'I’m still in a bit of shock but want to keep you all updated'

Obama has reportedly 'always' been worried

'classic Florida teen shit'

What was originally reported is now being admitted by LeBron

A sleepy hippo taking an underwater nap while being groomed by a school of fish is just the ‘moment of zen’ we needed on Hump Day. The video shows a Nile Hippopotamus waking up and bobbing to the surface for air while enjoying the fish spa treatment. The African Cichlid fish can be seen picking […] The post Need a Moment of Zen? Watch a Sleepy Hippo Enjoying a Fish Spa Treatment appeared first on Good News Network.

News Star Trek 4 There’s a New Screenwriter for the Star Trek Movie That May or May Not Happen Someday Please‚ just let us boldly go already By Molly Templeton | Published on March 27‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed While Star Trek is doing great on the small screen‚ its theatrical existence has been paltry of late. And by “of late” I mean that it’s been eight years since Star Trek Beyond‚ and Paramount has yet to create the long-promised fourth film starring that film’s cast. In 2019‚ Noah Hawley was going to direct it‚ but then that version of the film was put on hold. For a while‚ WandaVision’s Matt Shakman was set to direct Star Trek 4‚ but then he jumped ship for Marvel’s Fantastic Four. In 2022‚ producer J.J. Abrams announced that the fourth film would for sure star the whole main cast from the previous three films‚ but reportedly the cast had not yet even begun talks with the studio about said film. (And none of this is even taking into account the time that Quentin Tarantino said he wanted to make a Star Trek‚ or the scrapped concept for a film in which Chris Pine’s Kirk would somehow re-encounter his dead father‚ or the other Star Trek film which actually is in the works‚ which will somehow be an origin story for the whole franchise‚ maybe.) But hark‚ a new screenwriter approacheth! Variety has a big story about the entire Trek universe‚ and hidden in that story is a new detail about what is apparently being called “the final chapter” for Pine’s crew. Steve Yockey‚ co-creator of The Flight Attendant and a writer on Supernatural‚ is now tackling the screenplay. There are zero plot details‚ of course. But it might be promising that a new screenwriter is at least on board the Enterprise. (For The Next Generation fans‚ Variety has an intriguing detail about Section 31: In the Michelle-Yeoh starring spinoff movie‚ Kacey Rohl is playing “a young Rachel Garrett.” Make of that what you will!) [end-mark] The post There’s a New Screenwriter for the Star Trek Movie That May or May Not Happen Someday appeared first on Reactor.

Book Recommendations book culture Prestige Creates a Permission Structure for Experimentation Thoughts on literary snobbery‚ creative experimentation‚ and how our preconceptions shape our reading experience… By Charlie Jane Anders | Published on March 27‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed I absolutely loved the novel Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace when I read it back in the day. I devoured it‚ forcing myself to read all of those bloody footnotes to pick up every weird bread crumb‚ and reveling in how silly and yet cohesive the whole thing felt. It was one of the books that fueled my determination to try and write fiction myself‚ along with Iain M. Banks’ Culture novels‚ Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love‚ and Nalo Hopkinson’s Brown Girl in the Ring. But I often think that if you stripped the cover off of a copy of Infinite Jest and slapped on a less-artsy cover that claimed this book was the work of a middle-aged lady in Nebraska‚ nobody would have liked it. They wouldn’t even have given it a chance. Book nerds would have taken one look at the time-jumping structure‚ the rampant non-sequiturs‚ the plethora of strange conceits‚ the unconventional narration—and said that this lady needed to learn how to write. This is something I think about all the time when I’m writing my own stuff. My books come out from a science fiction publisher and I didn’t get an MFA or fellowship from a fancy school‚ so I assume that I need to “hook” the reader on page one‚ and reassure them in various small ways that I know what I’m doing here‚ and I’m not going to waste their time (too much). I can get experimental and confounding‚ sure enough‚ but page one—and probably also page ten—need to be engaging and exude a kind