Once upon a time, a blogger couldn’t find anything she wanted to read. So she did the unthinkable, and asked the good citizens of the internet for advice. This is about the only time this year you’re going to get a happy ending to a real-life story involving social media and human beings, so you may as well read what happened next.
I read an article about niche comedy, and had a thought. We all know that me thinking thoughts can never come to any good, so you may as well read this post to confirm your (entirely justified) prejudices. For one thing, validation makes you feel good. For another, I make an amazing analogy about car windows you won’t want to miss. Honest.
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!
I have a guest post over at Anne R. Allen’s mighty blog today, where I rework a very old festive song classic and make it all about writers at Christmas. Without writers there would be no Christmas, and without blogs there would be no place to put this sort of daft joke. I know, I can’t believe my luck either.
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.
Tark agrees to make a reappearance on that dreadful Sparkling woman’s blog, much to Mara’s disgust. However, as always, all is not as it seems. Tark has his own agenda, and it’s one which just might change the entire world.
Occasionally, I turn abstract thoughts into shamelessly shallow analogies and set them down in this blog. Nobody ever asked me to do this, which is precisely why I do it. I will now attempt to link driving in heavy traffic with the business of writing. You have been warned.
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.
Having spent most of this year looking for who is to blame for the state of today’s book market and the lamentable fate of authors, nobody was more surprised than me to find out that I was at least partly responsible. Still, thankfully you can’t prove anything these days, least of all my arguments.
It’s HIGH CONCEPT JOKE TIME! A group of unfashionable narrative techniques attend their weekly support group, unaware that impending disaster is about to tear their world apart. Can the Omniscient Third Person Narrator refrain from commenting on everyone else? Will the Prologue From The Future ever get to finish? And will One-Liner Bob get to have the last laugh?
Tara Sparling writes 