#katie writes a book

[missinyouiskillingme]

What do you say when you're not enough to make someone stay? What do you do when you meet the love of your life and realize it's all about timing? How do you accept that no matter how perfect you are for each other, circumstances get in the way? How do you compete with that kind of fate?

— Katie Kacvinsky, First Comes Love

[thee-morrigan]

now that I've had a couple of days to go through SEVERAL stages of mental illness about book 3, I have…Some Thoughts. about the book in general and specifically about N's route, as so far that's the only one in which I've gone through most (if not all) of the interaction variations (yes, I have approximately 83253 tabs open rn. I told y'all I'm being very unwell about this). I've played through M's route several times so far too, but there were fewer standout "wait, what?" moments for me in that route tbh 🥴

below the cut: the peer review nobody asked for! (and my sincerest apologies lmao)

I really need Mishka to hire professional copy editors for these books, y'all. There are grammar/syntax errors that just. shouldn't be there. (and I don't even mean the nitpicky ones that I'm super anal about! I mean ones like using 'stationary' when you mean 'stationery'.)

somewhat related to the above bullet, I hope the testing period for book 4 is a lot longer than it was for book 3. there are some inconsistencies in the narrative that I suspect would have been caught if there'd been more time between the beta testing and the book being sent to HG.

for example, if you trigger the sex scene options in N's combat route, there is at least one errant reference to the feel of denim when like. you're both in workout clothes (and there is significant time spent describing both N's and the MC's outfits!). ALSO, when you go back inside for the debriefing with UB, F & M tease N about their jeans being unzipped when, again: there were no jeans or zippers involved. It's a funny scene after the equivalent research options, but it makes no sense post-combat ones without editing for attire differences.

while I'm thinking about the research scene on N's route, the fact that the MC can confess their love and N flat out says NOTHING in response??? just immediately jumps to gettin' busy despite the MC explicitly asking them to say something in response??? what will probably be Holland's canon route is fine, because the combat path has a "scared by own feelings" choice and you know homegirl immediately tried to yeet herself out of that potential conversation bc they've been dating for all of 30 seconds at this point. BUT knowing that that path was fine bc it happened to fit my OC honestly just made me more annoyed for anyone playing with a different/more emotionally mature/open detective. because going through the "i love you" options in the research scene especially were disappointing.

again, related to the above, the narrative inconsistencies (and the bulky plot) made the pacing often feel inconsistent. there were so many moving pieces and story beats that a lot of scenes felt either rushed (without seeming like that pace was tonally/narratively appropriate) or unnecessarily truncated. I also felt like there were a lot of points of abrupt info-dumping that was clearly meant to give background info on UB/other characters/plotpoints but ended up feeling inorganic/unnatural in terms of actual relationship-building. or, alternatively, like it was meant to build to a resolution point later in the book that just never happened.

for example: the whole post-Unit Victor scene where your LI shares some of their past with you. It didn't feel quite as abrupt/odd in my M route playthroughs, but the flow was JARRING for me in N's. And the abrupt end to that scene is never revisited. like, I understand the conversation maybe not coming up again, but for neither of them to even linger on what were presumably heavy emotional topics or think about it again at what could have been relevant points throughout the book seemed to dilute what I assume was meant to be an important scene.

speaking of things that are basically not revisited when they really should be, if N's overprotectiveness is going to continue to be a defining trait and the MC can continue to be explicitly bothered by it, I am begging for book 4 to let them have an uninterrupted, private conversation about it - particularly after the whole "I don't know how this is going to work" scene after the auction. because if this is how it already is and there are 4 more books, their relationship is going to be so (much more) unhealthy.