of quiet competence. I swear I’m not writing this to whine about literary snobbery‚ which has benefited me at various points in my career and failed to benefit me at others. I’m actually super interested in the ways that our preconceptions shape our reading experience‚ and the permission this gives some artists to create works that ask more of their readers. Speaking for myself‚ I know that when I pick up a book that is packaged as “literary‚” I might read a bit more slowly and carefully because of the assumption that every word has been chosen with care by a Craftsperson. And I might also give the book slightly more of a chance to win me over‚ instead of expecting it to suck me in by page three. I’m also pretty convinced that certain kinds of stylistic and narrative experiments are a bit more feasible if you’re either a recognized literary writer‚ or an underground experimental writer being published by a small press. This is part of what I was getting at in my writing advice book Never Say You Can’t Survive‚ when I said that you always have an ideal reader in your head—that ideal reader may in fact be a different person‚ depending on the genre and other designations of the book you are writing. Very few books‚ in fact‚ are written for “everybody.” And here’s a good place to reiterate what I’ve said many times before: What we call “literary fiction” is actually several different types of writing that we lump together‚ encompassing breezy beach reads as well as dense‚ challenging books that deliberately avoid giving you any personal information about their protagonist(s). Being categorized as “literary” doesn’t require authors to push the limits of the novel‚ it merely grants them a certain amount of permission to do so‚ in my experience. Literary publishers include Knopf and FSG‚ but also tiny university presses that reach a few hundred people. Also‚ before anyone else says it‚ the walls between genre and literary books are getting wobblier all the time—recent books like The Archive Undying and The Saint of Bright Doors are as experimental and full of literary signifiers as anything coming out of Tin House or Graywolf‚ and I’ve seen no shortage of straight-up‚ well done science fiction and fantasy come out from “literary” imprints. And yet‚ my subjective sense is that the prestige gap remains: If Infinite Jest came out today‚ it would still be given more careful mainstream attention when packaged as a high-brow literary book than in most other circumstances. You see the prestige gap most strongly in television‚ where shows that at least dabble in messing with narrative and feature less straightforward characters are actually called “Prestige TV.” (See the career of Jonathan Nolan: Person of Interest is brilliantly complex and has many eloquent things to say about surveillance and technology‚ but it received a tiny fraction of the attention that Westworld garnered because it was a case-of-the-week procedural and didn’t feature Anthony Hopkins‚ Thandiwe Newton‚ and Jeffrey Wright.) Sometimes‚ a lucky creator gets catapulted from “obscure weirdo” to “beloved craftsperson” seemingly overnight. You see it in the case of so-called “Outsider” artists like Henry Darger‚ whose obscure work becomes celebrated in mainstream circles. Something of the sort happened for a while to Philip K. Dick‚ who gained a literary cachet in the 1990s that had eluded him during his lifetime. For those of us who are operating outside of the innermost circle of literary prestige‚ making weird storytelling choices can sometimes involve a smidgen of social engineering. You have to trick people into paying attention and then bamboozle them with some bonkosity. Case in point: my novel All the Birds in the Sky has a pretty weird structure and breaks a lot of what were considered ironclad genre-fiction rules at the time I wrote it. (It’s a bit YA and a bit adult‚ it has an occasionally omniscient narrator‚ there’s some strong sexual content‚ characters discuss the Categorical Imperative for a long time‚ etc.) Indeed‚ almost every literary agent who looked at All the Birds rejected it for various reasons. At the same time‚ I sweated endlessly over the first few pages of the book‚ making sure you were drawn into Patricia’s situation and empathized with her instantly. I actually love doing this‚ because it feels like a fun trick to lure the reader in and then start whacking them over the head once they’re fully inside the story. Ironically‚ the