Echoes in a Hollow Space

For the record: I can either read more and write less, or write less and read more. For me, at least, they seem to occupy the same part of my brain.

But since I have already proven to myself that when I read less I actually write less, and that reading in general feeds my process, I will probably be continuing on at the same pokey pace for both.

I am getting a little tired of kickass heroines who make stupid choices out of anger. If they were really that kickass and working in a dangerous profession like bounty hunting or magical badass detecting, they would not survive such recklessness and bad decisions.

But why be a party pooper, huh? Many a Hollywood writer/director has made a good living out of reckless, bad decisionmakin' heroes who wouldn't survive ten minutes in the real world. That's why they call it "fantasy."

Girls can play, too.

And I'm still reading.

I love them so much I want to surround myself with the dried pulp of their flesh.

Kindle is a great idea, saves trees, yadda yadda. But it will never replace the musty-sweet scent of books or the weight of one in my hand, the luxurious feel of turning pages.

If that makes me hopelessly old school, so be it.

I've almost reconciled myself to that fact.

I don't care what the reviewers say, I don't even care what the blogosphere says.

I am going to see Indy 4 and I am going to have a good time.

If you thought yesterday's martyr complex post was about you, it almost certainly wasn't. As I said to someone else, Drama Queens never think they have martyr complexes.

And that's my last word on the subject.