a more positive note! I did think it was ~interesting to see the juxtaposition of N's constant over-the-top "romantic gestures/sentiments" schtick against the responses you can get when you invite them to dinner but choose either the "you don't have to go if you would be uncomfortable" or "I'll call it off if you're not feeling it" option. with the former, N's response is that relationships are doing things for the other person/doing things they want to do, and they seem genuinely baffled when the detective immediately disagrees. with the latter, they seem equally surprised at the detective's willingness to ditch dinner for them. it's a brief thing, but both of their potential responses give the impression that N's perception of those statements is disproportionate to their actual significance. I mean. it's a dinner party that the detective almost forgot about entirely. clearly they don't give a shit about rescheduling/going alone. moreover, towards the end of the book, N explicitly worries about not "being enough" for the MC. for whatever reason, N clearly seems to think they're like, constantly on the verge of losing the detective in a different way than they worry about losing them to the neverending string of external threats, and I do hope it's meant to be the foreshadowing I think it is.

[katyobsesses]

I think my glee obsession is returning in full force

[icouldbeaduck]

nothing pissed me off as a child more than when mr fucking watzisname found out what his name was and then fucking forgot what it was

[evadneares]

Katie Maria, "It Lingers for Your Whole Life"

Damage (1992)

[signal-failure]

Meet the Benedettos

Meet the Benedettos, by Katie Cotugno, is a reality show/Jane Austen mashup. Five sisters struggles to escape being a reality-TV punchline and turn their fame into something lasting, as their social-climbing mother and gauche New Jersey father ignore their upcoming foreclosure. Oddly, this isn’t my first Pride and Prejudice reality show retelling. Curtis Sittenfeld’s Eligible reimagines Dr. Chip…

[triviareads]

Good morning

Can you recommend an contemporary romance that doesn't take 20 chapters to get to IT?

Thank you

Hi! I do have a list of contemporary romances where there's a sex scene pretty early on:

Here are a few more:

Black Tie Billionaire by Naima Simone: You know it's a Harlequin when it starts with the billionaire propositioning a member of the catering staff (or so he thinks). There ends up being a blackout and she does take him up on that offer. It's such a stellar early sex scene because their chemistry is off the charts.

Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid: Shane and Ilya are pro-hockey rivals who *totally* hate each other and yet have secretly been hooking up for about a decade, and the book begins with one such hook-up.

Inside Bet by Katie Porter: They have sex the first night they meet (so within the first five chapters I believe) but there's this super hot, almost tense build-up as Jon and Heather gamble and make increasingly more risqué bets with one another.

The Secret That Can't Be Hidden by Caitlin Crews: There's a flashback of their first meeting where the hero sees her, beckons her forward, and goes to town on her just like that. Pure Harlequin (specifically pure Caitlin Crews) excellence.

Just One More Night by Caitlin Crews: The hero comes across her in an alleyway where she's being held at gunpoint, he kills(?) the assailants, and they immediately have sex in his car (in the immortal words of Stephan after they went bareback, "eh, you American girls are always on the pill").

[cheolism]

And yk what. Let queer people have dirty shows. Let queer people have shows with sex and gore. Calling one show horrible representation for having either of these things is extremely ignorant and tbh just flat-out horrid. Queer people have sex and kiss and hold hands and sometimes they do none of these things and either way it is totally fine. A show having intense queer sex isn’t lesser than one without. Western sitcoms depict heterosexual couples having sex all the time. Sex doesn’t suddenly become dirty or horrid just because it’s queer people doing it.

[callingsergeantbarnes]

Not me posting a story tonight for the first time in ages in an hour or so. 🙊🙊

Not that story be a crossover with my favourite trio - Faith Lehane x Natasha Romanoff x Bucky Barnes. 

The ideas are spinning again for the story I wanted to write for these 3 but until then we have a one-shot posting tonight. 

[lumiereandcogsworth]

(on AO3!)

He laughed at her joke.

Sun was bursting through every space between the curtains, painting golden lines across their bodies. Belle’s finger drew invisible circles on Adam’s chest, while his hand ran up and down along her ribs. The night before had been filled with glowing candles and crystal starlight; flowing wine and joyous music. They danced and danced until they were floating among the glimmering chandeliers. No one near, just them.