moment when I was convinced most readers would throw the book away in disgust—the shopping-mall scene where Patricia and Laurence sit under the escalator and speculate about people’s shoes‚ only to be correct about the assassin Theodolphus—turned out to be many people’s favorite moment in the book. So you really never can tell. Similarly‚ N.K. Jemisin’s breakout hit The Fifth Season contains some really startling stylistic choices‚ including second-person narration and a brilliantly time-jumping POV structure. (Trying to avoid spoilers here‚ for the handful of people who haven’t yet read it.) But I swear I read an essay that Jemisin wrote back in 2015-ish in which she talked about trying to “hook” the reader right away with a big splashy event‚ the destruction of the city of Yumenes. (I can’t find that essay now‚ in part because Google ain’t Google anymore.) And on her blog‚ there’s an essay about “Tricking readers into acceptance” of her main character‚ Essun. Of course‚ it’s not just literary prestige that plays a role in shaping the expectations you approach a book with. You inevitably bring everything you know (or think you know) about the author when you crack a book open. The same book might read very differently if you believe the author is a Fox News commentator‚ versus an anarchist labor organizer. And of course‚ we expect marginalized creators to serve up stories about their own marginalizations‚ in a way that sometimes can feel a little bit tokenizing or exploitative. Especially in this day and age‚ when authors are increasingly encouraged to market themselves as personalities online‚ as I wrote about recently‚ your perceptions of an author’s persona will inevitably bleed into how you receive their work. Oftentimes‚ this works out great—e.g.‚ if an author cultivates a snarky funny persona online and also writes funny snarky books. This brings me back to the thing I wrote a while ago about J.K. Rowling and the question of separating the author from their work. I think there may have been a time when authors were intensely private people and you came to their work untainted by any preconceptions about the human who produced it. (John Updike certainly moaned a lot when he felt like this was going away.) Those times are absolutely over‚ and they’re not coming back‚ and authors and their work will always be intertwined in ways that can be delightful or toxic. I guess in part‚ I would like to separate the concept of “prestige” from the notion that a piece of art might require you to do a little bit more work as you consume it‚ but that work will pay off because you’ll be rewarded with a rich story. (And of course‚ the concept of “doing work” is complicated too—a hard science fiction novel with long‚ math-heavy discussions of orbital mechanics also requires “work” from the reader‚ but it’s not exactly the same kind of “work” as a very literary book that makes you comb through footnotes to figure out what the heck actually happened here.) We associate the idea of reading something experimental or challenging with a certain level of education‚ or other things that easily become class signifiers. But anyone who’s paid any attention to the world will know that class and education level do not correspond that neatly to reading taste. And people contain multitudes! A single person can enjoy all kinds of books‚ and the books you read don’t define who you are. If anything‚ I would say that the notion that a highbrow book conveys some sort of aura of privilege or prestige to its reader is bad for anyone who writes the kinds of books that could feasibly be labeled as “highbrow.” There is a great‚ distinct pleasure in reading an expectation-defying book like Infinite Jest (or The Saint of Bright Doors‚ or or or…)‚ and that pleasure exists independent of any pride that you might feel in being seen as a fancy bitch because you read a fancy book. To reduce the value of a book to status marker is to downplay or deny that pleasure‚ because it implies that reading is not its own reward. I apologize for the rambly nature of the above thoughts—this stuff is hard to talk about‚ and murky as hell‚ and I feel like I am raising questions way more than offering answers here. Hi ho. Please share your own thoughts in the comments… This article was originally published at Happy Dancing‚ Charlie Jane Anders’ newsletter‚ available on Buttondown. The post Prestige Creates a Permission Structure for Experimentation appeared first on Reactor.

