Category: Fiction

I have another five hours in this tin can. I have watched The Mechanic (Jason Statham plays Jason Statham in a Jason Statham movie), the same half an hour of the Green Hornet that I watched on the way out

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(This would be the opening of chapter two, had the main character not had second thoughts about who he was and become the protagonist of a completely different book instead. Since I have nothing better to post today, you get

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Gosh, Five days in and I’m already a day behind. I suck. A book review, today. Or, rather, the circumstances behind the book review. Every so often, I do something that I can foresee is going to be a bad

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This post is entirely useless. I mean, you already know that Warren Ellis is writing a free webcomic, issues released every friday, called FreakAngels, don’t you? And you already know he wrote Transmet, and various other important things like the

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It is half past three in the morning. Insomnia sucks. (This week’s AqCom banner brought to you by raindrops and blurred photos) This post does not contain any major spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, though comments might.

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Creative Commons. So, in summery, then. The SFWA, who are a guild of writers, saw that the annoying-yet-apparently-popular site Scribd was hosting a large number of eBooks of works by its members which are still under copyright. They compiled a

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I like this book. This book is a book where one of the main characters is a geeky Browncoat – tautology, yes – it has a Duke Nukem Forever reference (A game now in production for ten years). And it’s

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The next Maelstrom event happens at the same time as the next Harry Potter book. From the head ref, Matt Pennington: (GOD is the Games Operations Desk) Just as a teensy-weensy small point to bear in mind. If anyone so

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J.R.R Tolkien has a new book out (Yes, it’s a new novel based on the same unfinished notes that were used to create The Simarillion. Still)

This Wednesday I’m having the windows in my flat replaced with unixes. Er, double glazing. Since my flat customarily looks like some kind of laundry-bomb-wielding country has decided my carpet is harbouring terrorism, and has started a campaign of rescue

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