Now it was morning, with birds singing sweet songs and teacups gone cold on their nightstands. He caressed her jaw, finger and thumb landing so delicately on her round little chin. “My wife,” he said, beaming brightly. It hadn’t even been a whole day. “My husband,” she replied, smile gleaming like the first peak of sunshine after a storm.

They lay together in bed, bare bodies and gentle hearts. Yesterday they made promises, they held hands, they kissed, they danced. But today they’re lying in bed together, and Belle is making her husband laugh.

“I love that smile of yours,” she said.

He looked at her as though she were the only blooming rose in a garden of buds and thorns. He lightly tugged on her chin, bringing her lower and pressing his lips to hers. She tasted sweet and lovely, he never wanted to forget the taste of her. He smiled as they kissed, as their hands found every part of their bodies and the sun rose higher in the sky.

They laughed and played and danced; even now, even here, they always danced.

[strangelystillhere]

screaming and wailing about The Cloisters as we speak. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into but the prologue grabbed me by the throat and I’ve been reading a little bit every day. Ann and Rachel my beloved T-T

[merlypops]

This is the trailer for my first novel, White Light.

Do you want to read a sad, gay ghost story? Because you totally should. 🖤

If you're interested, you can find the book below:

Paperback: goo.gl/FiDN8G

Kindle: goo.gl/aW2RTk

👻🤍

[thee-morrigan]

sincerity is scary

character(s): Holland Townsend, plus a lil Verda at the beginning (technically, Nate's not in this but my god is he living rent-free in Holland's mind) wc/rating: 3.2k / T (swearing) warnings: so many spoilers for Book 3 (all below the cut ofc!) read on ao3 in case anyone’s wondering, Holland still thinks the scariest thing she’s up against is her own stupid heart.

“Come on, Verda, you have to have something for me. I want to do things. I need to do things.”

“You know, some research suggests that feeling the need to be busy all the time is a trauma response,” the pathologist responded mildly, not looking up from the tray of instruments he was busy sterilizing. “That it’s a fear-based compulsion to distract your brain from meaningfully processing traumatic events.”

“You wanna send me those citations, then, and I can distract myself with some light reading?” Holland snapped back, but there was no heat in it.

Verda paused his work then and turned, giving a huff of laughter whose lightness was somewhat diminished by the careful assessment in his eyes as they swept her face. Although they’d started out, as many good friends do, brought together not by fate or fortune but chance proximity, they had quickly discovered bright shared threads of themselves in each other beneath the veneer of professional courtesy and had found themselves fast companions ever since.

He respected her as a colleague, of course; more than he’d expected, if he was honest. She had a stronger background in his line of work than he’d dared to hope in such a small station, which made her a useful colleague to have when he found himself stymied by something. And — perhaps most importantly — she didn’t pester him with questions she didn’t even know were asinine when a case experienced delays. He’d liked Detective Reele more or less, but she’d been marginally tolerable when things didn’t move at the speed she decided appropriate, regardless of whether he could make degraded tissue spontaneously re-materialize when she decided she wanted clearer fingerprints. No, Detective Townsend was a better colleague, that was certain. 

More than just respecting her work, though, he liked Holland in general; she brought a borderline acerbic levity to the station that balanced against Tina’s more exuberant nature and his own tendency to forget to venture upstairs at least once a day. She wasn’t calmer than Tina, exactly — he wasn’t sure calm was a word that had ever been used to describe Holland Townsend. But if Tina was something in the neighborhood of bubbly, all iridescent soap shine and rounded edges, Holland was something sharper, something fizzing, like a live wire.

When he looked at her now, though, he saw less of the bright crackle of energy and more of the kind of nervous energy that led people to market abhorrent devices like fidget spinners. She looked restless. She looked tired.

—

Holland was tired. Goddamn exhausted, actually, if she was honest with herself, which seemed to be almost never these days. She didn’t let herself linger on the way that thought chafed any more than she let herself slow down enough for that bone-deep weariness to press its full weight against her.

