I’m sitting on the couch, laughing because this part of the Terry Pratchett book is hilarious. In some place like a library or coffee shop I would get strange looks, maybe a smile. From my partner . . . not even a glance. He’s so used to it he’s learned to tune it out. We’ve been together for ten years and in that time I have learned that when I want to talk books, recommend authors, or geek out over the…
*By “Guaranteed” I mean “I have no idea, take these suggestions at your own risk, this list is just for fun, please don’t sue me when it isn’t fail safe and doesn’t work”* In a pure and noble world we would be able to write as an expression of our deepest souls, to share the joy of imagined worlds and open up new ideas and limitless possibilities to everyone who reads our words. These words would be freely given to…
In which the author, who is not crazy, imagines a conversation on writing with Terry Pratchett; who died two years ago.
What you’re really thinking when it’s time to cook that dinner.
Our weekend is all “booked”. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.
Otherwise entitled: real people just don’t do that but man does it sell a book.