#from my bookshelf

[brittanybwrites]

I’m fine, I promise

[causeimanartist]

Post League meeting thoughts

[notbecauseofvictories]

also I've spent the last couple weeks reading some older historical romance novels, and my made up, wholly unverified hypothesis that in the 2000s romance authors finally grasped that the old-fashioned "no, don't! stop, you brute" etc. scenes were not really landing with audiences anymore. So they faced a conundrum about the future of the genre. Ultimately, I think they chose to quietly stop writing those heroes, and switch them out for a more sensitive model. Still dark and brooding! But with limits, often a Heart of Gold, and more general emotional intelligence.

Still, somewhere out there is a parallel universe where these authors decided to take the opposite approach---to write heroines as unhinged, cruel, impulsive, and emotionally ignorant as their heroes. I don't know if I want to live there, but I wouldn't mind a trip to their library sometime.

[starlight-n-shit]

one thing nobody told me about this fandom is how expensive it was going to be

[meamiki]

mira !!! :]

[lokh]

square commissions (4/4 slots filled)

※will stop being offered at this price on january 10 (aedt), as i will be bringing back regular commissions

email at lokh.info@mail.com, standard TOS apply. make sure to check the original post for whether slots have been filled. payment in usd via paypal or kofi 👍

turnaround is up to a week at most. thanks!

[sweeetsh]

rinkitay wip because my gf wants them happy

[j-ayne]

Separating my unread books from the books I've read

[gingermintpepper]

As a bit of a break activity from the depressing reality of mainstream western greek myth retellings, today's agenda is cleaning out my childhood bookshelf so I can actually fit my newer stuff on it!

I'm already one shelf deep and a lot of these books are either older than or just about 10-15 years.

While it's not particularly aesthetic, the oldest books with their scuffed and torn spines and fraying edges are books I've inherited from my father, some of which he's inherited from his father. I'm actually not sure how I'm going to fit everything on here but hey! That's the fun of things like this lmao

[brittanybwrites]

My next read by a new to me author

[notbecauseofvictories]

Not unhinged people (just a bit charmingly odd) but I can strongly recommend T. Kingfisher for very human romance and deeply loveable characters. Her books are more like romance-adventure than classic romance novels, but if you haven't read any, I started with Paladin's Grace, or Swordheart is an older one in the same setting that might be a little closer to the vibe you're looking for.

I do like Kingfisher's work, and Swordheart especially---but I would argue that she comes from the Plot-First school, rather than the Romance-First approach more common in curtsies and cravats historical fiction I tend to read.

Plot-First novels focus most of their energy on the plot; the energizing question of the narrative is not "how do these two people fall in love?" but "how do the characters meet this challenge/solve this mystery/win this contest or fight/grow into themselves/etc?". The romance happens, of course it does! But it's intended to be narrative seasoning rather than the main course. This tends to be more common in fantasy novels---Mercedes Lackey does this, and C.L. Wilson, Gail Carriger, Emma Bull, even Elise Kova; I would argue that Olivia Atwater and Alice Coldwater flirt with it, though not always consistently. That said, it's not impossible to do with historical romance---Eva Ibbotson's romance novels are a delight, and she is very much a Plot-, Setting-, and Characterization-First writer.

However, romance novels (by definition!) tend to overwhelmingly fall into the Romance-First bucket---"how do these two people fall in love?" is the engine that makes the narrative go. While there is an ostensible plot, it largely serves to drive the romance forward. To be painfully clear, there is nothing wrong with this. As long as you accept that initial premise, you and the author will get along swimmingly; there will be carriage accidents or someone will trip into a pond, miscommunications will abound, kisses will be stolen behind a chaperone's back, and all will be well. I wouldn't be here if I didn't like this premise; I read a lot of these and have an entire folder of very silly ebooks to prove it. My objection is not that people write Romance-First novels, but that people write them badly.

The truth is, if you are writing a Romance-First novel, there is nothing to distract people from the romance. With Plot-First, you can throw in some shenanigans, drop A Clue for the characters to discover and whisk your reader away from a romantic moment that didn't land---but you can't do that with Romance-First. If your romantic moments aren't landing, the book collapses in on itself. My suggestion is therefore that writers stop trying to come up with different ways for an 18th century British duke to be Secretly Woke, and make it so that his 18th century British duchess is also unhinged, bad at communicating, and lacing his sherry with arsenic.

[kdkdnfuiahuag]

i didn’t realise how remus lupin-esque my bedroom was until i moved

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I never really share anything personal on here because I'm a pretty private person, but there's something so profound about getting passed down my Grandpa's old camera collection.

Like what do you mean he took pictures of my Grandma with them 30+ years ago? That the A-1 Canon that's now in my room was the camera that took my parents' wedding photos? I stuck a roll of film into the same place he did? The thought of him loving photography as much as I do is the most tear-jerking emotion I've ever experienced even if we're not that close.

I just got the A-1 Canon working again after upwards of 20 years of being unused and sitting in a cupboard. Hearing the shutter go off as I took a picture of my dog was something special, and I don't even think I can describe it in a way that makes sense. It was like I was holding my own family history in my hands.

I was genuinely surprised it was in such good condition in the first place - I barely had to do anything other than look over it to make sure nothing was broken and mess with a few areas of concern. My grandpa kept his A-1 in immaculate condition despite his pretty bad health; the same with his other cameras as well.

