usually don’t wind up on my plate.

And all I have are Munchos and Slim Jims. Damn.

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By Ellie, March 9, 2010 11:01 pm

Edit: It’s 18th century Scotland. Not 17th century. Funny how one number can make a screaming difference…

The wonders and frustrations of technology. Just as I’m 1/4 of the way through the next installment of the Disney Afternoon comic recap, I learn that the scanner is having issues. Nothing that a recent driver can’t fix, but the problem is finding the right one and making sure that Vista accepts it. And, no, I’m not calling Dell tech support for assistance. I can’t speak Hindi.

So instead of the usual “Sorry guys, update next week, I swear, tee-hee!” spiel, I’m doing something different: mini-reviews of five books I’ve read or am still reading. So quit yer bellyachin’!

Stray (Shifters #1) by Rachel Vincent: I shouldn’t like TSTL (too stupid to live) poor little rich girls, but no one’s done a werecat story before. I hate to admit it, but I actually enjoyed this Harlequin 600+-page doorstop novel, despite the brutal attacks against tabbies/women. Hopefully the sequel, Rogue is more tame. (Absolutely no pun intended.)

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon: Time-traveling, attempted rape, forced marriage, attempted rape, sex all over the place, attempted rape, wife beating, actual male rape. Despite all this and the neverendingness of it all, I enjoyed the atmosphere of 18th century Scotland. I began the sequel, Dragonfly in Amber, but I’m still stuck around page 120. This is one of those books that I’ll have to read in bits and pieces throughout the year, I guess.

The Last Rainbow by Parke Godwin: A truly rare book that’s hard to find, even through Amazon and eBay. This is actually the third book in a King Arthur/Camelot trilogy the author began, and the subject matter is a strange departure. For one, the hero is a young priest who will eventually be known as St. Patrick. For another, it deals with his life among the Prydn, or Faerie folk. These aren’t the delicate, gossamer-winged fairies, though; these are a primitive people who strongly resemble the ancient Celts in every imaginable way, though they’re very unique. (How’s that for vague?) Almost done with this one; the entire section concerning warfare nearly bested me, and it’s hard to muster the desire to continue.

Ethan of Athos by Mary McMaster Bujold: Men reproducing IN SPACE. An all-male colony faces extinction when it’s discovered that a shipment of ovarian tissue cultures has spoiled. In order to save his people, Dr. Ethan Urquhart must venture to another world and get to the bottom of the mystery. Along the way, he meets the very attractive, and very female, Commander Elli Quinn. Only 1/4 of the way through this one, but I hope to see fireworks between these two… and more gay undertones from the other Athosians. From what I’ve gathered, this is part of a series, but it stands alone very well.

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams: I enjoyed all the the Hitchhiker novels, save the last one, which was dragged down by romance. I actually howled with laughter while reading The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, which was the second and final Dirk Gently novel. But I can’t get through this one. I’m reminded of a review I read on GoodReads where the (English) fellow remarked that Douglas Adams couldn’t write real plot, and that his novels just serve to remind British people of “how depressingly British they are.” I can’t claim the latter, but I do kind of agree with the “no plot” accusation. Another book I’ll have to read in bits and pieces, if I don’t end up taking it back to the used books place.

Looking back on this list, it’s almost saddening to realize that I’ve only finished two out of the five. What’s even sadder is that I’ve got several more books I need to start reading… or finish reading. I’ve given myself a year to finish my To Read Shelf; I can get it done in three.

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By Ellie, December 14, 2009 9:56 pm

Dear Author,

If there’s a hell and I’m bound for it, surely I’ll find copies of you there… glaring around the brimstone caverns, arms crossed over your barrel chest, just seething for reasons unknown.

Well, there’s one reason why you’re so angry all the time. We learned that at the little get-together we held for all of our local authors. In fact, I learned many things about you that I’d have rather not learned.

Like the fact that you’ve had problems with the local newspaper. Most people do, whether it’s with the content in the feature stories or the fact that they never get their subscriptions. But when one of the writers announced that he has a weekly column, you just had to jump in about how you rarely get your paper delivered. What the hell did that have to do with a political column?

How about when another writer talked about his wife? Why did you have to jump in with, “Well, I’m about to become a single parent”? Just put a damper on an otherwise fun time, why don’t you?

And again with the stories about going with a “good publisher” (printer) who gives you an advance (doubtful) and is the best one you’ve been with (you laughing stock).

You were supposed to be there promoting yourself and your books. Why don’t you steer away from your bull sob stories and try making your “pitch” a little flawless? Every time you describe the premise of your first novel, you sound bored and restless. I doubt you even like your stories. You just want to publish something and make money. And you’re not even good at that.

The other authors were having a good time, promoting their books and making new friends. But you? Guh. Craving attention, that’s what you were doing.

It’s sad when a guy nearing his 50s still hasn’t figured out that people generally don’t like to hear about super depressing things when they’re at a pleasant get-together. It’s even sadder when he’s more interested in talking about himself than his own books.

It’s not supposed to be about you. It’s supposed to be about your books. Yes, you did write them, but unless you’re an engaging personality, people aren’t coming for you. They’re coming for stories. Damn good stories. Which you can’t provide.

What can I say? Miserable people usually write miserable stories.

No love,
Me

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By Ellie, August 25, 2009 2:31 pm

The cover of the June 2003 issue of Redbook, one of the many magazines in this country under the illusion that Hollywood relationships are true and eternal.

C’mon, it’s funny!