Book Recommendations Reading the Weird To Catch a Monster: Rebecca Roanhorse’s “Eye and Tooth” Humans are often more monstrous than the monsters… By Ruthanna Emrys‚ Anne M. Pillsworth | Published on March 27‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed Welcome back to Reading the Weird‚ in which we get girl cooties all over weird fiction‚ cosmic horror‚ and Lovecraftiana—from its historical roots through its most recent branches. This week‚ we cover Rebecca Roanhorse’s “Eye and Tooth‚” first published in 2023 in Jordan Peele’s Out There Screaming: An Anthology of New Black Horror. Spoilers ahead! Summary “First class ain’t what it used to be‚ so it’s not like you’re missing out.” Zelda and Atticus Credit are flying coach to Dallas‚ Texas. Their clients used to fly them first class‚ eager to get rid of “whatever awful horror they’d conjured up.” Take the golf pro who shot his ex-wife to Swiss cheese‚ but she kept getting back up. He flew them first class‚ but then tried out an internet remedy of salting her undying corpse. That got his face eaten off before they even arrived. True hunters know it takes grave dirt to keep ghouls down. Lately the internet provides more reliable information‚ so people are DIY-dispelling their monsters‚ however crudely. So‚ though the Credits can handle visitations from haints and river spirits to poltergeists‚ business isn’t great. And it’s a family business: every generation in the Credit family has been blessed with gifts that enable them to fight the world’s evils. Atticus has what Mama calls the Eye‚ the ability to live in two worlds‚ “Ours and Theirs.” Zelda’s is the Tooth to his Eye‚ the dark to his light. From the airport‚ Zelda drives their rented truck through a thunderous deluge into increasingly flat and empty cow country. A dirt road leads them to an American-Gothic three-story backed by derelict farm equipment and a yellowed cornfield. “Some real Children of the Corn shit‚” Zelda mutters. Atticus rouses himself‚ coming into “focus.” Zelda asks if he feels anything. Could be‚ Atticus replies‚ but it could also be Zelda’s “energy” interfering. Their client‚ an older woman named Dolores Washington‚ greets them curtly and leads them to dinner. Lanky Atticus helps himself. Zelda passes. Even if she did eat things like the offered red beans and cornbread‚ something feels is off-putting. Also‚ the dining room’s packed with displays of dolls: porcelain‚ paper‚ vinyl‚ even corncob dolls in gingham dresses. Haughtily‚ Washington claims not to be a “collector” but a “creator.” Either way‚ Zelda doesn’t like the dolls. She likes less how Washington treats a six or seven year-old girl in a metal leg brace who comes into the room‚ to be dismissed with a sharp reprimand. Washington says she’s heard the Credits are “real deal Black folks. Root workers and hoodoo queens.” Her grandmother worked with herbs‚ but what the Credits have is “power in [the] blood.” She challenges Atticus‚ their “Eye‚” to divine her trouble. He tries but shakes his head‚ and grudgingly Washington describes a presence in the cornfield that’s been killing animals and screaming at night. She’s sure it’s no fox or cougar‚ though she won’t admit to actually seeing it. Zelda decides that‚ in spite of the continuing storm‚ she’ll investigate at once. Washington invites Atticus to bed down in her guestroom. Though Zelda hoped he could deploy his Eye during her absence‚ she sees he looks tired‚ even wan‚ and makes no protest. From the guestroom window‚ Zelda spots something moving in the cornfield as if on all fours. Outside she meets the little girl from the dining room‚ rain-drenched and mute. She gestures for Zelda to follow her into the corn. Feeling “this kid ain’t just a kid‚” Zelda complies. Soon they find a freshly killed and mangled animal. At last the girl speaks‚ one word: “Hungry.” Something sure was. Afraid it might still be nearby‚ Zelda brings the girl back inside. Next morning‚ Zelda leaves Atticus still asleep and goes to the town hardware store for trapping supplies. Hoping for background information‚ she chats with the clerk. He’s glad to gossip. Rumor was that Dolores’s grandmother did away with Dolores’s abusive father. Dolores herself has become famous for her corncob dolls: among pictures of town celebrities is one showing Dolores with a child-sized doll adorned with a blue ribbon. But then Dolores’s granddaughter got her foot snapped off in an old animal trap and bled to death in the cornfield. With her daughter estranged‚ Dolores has been all alone out there. Puzzle pieces