In January I shocked the world by reviewing the Year In Books 2017 before any of it had already happened. I am now reviewing my review in an even more reflective piece which is not to be mistaken for the kind of end-of-year filler posts one sees around this time where bloggers go over what they already said because they’re too drunk to provide new content. Merry Christmas!
Dublin’s richest miscreants further their takeover of that awful Spalding woman’ blog, and their plans to turn the wealthiest 1% of the world into figures deserving of unconditional love and adoration. It’s all downhill from here.
We all have something in common. We were once terrible writers. Perhaps you’re a terrible writer now. Perhaps you’ve never even tried. Perhaps you were a terrible writer last week, but have been something approaching genius since last Thursday. Most of us never find out. We should, though, because there’s a lot of value in bad writing.
Ten years ago, we had woefully little to get truly offended about. There was little pleasure to be had in face-to-face confrontation, given its general ickiness and constant threat of physical violence. But now we have LOADS to get offended about, every day of the week! Whoever says that things aren’t better nowadays obviously just doesn’t have enough friends online.
I have some things to tell you. They might even be interesting. However, none of these things would warrant a full post on their own, so I’m employing a cunning and never-before-seen trick of grouping them together. Today’s post concerns political tactics and vote-bashing; the Dublin Writer’s Conference; the fiction of literary fiction, and why it’s SO difficult to be right all the time.
Ever feel like nobody’s listening to you? Ever feel like nobody understands how you FEEL? Well, maybe you need to get yourself a Women’s Fiction Husband (TM). They’ll understand you right off the page. Every home should have one!
…Or should it? What would this mean in terms of arguments? Spontaneity? Your couch? Your KITCHEN?
Literary Fiction heroes inhabit a world of such beauty and introspection, that to know them would be to feel a deeper connection to the universe. Right?
Perhaps this idea warrants a little further exploration. Might living with one of the protagonists of your favourite literary fiction novels inspire you to a better understanding of humanity? Or might it inspire you to want to kick their arse?
3 Writers enter Mr McGuffin’s Plot Device and Writer Unblocking Emporium in dire need of help. Will Mr McGuffin be able to save the tragic lovers of the romance novelist? What’s in the bloodstained suitcase? Just what is going on with the world’s most mysterious dog? And how long can one pun be stretched out over an entire blog post? Click the bait to find out.
Ah, young adult fiction. So much potential, so small a world. It’s almost like they’re fully-grown adults, but in a slightly younger suit. Life would be so much more in context if we were to live with the protagonist of one of our favourite young adult novels. Or would it?
Dublin’s favourite arseholes consider what it means to be Irish, and how that might work to their financial gain. Don’t tell the European Union.
Tara Sparling writes 