BVC Announces Off the Screen by Brenda W. Clough
Apr. 28th, 2026 06:01 am![[syndicated profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/feed.png){kind=small}
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Off the Screen
by Brenda W. Clough
What do you have to give up, to live forever?
In the 22nd century, American democracy is stable at last. DiDem, the incorruptible voting system, means that the will of the people is expressed accurately every day. But Edwin Barbarossa has a Syndrome: eternal life. And now it’s up for a vote. Don’t you want to live forever too? Why don’t we take him apart to see how it works?
But Edwin isn’t fighting for his life on DiDem. Instead he’s up to his elbows saving live theater with the help of Marty Duiker, a refugee from AI entertainment. The plan is to stage the first live musical theater in fifty years. Because that’s where real immortality is: in song and story.
REVIEW
Brenda Clough’s OFF THE SCREEN is an especially timely novel, for all that it’s set about 150 years from now. I love an author who sees our current state of political chaos and corruption and dares to have her characters reboot American democracy. Her solution involves complicated tiered online voting on “Preferendums,” which cover everything from government policies to sociocultural issues.
But that’s not all. In 2026, we’re well aware of the growing influence of AI in culture and society. Clough extrapolates AI’s presence in entertainment to the near extinction of live performances. So her intrepid characters set out to reinvent the musical, which I heartily endorse because, dang it, I do not want a future with no musical theatre in it. The fictional musical (complete with scenes and songs, brava!) she devises also has subtle parallels to the political and personal plots, and its progress from concept to opening is both hilarious and harrowing.
Connecting everything is Edwin Barbarossa, who first appeared in HOW LIKE A GOD. Since he has the gift of immortality, he’s lived through decades of turmoil and change. He’s now writing the score for that musical, with a perspective unlike his colleagues, who grew up in an AI-saturated world. Ed saw Broadway productions as far back as 1981; he met Paul McCartney; he was there at the creation of the Artificial Intelligence Productions. He’s happy to be involved with the musical, except for one thing…the new Preferendum calling for his vivisection to replicate his immortality.
Don’t miss this one, readers. Highly recommended – Laura Frankos Turtledove, author of BROADWAY REVIVAL
______
Brenda W. Clough has been a finalist for both the Hugo and Nebula Awards. She writes SF, fantasy and historical fiction.
Buy Off the Screen in the BVC bookstore
Read a Sample
Prologue
West and south was the Bay of Bengal, east was Myanmar. Bangladesh ended here. The narrow dirt road petered out in a landlocked sea of rice paddies.
When the young rice was planted out, the paddies would shimmer with green. On that day, before planting, the shallow water spread from horizon to horizon. Low earthen dikes sliced the water into ten thousand squares, triangles, and trapezoids. The tropical sunshine shattered on the surface into hot sparks, and the blue sky held the heat in like a lid.
The huts huddled on the tiniest possible spit of dry land, so that no arable ground was wasted. Three wood and straw shacks leaned precariously against each other where a gigantic bo tree stood guard by the road. A gimcrack statue of elephant-headed Ganesha smiled from a shrine between the massive multiple trunks. With fewer than a dozen people, the settlement was too small to have a name.
His arrival was the event of the year. The children found him dozing by the tree at sunset, nearly naked and dusty with travel. They ran shrieking for Grandfather, who came to inspect him. “Who are you?”
The stranger smiled but didn’t speak. “Is he a demon?” Grandmother watched for demons in every leaf and breeze.
“Can you talk?” There was no reply.
“An idiot,” Swapan said in disgust. “Bōkā. We have nothing to spare, beggar. We’re poor people. Go away.”
“Go away, bōkā, go away!” the children shrieked, and the dog joined in, barking and snarling.
But the idiot didn’t understand even that. With her twig broom Aadit shooed him over to the furthest verge of the settlement, right into the dust of the road. He halted there, dumb as the plow ox when the driver steps away. “Treat him like the stray dogs,” Grandfather said. “Don’t feed him, don’t pat him, and he’ll go.” So the family ate their rice and went to bed.
In the morning the idiot still sat under the sheltering tree boughs. Annoyed, Aadit said, “Where did he come from, Burma maybe? Why doesn’t he go back?”
“Someone fed him once,” Grandfather reasoned. “Maybe they died. Or pushed him out, to get him away from the organ-dealers.”
This gave Swapan an idea. “We could sell him ourselves. The dealers pay much money for a healthy person.”
Everyone stared at the bōkā. He was taller than anyone here. His dark hair and beard were strangely curly. He wore tattered blue shorts hitched up with string.