begin snapping together in Zelda’s mind. The little girl. Washington’s talk about power in the blood. Atticus’s post-dinner somnolence. She races back to the farmhouse. A dead granddaughter couldn’t survive on random animal kills. She’d need what all revenants need: a human‚ especially a powerful one. Washington’s not around‚ but the girl is upstairs on the bed beside Atticus‚ her mouth encrusted with his blood. Her leg brace is off‚ exposing a limb missing below the knee and corn husks protruding from her pants cuff. “Hungry‚” the girl whispers. Before Zelda can act‚ a wooden knitting needle skewers her in the back. Washington cries that she won’t lose her grandchild! Zelda spits back that Washington can’t have Atticus‚ and didn’t Washington’s granny tell her that magic always comes in twos‚ Light and Dark? She calls up her power‚ the same as runs in Atticus but “bent different.” Her fangs descend‚ her nails sharpen‚ and she roars as she rips out the knitting needle and feels her pain turn to clarifying exhilaration. Washington screams‚ but her raised hands can’t ward off “what’s next‚” for now Zelda’s hungry‚ too. The rain has stopped when Atticus‚ bandaged and still chalky from blood loss and Washington’s poisoned beans‚ makes it out to the truck. He looks at the little girl who sits beside Zelda‚ playing with a paper doll. Zelda says she can’t leave the girl alone. But there are rules: she’s told the kid no eating until they get home and Zelda can teach her how to hunt “proper.” Atticus grunts‚ but Zelda knows he won’t fuss. Like Zelda‚ he knows that “sometimes the best monster hunters are monsters themselves.” The Degenerate Dutch: “Granny told me about your family. Real deal Black folks.” And‚ therefore‚ expendable. Weirdbuilding: Folk magic runs all through this story‚ from Zelda’s family to Washington’s Granny—both the supernatural kind of magic‚ and the practical kind that whips up tonics to “cure” abusive husbands. Ruthanna’s Commentary There was a period when my gamemaster refused to set role-playing scenarios past about 1999. Cell phones‚ he felt‚ were the bane of plot—if you can call for help at any time‚ or find out how the other half of your split party is doing‚ where’s the pressure to solve the problem yourself? Eventually he got over it—by the time smartphones came along‚ with the internet in your pocket‚ we all knew the shivers brought on by low battery and lack of signal. Then there’s the modern gothic surrealism of disinformation bubbles‚ of the internet as portal to the uncanny—or Zelda’s (no relation) complaint that YouTube videos take work away from traditional practitioners‚ with only a small chance of getting your face eaten. Maybe that irritation with modern technology is why she doesn’t carry a cellphone—leaving room for anxious races to climactic confrontations. Zelda‚ it’s clear right away‚ only cares about clients getting eaten in-so-far as it interferes with being paid. In general‚ she has little interest in her clients as people worthy of sympathy. They’re monsters‚ hiring monster hunters to hunt monsters that they’ve created or summoned themselves. And the story’s final line comes as little surprise. From the moment we learn that Zelda can’t eat airplane food—not for the same reasons the rest of us avoid it—it seems pretty clear that her appetites are not those of an ordinary human. Her dream of waking up next to a bloody carcass seems more temptation than nightmare. So I spent most of the time going “Vampire‚ ghoul‚ werewolf‚ zombie…?” like some off-kilter kid’s game of pulling petals. She’s a monster with an appreciation for culture‚ though—not only horror flicks like Children of the Corn with its monstrous rural kids‚ but classic paintings like Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World. That’s “that one with the girl in the field reaching for something she ain’t never gonna get.” Of the model‚ MOMA says: “As a young girl‚ [Anna Christina] Olson developed a degenerative muscle condition—possibly polio—that left her unable to walk. She refused to use a wheelchair‚ preferring to crawl‚ as depicted here‚ using her arms to drag her lower body along.” Perhaps Zelda has a touch of the Eye herself‚ given that she’s about to encounter (and adopt) a monstrous rural kid with mobility challenges. The most monstrous monster here—as appears to be usual for Zelda—is the client. I once IDed a bad guy way before the Shocking Reveal because he threw a fit about kids enjoying Batman comics‚ and I pegged Washington the first time she complained about muddy floors. The woman