I’m drawn to my dad’s bookshelves like moths are to our porchlight, and I’m probably just as stupid. He’s an avid reader of fantasy and horror, and the worn spines sport intriguing titles like The Silmarillion, IT, and Lightning, and a lot more of them say GOR. He has an art book by someone named Frank Frazetta, and I’ve flipped
I’ve seen a Jack Prelutsky poem circulating on Bluesky, and… I want to like it. I want to like his work. I used to like it—love it, even—but as the saying goes, “Don’t meet your heroes.” I grew up… not poor, exactly, but we didn’t have excess for anything unnecessary. When Prelutsky’s book The New Kid on the Block came
Last night I dreamt about Anne Rice. I don’t normally dream about people who have passed away, so I always take note when I do. In this dream, Anne and I were traveling together—I recall passing a cemetery, in fact—to a school, I think? I remember a school being involved in some way, and there being difficulty about how to
I have a degree in cultural media studies. What that means is my university didn’t have a screenwriting degree track, so I had to do “cultural studies” and then focus on screenwriting since that’s what I really wanted to do. But what that also means is that I learned fascinating ways to look at media, “read” it, dissect it, discuss