It was better to keep moving.

“You know, you’re probably overdue for a vacation,” Verda’s voice, more tinged with concern than it had been a moment ago, cut through her reverie. “I’m pretty sure your promotion to detective didn’t entitle you to less PTO.”

The spark of wry humor in his comment didn’t fully mask the shade of careful observation in his eyes, but…it was an attempt. An easy out for her to muster her usual grinning nonchalance — the irreverent charm Adam had once snarked at her about relying on too heavily.

If it ain’t broke, I guess, she thought, swallowing the urge to sigh as she indeed summoned a half-smile, made herself look her friend in the eye as she tilted her head at him.

“There you go with that concern again, V,” she teased, rising from her perch on the edge of a spare lab bench.

“It’s almost like we’re friends,” he said dryly, although some of the tension in his face eased.

“Which is why I’m gonna let you get back to it and quit bugging you.” Holland moved toward the open lab door and paused, resting one hand against the door jamb as she flashed Verda a more genuine smile. “Thanks, though. For letting me bug you.”

He waved her comment off, though he returned her smile. “Anytime. Besides, I’m hoping things will finally start calming back down with those recent cases sorted. Then we’ll both probably relish any interruptions to the usual humdrum.”

It was all she could do to dredge up a hum of laughter in agreement before stepping back into the corridor, only letting her shoulders slump once she was safely ensconced in her office.

She hadn’t told any of them yet that she was leaving the station. She’d have to soon; she knew that, knew she’d been putting it off far too long already. And, as her mother had pointed out, it wasn’t as if she was never going to be able to see them again. Her friends would still be her friends. They just wouldn’t work together anymore.

Or mostly get to know what she even did for work anymore.

She wasn’t even entirely sure how much she could still keep Tina in the loop, as much as she might wish to. She didn’t have any reason to be particularly suspicious of Agent Pierson, the woman the Agency had sent to spy on Tina from within the station. But as much as she trusted Tina —with her secrets but also to take care of herself— she worried that the balm of having a confidant who was just hers was no longer truly available to her, at least not in the way it had been. Part of that fear, she knew, came from knowing she couldn’t reveal that the so-called new officer was not exactly who she seemed. In all likelihood, the whole arrangement probably really was for Tina’s safety, and probably nothing to worry about, but…Holland still felt like she was lying to her. And not the kind of lying she was comfortable with.

A liar and a coward, she thought as she sat at her desk, chin propped in her hands. She felt that constricting weight begin to settle against her, her skin too tight along her bones, and jerked to her feet again before that melancholia could curl catlike into her lap and trap her there.

She supposed it was useful that everyone had become so inured to her abrupt comings and goings from the station; no one bothered to look up as she walked out into the bright heat of the midday sun, its sticky warmth blanketing her body after a morning spent in the over-conditioned chill of the station’s air.

—

She ended up back in her apartment more out of habit than any real desire to be there. For a while, she found herself drifting, unmoored and aimless, between rooms. She should try to rest, she knew that, knew that if she could sleep she would feel better. 

These days, though, she too often found herself reaching for sleep only to close her fist around endless, empty time. 

She tried to read, to lose herself in another universe for a while, but gave up after she realized that while she’d technically read a whole chapter, she had no idea what had happened in it. 

She thought about playing guitar but figured if she couldn’t focus on reading, she probably wouldn’t fare much better at making anything that sounded like music instead of discordant strumming.

Plus she was already bored of sitting still in the empty quiet of her apartment.

Pushing herself off her window seat, Holland strode to her dresser and tugged out shorts and a sports bra. Experience had taught her long ago that she couldn’t outrun her own brain, but at least she could tire her body enough that she was forced to sleep, at least a little.