is living out in deep farmland‚ but has delusions of Armitage-ness. Wanting to keep her granddaughter undead at the cost of strangers’ lives: sympathetic. Whining at those strangers about her pristine floors: nope. (Sorry‚ yes‚ I know that’s a different Jordan Peele movie.) Making creepy corn dolls: also nope. Really‚ I feel bad for all the innocent doll collectors out there with houses full of staring glass eyes—horror has given them a bad rap. Though the fear apparently comes naturally: my son‚ who has never seen Chucky or been offered my Tara Campbell collection‚ consistently makes me hide away decorative dolls in AirBnBs. Ellen Datlow too has a doll-focused horror anthology—and yet. There are people whose uncanny valley is very narrow‚ and most of them never even once create a half-doll revenant to try and stave off the death of a loved one. Yet another point against Washington. Final point against: she could have just asked. Zelda turns out to have exactly the expertise needed‚ and all the sympathy in the world for a supernaturally-hungry kid. If Washington had considered her “real deal” hunters as something other than prey‚ there’d have been much less need for poisons and knives. But then‚ if people like her could consider people like Zelda and Atticus for something beyond their immediate utility‚ they might’ve made a better case for Zelda’s sympathy a long time ago. Anne’s Commentary What with the thunderstorm that was raging when the Credits arrived at Dolores Washington’s house‚ I doubt Zelda thought to check the front porch ceiling. A safe bet is that it wasn’t painted the color called haint blue. The Gullah people of coastal Georgia and South Carolina traditionally painted porches‚ window frames‚ and shutters with an indigo-based blue-green. They believed doing so would prevent haints (ghosts and malicious spirits) from entering a house; either the haint would mistake this soft pale blue for the sky and pass on‚ or would shy away as from water‚ which haints can’t cross. Eventually other Southerners adopted the custom. Who wants haints in the house? Or wasps in their porchside supper—like haints‚ bugs are supposed to confuse a blue ceiling for the sky and to preferentially fly towards it. I guess haint blue can discourage ghosts—my porch ceiling sports the color‚ and I haven’t had any ghosts yet. Wasps‚ sadly‚ aren’t fooled. They pervade the porch whenever food is available. So‚ yeah‚ blue paint for revenants‚ screens for bugs. In case you want to beef up your own supernatural wards‚ Southern Living has an article listing the exact paint brands and colors to do the job. But if‚ like Dolores‚ you have a haint for a (more or less welcome) family member‚ keep away from the blue spectrum altogether. Stick to whites‚ or if you’re trendier‚ sunflower yellow. Spirits‚ and wasps‚ love that color. What are the odds that the main character in this week’s story would have the same name as the main character in last week’s story? Not high‚ I’d say‚ particularly if the name is an uncommon one. In 2023‚ Zelda ranked 556th in popularity among female baby names. However‚ according to its Teutonic origins‚ Zelda signifies a woman warrior. Where monster hunting is concerned‚ Roanhorse’s and Gladwell’s Zeldas are that in spades. Perhaps the name was chosen for this meaning? I’m not sure whether Last Exit Zelda’s superpower‚ or knack‚ is inborn or acquired‚ though it’s suggestive that cousins Sal and June develop—or express— the same knack after being exposed to the Beyond. “Eye &; Tooth’s” Zelda definitely has a genetically-granted superpower—as Dolores puts it‚ it’s in her blood. The Credits’ powers define them: Atticus is an Eye‚ the organ associated both with actual light and with the moral concept of Lightness‚ the Seen‚ the Understood. Whereas Zelda is a Tooth‚ the organ associated with biting‚ killing‚ devouring and the moral concept of Darkness‚ the Taken‚ the Mystery. I’ve always been deeply creeped out by these lines from Stephen King’s The Stand: “There were worse things than crucifixion [villain Flagg’s preferred method of execution.] There were teeth [another method of which Flagg was only too capable of employing.]” Tooth-Zelda convinces me further of the terror inherent in dentition. The Eye and the Tooth share the work of defense‚ the first via perception‚ the second via action. Atticus’s ability to see into realms beyond the mundane is a major asset to the hunting pair. It’s also a weakness‚ for which Zelda compensates with her practical skills and a predator’s heightened awareness of her umwelt. If