Grandmother limped spryly over to where he sat dumb under the bo tree. She pinched the tanned skin over his ribs to feel the fat. The bōkā laughed, a happy sound, and brushed her bony fingers away. She cackled too, and tickled him again before returning. “Good food went into that meat,” she pronounced.
Aadit wondered, “How much we could get for him?”
No one knew. And how to find an organ-dealer? Perhaps in the nearest town. But Ukhia was two days’ walk. The paddies had to be trodden firm for the young rice plants first. Planting the rice was more real than a vague possible profit from selling the idiot’s organs. “He’ll stay if we feed him,” Grandfather decided. “Just the scraps and bones.”
“And suppose we take him with us to the fields?” Swapan said. “We could get some work out of him until we sell him.”
“A thought from the gods, my son!”
The next morning the children seized the bōkā by the hands. They pushed and dragged him out to the fields, demonstrating over and over how to tread the paddies firm. Gradually he got the idea. He seemed content to slave at the hardest work and share the dog’s scraps. Clearly, he was stricken in the head.
One
That EDWIN AMADEUS BARBAROSSA be subjected to VIVISECTION, in an attempt to replicate his BIOLOGICAL IMMORTALITY.
Date – 06-10-2059
Preferendum number – 2159-24601
Level – White
Number of voters – 100
Yes – 2%
No – 19%
On the Screen – 13%
Off the Screen – 66%
Decision – On the Screen
Marty cycled the cue spot on his temple.
Aspasia turned on the pivot of her elbow, met his glance, and smiled. Impossibly abundant hair was tied with golden bands into a large bunch at the crown of her head. The serpentine chestnut curls cascaded past white slender shoulders. “And you, Heraclitus,” she said. “Do you agree with Pericles’ reasoning?”
Marty said the first words that came into his head. “Heraclitus? You changed it. What a vomitacious name!”
The scene wavered hotly, like delirium. He cycled again. Aspasia gave him a dazzling smile. “And you, Heraclitus – do you agree with Pericles’ reasoning?”
This time Marty noticed the cushions under his belly and elbow. Strange but scrumptious odors tingled in his nostrils, garlicky and rich, beckoning him down the gourmand branch of the plot tree. Verres was always clever with the sensory input.
In his own person Marty was short, only about 1.75 meters. In this ep he was nearly two meters in height and muscular, mostly around the chest and shoulders. He wore the most precarious garment imaginable: eight meters of white woolen cloth rolled loosely around his body. He felt like a badly-wrapped spring roll.
To his annoyance Marty noticed Aspasia admiring the shoulders too. God, was this what Verres was at? To test it, Marty leaned a little nearer on the double dining couch. Aspasia’s sooty lashes drooped over her brilliant blue eyes, and she sipped coyly from her wide shallow winecup.
“Shit.” Marty cycled. Aspasia smiled into his eyes. Before she could speak her line, Marty looked down. And by god, there were her boobs, big as grapefruit and pale as milk, plain to see inside the thin linen himaton. He could even make out her pink nipples, big as a clenched knuckle and crashingly cliched – Doreena Fatim’s unmistakable hooters spliced onto a Caren Contoria body and face. There was a porn branch in the story tree!
With one sweep of his bare arm, he knocked the kylix out of Aspasia’s hand. Pale wine splattered across the low garlanded dining table. “Verres, you crass puddle of pond scum!”
The entire scene wavered again like a fever dream. Verres’s dark face materialized before him, suffused with frustration. “Damn it, Marty, will you just play along, please? Give it a chance for another ten minutes!”
“Why should I?” The virtual control cap vanished as Marty sat up. “You added a porn branch, you money-sucking whore!”
Verres’s black eyes blazed. “I don’t have to take that from you, Marty.”
“Cliches!” Marty shouted. His eyeballs felt like they were popping out of his skull. “I didn’t write this, this hack comedy, this sexcapade!”
“If you would just ride along until we get to the political crisis – all your material is in here, Marty, I swear. Just not in the first scene, okay? After Heraclitus screws her, they come right back to the political crisis. This is a satire, remember? A commentary on the degeneracy of the contemporary arts scene –”
“Sugar-coated with tits and orgies? You can shove it up, Verres! My name is not appearing on this pornographic travesty –”
Verres cut him off. “You signed a contract, Marty. Don’t make me call in Legal.”
“Call in whoever you like. Use my material, and I’ll – I’ll start a Preferendum!”
Americans seemed to spend all their time voting these days. But this statement was so fatuous, so breathtakingly idiotic, that Marty had to escape, before Verres could burst into guffaws. He stormed out of the studio, through the reception room thronged with AIPs, the Artificial Intelligence Production hopefuls, and down the stairs into downtown Phoenix.