—

Because she was already tired, it took longer than usual to find her pace, especially without any music to give her a cadence she could match. In deference to safety, she’d decided against headphones; probably a wise choice   — definitely a wise choice, she reminded herself, hardly a choice at all unless she decided to start actively courting disaster — but one that did nothing to lessen the weight of that heaviness that kept pulling at her, brutal and swift as a rip current. Still, after three miles, she felt some of the tension in her body ebb, some of that near-constant tightness in her chest yielding its grip enough for breathing to come easier, deep and steady draughts of air filling her lungs. 

For a long while, there was only the blessed gentle warmth of summer air, the quiet scraping thump of her sneakers against the sidewalk, and the pleasant ache of her muscles stretching and contracting. Slowly, mile after mile, she felt her body become less foreign, each pounding step bringing it closer to the skin and bones and thudding heart that she recognized as her own. Felt each clenching beat of that too-human muscle in her chest insisting it was where it belonged, safe within its cage of bone and flesh. Felt the reassurance that her heart hadn’t been torn from her chest and left, raw and bleeding, outside her body. 

No matter how it might feel lately. 

A liar and a coward. 

The sharp dig of a knife between her ribs, the claws of that familiar tightness latching into her chest again, and—

Breathe. 

She sucked in air with a sharp gasp, forced her lungs to expand, to draw air in and in and in until she could feel those claws retract.

Until she felt the thought she’d almost had, the one she still hadn’t let herself articulate even within her own mind, retract with them.

Another kind of lie. Another thing she was too much of a coward to confront.

Holland sucked in another breath, letting the sultry weight of that summer air fill her, fill all the cold, empty spaces that lurked within her. Let the warmth of it incinerate the other unarticulated thoughts and shadows of memory before they could turn their baleful, accusatory eyes back toward her. 

Turning her own gaze outward once more, she scanned her surroundings, squinting at a nearby street sign as she passed and trying to decide how much further until she really would need to loop back. Holland’s run had taken her well into the outskirts of town. It wasn’t her preferred route, which snaked through the woods near the Cornerstones and eventually toward the marina, but at least this route hadn’t taken her through Wayhaven proper. Or required her to skirt the station, as her usual path would have. Even if she was leaving — even if no one seemed to really notice or care whether she was, at any given moment, in her office these days — she still didn’t think running directly past the station in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon was necessarily appropriate. 

So Holland found herself instead approaching the winding series of long hills that would eventually lead her toward the hospital. Her knees ached just thinking about those hills. None were particularly steep, but they stretched further than was typically noticeable in a car. On foot, though…no, it was probably past time for her to begin finding her way back home. 

It had been a while since she’d been on a long run. A long while, actually, and she knew her legs would likely ache come morning, even with the shorter maintenance runs she tried to squeeze in whenever she could. Which had been no chance at all these past weeks, between work and what felt like an endless cycle of injury and suffocatingly long recovery. Indeed, she felt the muscles in her thighs protest as she crested one hill before veering right, toward the streets leading back into town. Oh, she would certainly feel the cost of this impromptu long run in the morning.

Although it might be a nice change, she supposed, if her body ached from something other than having the shit kicked out of her by Trappers. Or crumbling buildings. Or winged giants who caused said buildings to end up in pieces on top of her. And those were only some of the most recent aches.

She rolled her shoulders, shaking her arms to diffuse the pressing tension of that memory, her breath a sharp scrape against her throat. 

Fine. She was fine. Despite the strain of these past months, she continued to be perfectly fine. Had gotten through everything that’d been thrown at her. Not entirely smoothly, certainly not effortlessly, but…she had gotten through it. Would continue to do so, perhaps with greater ease than before if her new role indeed provided increased training. She could handle it. She would handle it.

It was the same argument she’d given Nate after the auction, almost two weeks ago now. As to whether she believed it any more now than she had then…another thought she wasn’t ready to have yet. 

I am in love with you, Holland.

Another familiar ache in her chest, one more bruise on her already battered heart. She shut down that train of thought, almost stumbling as she worked to redirect that particular train of thought. To shut out the image that flashed across her mind’s eye, of how Nate’s face had looked in that conversation. The way he’d looked at her, the agony that had streaked across his beautiful face, and how neatly and thoroughly it had eviscerated her. 

