waiting in the queue to buy splendour tickets.
Please universe, give me these tickets. Before I collapse from stress. ARGH
If you’re a fan of watching Veronica and Logan on screen together, you will not be disappointed by this movie.
Just finished reading The Madness Underneath….I am not okay with this!!!! Maureen whyyyyyyyyyyy
If my love letter to Neil Gaiman, ode to independent bookstores, discussion of literature and book reviews have not already made this sufficiently apparent: I love books. I love reading. I love the world of literature. I have three bookcases overflowing with books, and more tucked away in draws and boxes and corners around the house. I firmly believe you should have a book to read in every room, in case you get stranded there, by a zombie apocalypse or flood or terrible television show or awkward conversation. I love collecting books and organising them (currently organised by genre and then alphabetical by author, if anyone was interested) and staring starry-eyed at all my wonderful, beautiful books when I should be attempting to write a wonderful, beautiful book myself. As I have also made clear, I love independent bookstores. Unfortunately, I am a poor student. As much as I would like to, I cannot wander into wonderful independent bookstores, staffed by kindred spirits who will wax lyrical about the brilliance of Neil Gaiman or Margaret Atwood with me, and buy a best-seller. Why?: because I am a poor, poor student and cannot afford to spend $50.00 on Terry Pratchett’s Dodger. So, what do I do if I am pining for a copy of Dodger? Where can I turn?
I am violently enthusiastic about things. This normally includes books, and terrible television shows (my love for Supernatural was, at one point, all consuming), and bands and authors. Yet one love affair has trumped them all: my love affair with Neil Gaiman or, more accurately, Neil Gaiman’s words. I love all them. He has the most wonderous words.
I picked up a copy of Neverwhere when I was in Munich and read it, slowly and then very-very quickly, as I travelled by train around Europe. This book, I thought to myself, this book: I am so very pleased this book exists and so sad I have not written it. And then I read American Gods. And Anansi Boys. AndCoraline. Stardust. The Graveyard Book. What a revelation: children’s books which are not just for children, and books for adults which are not condescending or predictable. Books in which the prose is so wonderful that even a description of meat cooking is beautiful and arresting. Books in which characters are complex and emotional and not necessarily that likeable. I became a peddler of books… books of the Neil Gaiman variety. My friends started to receive copies of Neverwhere and American Gods for birthdays and Christmas and Halloween. I would jump on topics slightly related.
“I’m going to London,” my friend said, “you’ve been there, what’s the best thing to do?”
“You need to read this,” I said, pressing a copy of Neverwhere into her hands.
Read more over at Hollie Reads
Could not be more excited to see NEIL GAIMAN tomorrow. Hopefully will not die from excess levels of excitement.