Update on "Do I Want to Read Fantasy"

Yes. The short answer is yes. Blog over.

And...more frequently...no. I'm a squeamish reader (I just started Cherie Priest's The Toll and you can pretty much tell from my face that I'm waiting for the jump scare. Maybe there won't be any. But I am pretty sure there will be and Arthur, who is being held tightly on one side, is probably hoping for none.) and I don't really care for multiple POVs because I will choose a favorite and snark my way through the others.

This is probably a childish way to look at it, but I'm pretty sure I want the story to take my hand and drag me off to the next really cool thing I need to see and eventually, after a fun afternoon of adventuring, let me go, relatively safe and unharmed, at home. I don't want a bunch of hyper, left-over emotions that explode out at weird times because it takes me a loooooong time to digest the horror that I consumed in the name of "fun." Which isn't to say that I don't want my tastes to expand or change or that the story can't (or shouldn't) shake the dust and bats out of my expectations, experiences, or opinions...just that I need smaller doses of the hyper and the horror.

From the list from the previous entry, I've picked out about three books to download and read (at least for now) and this weekend I'm hoping to make to a local author festival and so it would be good to have these books read before I potentially add new self-pubbed ones to the list.

AND...(love those ellipses!) because I started this in small part to inspire me to stop letting my own projects ferment without action, I'll say that spending time trying to find out where my taste is right now seems to be helping me come up with a direction for this story, so here's the goal for that: twin drafts by end of September.

It looks like it's about to start raining again, so I guess it's time to find a cozy place to read and get back to the self-pubbed wonderland.

-- Chrissa

Comments

To Blue Fields Far Below

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties. A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles Someone washed the blue skies and she knows It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home. Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom). -- Chrissa

Once Upon a Future Past

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

Flagrant

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #217. Come be part of the conflagration. :) Oh, they called the mob to celebrate But only the fire heard They called the mass to congregate But only the dry grass bowed A conflagration Called to prayer Hungry for light Hungry for air Oh, they called the mob celebrate Wearing flames in their hair They called the mass to congregate Faceless in the burning air. Greetings and salutations. I'm not sure what to say--we're not celebrating the 4th this year (not that I'm prepared to cede one holiday to the authoritarian idiots in charge of our state, but our grass is still dry from the heat and we have a dog terrified of fireworks...so we're celebrating by bunkering down and watching Howling 2 at the gleefully deranged suggestion of my sibling) and otherwise I've turned our dead corn plants into the basis for this year's Camp NaNo project...it's turning into a weird year, the kind of year where I'm reading more horror than norma...

A Weed on The Curb

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