That pain. That pain that she had caused.

I don’t know how this is going to work.

She’d had to remind herself how to breathe. Had to remind herself to breathe through the lashing pain of how much she’d hated herself for putting that look on his face. And for knowing that it would likely be far from the last time. 

Because she didn’t know either.

She didn’t know how to avoid it, this hurting him. Didn’t know how to be an easier person to love. 

And as for what she did know, what she’d suspected and quietly fretted over for weeks now…

That hideous weight tugged beneath her ribs and Holland sped up, pushing past the bleating tremor in her thighs, the burning ache in her chest. Pushed that thought out, out, out—

“Fuck!” The word was little more than a hiss as the world tipped and roiled and Holland went flying, elbows skidding and knees barking as she hit the pavement.

Between the subsequent string of violent curses and what remained of her pride, she supposed she was relieved to still be closer to the outskirts than the town center. If running past the station in the middle of a Tuesday was arguably inappropriate, the selection of words that flew out of her mouth as she eased to a seat on the ground was indisputably so. 

She winced as she examined the shredded skin on her forearms, her knees. She hadn’t even fallen well: the most she’d done before splaying gracelessly on the street had been to land more on her arms than her hands. Not her first choice, or at least it shouldn’t have been, but at least she hadn’t broken her wrists. Or anything else, as far as she could tell, looking her latest batch of wounds over as she rose to her feet.

Holland hissed again as she gingerly flexed her left leg, which had borne the brunt of the impact and now sported angry red scrapes along her knee and halfway up her thigh. Just scrapes, but ones that stretched painfully when she bent her leg. 

Swallowing another mouthful of curses, she pulled free the water bottle attached to her running belt, unstoppering it with her teeth before she squeezed a stream of water along first one leg, then the other, and then the smaller scrapes on her arms and elbows. They stung like all hell, but at least they looked slightly better with most of the dirt and grime rinsed away. Naturally, she’d forgotten to bother checking if she’d needed to restock the handful of bandages she usually kept in one of the belt’s pockets; naturally, she only unearthed one after fumbling through every goddamned pocket, the lone bandage too small to be of much use unless she fancied ripping adhesive off part of an open wound later.

She exhaled, sharp and impatient, and raked a hand over the sweat-dampened strands of hair that had broken free of her stubby ponytail and now lay plastered to her forehead. 

No new scars indeed. She snorted as she recalled Nate’s words in that forest clearing, back before they’d even known what manner of myth hunted her. She doubted it had occurred to him that she’d likely continue to rack up scars earned through her own sheer stupidity. God, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

She drained the remains of her water bottle before slotting it back in its elastic holster at her hip. She toed the ground, wincing at her protesting kneecap, and considered. Depending on the route she took, she wasn’t that far from her apartment. The circuitous route she’d intended to follow was obviously out, but she could take a more direct one and be back relatively quickly. Walking, it would take…she did the math, frowning. Walking back, assuming she kept her regular pace, would likely take her the better part of two hours. She stretched her legs again, shifting experimentally from one foot to the other. She was hurt, yes, but it was definitely only superficial, and not so bad she couldn’t probably run home as well as she could walk. Running would be faster, even with what would certainly be a much slower pace. Would likely cut the return time in half, actually, though she knew it would hurt. Of course, it would hurt to walk home, too. 

Holland’s shoulders sagged. Since she’d stopped moving, her body had started to register physical exhaustion, had begun to grow heavy with it, and she wanted to be home. Wanted a shower and her bed and a different kind of silence than the kind that felt like a scream.

She did have another option, some small part of her mind pointed out before she shut that thought out, too. Technically, the warehouse, where she had a bed and a shower and certainly less silence, was a bit closer to her current location than her own apartment. However begrudgingly, Holland had to admit the thought tempted her. Tempted her more when she thought of the magic-imbued salve, leftover from what had been her most recent batch of injuries, stashed in a bathroom cabinet. To say nothing of the vampire whose mere presence soothed her more than any medicine.