As much as I want to keep them all in a glass case and have them stay perfect, I can't imagine not using them the same way he did. Of course, up until I have to retire them for my own kids to use one day in just as pristine a state.

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Jack and His Wife: A Retelling of "Jack and the Beanstalk"

Jill raced through the giant’s kitchen, clinging to Jack’s hand. A table towered over their heads. Chair legs stood like a forest of trees. Footsteps like thunder pounded beyond the walls of the room.

Before today, Jill had thought herself fearless, but those footsteps made her quake with terror. Jack, meanwhile, had never looked so capable. Was this tower of strength the fuzzy-headed dreamer who’d left their farm this morning?

Jack helped Jill to climb inside a cupboard taller than their cottage, then dragged the door closed behind them.

“We’re safe,” he breathed, holding Jill close in the darkness. “He won’t find us here.”

Through a crack in the door, Jill saw a giant enter the room—a coarse man, taller than any tree she’d ever seen. His face was red and knobby, his hair mostly gone. He threw himself into a chair with a noise like a thunderstorm and bellowed for his wife.

Jill whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“We wait,” Jack said. “He’ll eat his lunch, then he’ll sleep, and we can leave.”

Jill looked in awe at her husband. He was so steady. So sure. Where was the incompetent fool she’d married?

“You’ve been here before,” she realized. “All those days you disappeared and came back with food.”

Jack nodded. “I had to provide for you somehow. Everything else I’ve tried has failed.”

“You told me you’d hired yourself out to some local farmers.”

“He is a local farmer—directly above our cottage. I’ve done some odd jobs for his wife.”

“You never said they were giants!”

“Would you have believed me?”

Jill blushed. She’d have thought her idiot husband had turned lunatic as well.

She’d thought Jack climbed the beanstalk out of idleness—enjoying the view rather than working the land. She had followed him today out of frustration, thinking to drag him back to earth with scoldings and nagging. Instead, she’d found Jack braving a land of giants in the clouds.

In the oversized kitchen, the giant’s wife cooked a feast for her husband—entire cattle, flocks of chickens—but she never came near their cupboard. This hiding place was dark, cluttered with buckets, and smelled faintly of vinegar, but for now, it seemed safe.

Jack made a seat in a massive pile of rags, then settled Jill into it. “Rest while you can. We’ll need to be ready to run.” After making certain Jill was comfortable, he curled up on a thin patch at the edge of the pile.

He was so considerate. He was always considerate, Jill realized, but down on the ground, it annoyed her. His small courtesies seemed like pitiful apologies for the larger ways he failed as a husband.

Jill had fallen in love with Jack’s dreaming ways. He’d been charming and convincing, overflowing with grand hopes for their future. Unfortunately, in twelve years of marriage, none of his dreams became reality. Crop after crop failed, livestock died, and Jill became bitter. Jack never did, and she hated him for it. No matter how desperate they became, he was always sure that next year’s crop would fix everything or his grand new scheme would make them rich as kings.

The beans had been his worst blunder. Jack had traded their last sickly cow for a handful of seeds guaranteed to grow a forest of vines. He’d spun visions of a bumper crop, a better life. Jill had raged and thrown the seeds out the window.

The seeds did grow massive vines practically overnight, but they were a menace. The beanstalk took up half their garden. The inedible vines showed no signs of bearing fruit. Every day, they hacked at runners and roots that threatened to destroy their cottage. Jack put a cheerful face on it; Jill had only complained.

Outside their cupboard, a shout from the giant sent shivers up Jill’s spine. “Did he just ask for ‘man-flesh’?”

Jack sat up and nodded grimly. “Fortunately, his wife objects.”

“You work for this monster?”

“I’d be his next meal if he saw me. His wife has a softer heart. She hides me from him and gives us food.”

“I’d rather starve than know you risk yourself this way.”

Jack gave Jill an astonished look that made her insides twist with shame. Had it been so long since she’d expressed concern for his well-being?

Jack stepped closer to the door. “If it were only me, I wouldn’t risk it. But we could save the whole valley. He’s been hoarding the water somehow, keeping it here in the clouds. If I could find a way to release it, it could end the drought.”

The giant slammed down an empty glass, leaned back in his chair, and called for music.

Jack said grimly, “We’re also not the only humans here.”

The giant’s wife carried a golden cage into the kitchen. Huddled in the center, looking small as a canary, sat a crying eight-year-old-girl.

“Farmer Gidding’s youngest,” Jack explained. “Sings like a nightingale. Not big enough to eat. He keeps her as a pet.”

“How horrible," Jill whispered.

As the little girl piped a tearful song, Jack said, “I had hoped I could rescue her today, but now that you’re here, plans will have to change.”

As Jack gazed through the crack, a ray of light illuminated his fearless form. Jill had thought her husband’s optimism made him a fool, but there was another word for a man who didn’t let defeat discourage him, who looked at impossible odds and dared to try anyway.

Hero.

How had she ever stopped loving him?

Jill stepped to Jack’s side. “Let me help you, my love.”

Jack looked at her with surprise. “Truly?”

Jill took his hand. “Truly.”

Jack grinned.

#

When the giant fell asleep, they moved as one.

The child came with them down the beanstalk.

[hearts4popchyk]

reading slump so bad only the goldfinch can cure it