the Credit siblings could always work side by side‚ or back to back‚ they’d be unbeatable. The catch for storytellers: Unbeatable protagonists make for boring narratives. Roanhorse has a surefire way around this catch: Atticus and Zelda are both monster-hunters‚ but Zelda is herself a monster. When she’s close to her brother‚ her monster-vibes can interfere with his efforts to detect other monsters‚ their targets. So separate they sometimes must. Another plot-nurturing workaround is that Zelda can’t always act on her monsterly intuitions and impulses. Letting her fangs and claws out around clients would be bad for business; in spite of getting all kinds of bad feelings about Dolores‚ she has to be polite. Dolores is rude and condescending. Dolores raises Zelda’s hackles by mistreating her granddaughter. But Zelda must remember that Dolores has a fat wad of cash in her cleavage. When you’re a monster dealing with humans‚ you sometimes have to let “professionalism” trump instincts. Right? Not this time‚ because it almost results in Atticus becoming revenant-fodder. Oh well‚ every system has its flaws. Magic‚ Zelda tells Dolores‚ “always comes in twos. Light and Dark. Eye and Tooth.” On the positive side‚ the Credits know that “sometimes the best monster hunters are monsters themselves.” Who can know a monster better than another monster? A legitimate corollary: Who can empathize with a monster better than another monster? This isn’t to say that humans can’t at least sympathize with monsters. Atticus isn’t happy about Zelda adopting Dolores’s revenant grandkid‚ but he won’t try to stop her. Besides‚ humans are often more monstrous than the monsters. Take Dolores‚ for instance. Please‚ take Dolores‚ including any scraps Zelda may have left. Next week‚ it’s Cowboys Versus Tentacles in chapters 33-34 of Max Gladstone’s Last Exit.[end-mark] The post To Catch a Monster: Rebecca Roanhorse’s “Eye and Tooth” appeared first on Reactor.

News Lambda Awards Here Are the Finalists for the 36th Annual Lambda Literary Awards By Molly Templeton | Published on March 27‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed Lambda Literary has announced the finalists for the 2024 Lambda Literary Awards—also known as the Lammys—which recognize work published in 2023. The Lammys celebrate queer writing in 26 categories and seven special prizes‚ which include two new prizes in editorial excellence and critical arts writing. Here are the finalists in the LGBTQ+ Speculative Fiction category: Bang Bang Bodhisattva by Aubrey Wood (Solaris) I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself by M. Crane (Catapult) The Archive Undying by Emma Mieko Candon (Tordotcom Publishing) The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera (Tordotcom Publishing) The Thick and the Lean by Chana Porter (Saga Press) Delightfully‚ Tuck Woodstock and Niko Stratis’s 2 Trans 2 Furious: An Extremely Serious Journal of Transgender Street Racing Studies is a finalist in the LGBTQ+ Anthology category‚ along with Fairy Tale Review: The Rainbow Issue. You can see the full list of finalists in every category here. As a press release notes‚ “The announcement of these 130 finalists marks the beginning of a season of uplifting and spotlighting these authors and their work throughout the awards season‚ with interviews‚ events‚ and other special opportunities to get to know the finalists and their vital stories.” That season concludes with a celebration to announce the winners on June 11th at Sony Hall in New York City. [end-mark] The post Here Are the Finalists for the 36th Annual Lambda Literary Awards appeared first on Reactor.

The first differentiation I should make is that Glymmercole and Glymercole are two different things in Dragon’s Dogma 2‚ and both have a different use. Notice the extra M in Gymmercole? That’s the useful one. Here is what they’re both for. The use of Glymercole This heavy and mysterious ore you may have picked up in your adventures in Battahl. If you’re asking yourself if it is needed for a quest later on‚ never fear. You can go ahead and sell the Glymercole you collect in Dragon’s Dogma 2. However‚ it’s the glowing‚ double M’d cousin‚ Glymmercole‚ you should keep it. You will need it for a quest later. Image: PC Invasion Collecting Glymmercole in Dragon’s Dogma 2 If you happen upon the glowing version of Glymmercole in Dragon’s Dogma 2‚ hold onto it. Pop it in your storage for later‚ as it’ll come in useful once you pick up the Repair the Dulled Regalia Sword questline. This quest can only be picked up by chance...