Her frown deepened. She was tired of showing up at the warehouse battered and bloody. Really goddamned tired of it. 

She straightened, rolling her shoulders and breathing deep. Her apartment wasn’t that far, and it was only a skinned knee. Well, two skinned knees, actually, and her elbows, but…

Holland released that deep breath and set off,  a tentative jog while she found her new pace, toward the town center and her apartment beyond.

She didn’t much feel like reminding anyone how easily she broke apart.

[corelliaxdreaming]

So I'm trying to figure out what kind of change I need to have on hand when I'm selling my book at that author event on Thursday. I'm kinda weirdly anxious about it tbh. I did some googling around based on what people have for garage sales, and it makes sense to start with $100 to make figuring out profit easier at the end of the day, but I have no idea how best to break that down into denominations for me. The book is $7, and it's the only thing I'll be selling. Anyone have thoughts?

[katyobsesses]

I'm just about halfway through The Mark Of Athena and I just felt the need to wax poetic about Rick Riordan's use of voice when he switches character POVs in Heroes Of Olympus.

Each character has a different and distinct way of narrating their story, even thought it's not in 1st person like PJO. Sure, at first the third person limited made HOO feel a bit like I was reading fanfiction - good fanfiction - but I've definately grown to it.

I love that it's not just one POV, I love that the characters have their own secrets that us as the audience know but the other characters don't. (Causing me to shout at my ebook for them to communicate goddamn it, which, granted, they try to a lot of the time, but Monsters keep getting in the way) I love that Percy's POV is just as sassy and joke riddled as his 1st person POV in PJO. I love that we get a peek inside of Annabeth's mind. I love these new characters too and their backstories and motivations. (Frank and Leo my beloveds)

On a slightly related tangent, HOO, even more than PJO, feels like it's a retelling of a D&D/TTrpg campaign that happens to be Greek inspired. I could totally see some sort of Riordan 'verse TTrpg created, or an MMOrpg. Your player character could be a demigod with powers from their godly parent, you could choose Camp Jupiter of Camp Half-blood (or whatever the other places are in the 'verse, I know there's at least Norse stuff later on) you could battle Greek Monsters and go on quests with your friends just like The Seven.

If my sister (the DM for one of my D&D campaigns) was a reader I would totally make her read these books, she would love them. Especially as a Greek Mythology nerd (she's doing a PhD that has something to do with Greek mythology and philosophy and film, don't ask me what it's complicated and even she's not too sure at the moment ahaha) and I could 100% see her running some sort of Greek inspired campaign, I'd do it myself if I was that way inclined, but alas, i do not have that amount of motivation.

But yeah, I am loving this series so much. And I am so glad I started re-reading The Titan's Curse when The Newest Olympian podcast started focusing on it. It's only taken me... Just over a week to read 5 1/5 books. I haven't read this much (not counting fanfiction) in years

[quotesfrommyreading]

What do you make of the way that children’s literature has changed since you started writing?

I think it probably has changed, but I’m very bad at reading children’s literature or young-adult literature. I like to read adult books. I like to read about people who are my contemporaries. And I’m also bad at keeping up with “the marketplace.” So I’m not really an expert, but it does seem to me, from what I read about, that there is a lot of hard-hitting young-adult fiction now. When I began writing it, that was not the case. My first book [“A Summer to Die”] dealt with the death of my sister. It was published in 1977, and, at the time, it was said that it was one of the very first books for kids that dealt realistically with the death of a young person. Coincidentally, it was published the same year that Katherine Paterson wrote “Bridge to Terabithia.” So it was ironic that she and I did that at the same time.

But that was rare, and it was probably beginning to herald a change in the field. Now nothing is taboo anymore, and there’s a lot of violence, from what I’ve read about. And I think there’s a larger audience for it. In my day, we went from reading children’s books to adult books. There was no middle ground.

 —  What Lois Lowry Remembers