Short Stories Online, Day Five

'A Crowd of Bone', by Greer Gilman.
Speaking of authors who have that way with words, who draw me in so that I'm focussing on sound and rhythm (the meaning sneaks in by the back door) and who keep me fascinated with dialect and dialogue, etymology and mythology, winter darkness and stark northern fells ... Every time I read Gilman's work, I find something new: and find myself riffing on a phrase or a word or an image, as though it's some benign infection.

Belated Happy Birthday

to tamaranth, e.g. this journal, which was created five years and one day ago.

LJ has brought me lots of good things (and people). I'd be a very different person if I'd never created this LJ (not to mention various others, mostly now defunct). Thank you all for being Imaginary Internet Friends ... many of you are remarkably convincing at being Real-Life Friends too!

A Pleasant Sunday Afternoon

While rain batters the windows, I have been sitting in front of the fire with the laptop, completing the book-catalogue. The last few boxes had been used to ship vanilla before they received my more recent non-fiction acquisitions, so they smelt glorious. Beethoven (Symphonies 7 & 8) on the stereo. Two little furry assistants who were, in the main, happy to curl up on the chair behind me, purring. (Memo to Self: do not place a heavy book on a black surface without checking that there isn't a disguised cat there.)

I have ~2200 books. (EDIT: and, aargh, the ones on the reference shelf in here).

There are books I will never read again: books I will never read at all.

I am aiming to get rid of a thousand (after which the remainder might actually fit, single-layered, on the available shelves).