His short legs pumping, Marty strode rapidly up the sidewalk. June sunshine blasted the concrete. When Marty finally halted panting at a crosswalk, sweat made darker blots on his blue cotton shirt. A mania for Japanese farmer garb had swept the nation a decade ago, shapeless trousers that tied at the waist and square floppy shirts. Marty had never moved on from it. He had no physique worth flattering, and it saved on decision-making every morning.
Dispassionately now Marty reviewed the mistakes he’d made in the past fifteen minutes. Screaming at Verres didn’t count. In Marty’s considered opinion, Verres had got off easy. Turning Pericles at the Crisis into pedestrian porno AIP!
But storming out in a fury through the crowded reception room hadn’t been smart. Marty was recognizable, perpetually in indigo blue, short, stocky, unfashionably long colorless hair straggling down past his collar. The AIP universe was small but lively. Gossip spread in an eye-blink. For sure the word was already out, that temperamental scripter Marty Duiker had had another volcanic quarrel with his latest AIP producer. Verres Productions stock was probably already dropping, as nervous backers sold their shares.
It had been perhaps a serious error to sever relations with Verres. He was the last AIP producer Marty was on speaking terms with. Why were all AIPs so impossible? But Marty was intelligent enough to realize that when you got a 100% consistent result you could no longer blame chance. The entire industry was plotting against him, in league to thwart his career …
For a couple minutes he indulged the paranoia, wallowing in hazy conspiracy theories. Then common sense asserted itself. The AIP industry couldn’t conspire to order carryout udon, never mind trash a career. It was he, himself, who somehow could never complete a project without coruscating, scarring disagreements. Marty’s work was universally admired, his eps hailed as the vanguard of the movement that would transform AI drama from crass low-end sleaze into a respected art form. But nobody he worked for would ever touch him again.
By now Marty’s breathing had slowed, and his temples no longer beat with anger. The light changed, and he crossed the avenue, staring clearly into his own future. It was a future with no work in it. He was good at it, the best. But even the best scripter in the industry had to be hired by a production firm. Marty was utterly dependent on people who hated his guts. “What a hellish business this is,” he exclaimed bitterly.
Verres had installed Marty in a luxurious little residence hotel in the picturesque part of town. The desk clerk gave him the fisheye. Now that he was off of Pericles Marty realized he’d probably have to move. Probably he should go home to Maine. There was nothing left for him here. How loathsome Arizona was! He rode morosely up the elevator to his room. He recognized it now as nothing but an upholstered prison. I’m in a box. I built it myself.
Marty sat down at the desk. Discerning his presence, the screen angled into the desktop lit up. He stared fixedly at the oval in the center, the All Seeing Eye of cyber life in the 22nd century. The system identified his retinal pattern immediately. The words slid down the screen in time with the vocal: Today is May 31, 2159. Welcome, Citizen, to your Digital Democracy. The calm voice was AI, low, metallic but mellifluous, definitely female. Dexter Ko had wanted DiDem to sound like the Statue of Liberty talking.
The usual mandatory five dipshit Preferendums of the day scrolled onto the screen. He zipped down, scarcely reading them, marking every single one “off the screen.” Some vital question, that he really cared passionately about, might now fail to make the grade, but Marty didn’t care. In his current mood, all of them were off the screen: unimportant to American society.
Then, his democratic obligations fulfilled, Marty could access his usual universes. Like a torrent of turbid storm runoff, the gush of chatter poured out. The first search was always for any mention of his own name in the AIP universes. Already there were 142 hits. He’d only stormed out of Verres Studios an hour ago.
“ – such a spoiled brat –” With a finger flick he skipped. “Another Duiker tantrum –” He skipped. “…don’t understand why you’re surprised, Lorra. Marty’s always had a fuse about 1 mm long –”
Marty looked at that one. “Vilmer Borden? Who is Vilmer Borden, and why does he hate me?” But when the picture came up Marty recognized the face instantly: the murder victim who had been splattered on the steps of a state capitol building in Falling Aluminum Leaves.
“That shitty bit player,” Marty snarled. “Nothing but a redshirt.” He’d never even met this loser! Just pasted the actor’s face onto the AI-animated body of the victim.
But the hot tingle of rage fizzled out. Unutterably depressed, Marty lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Like everything else in modern society, the AIP industry was so fragmented that a person could piss off a few powerful people without much comeback. But if you alienated not one, or a few, but a battalion of influencers in the business, a critical mass began to build. This last incident could be the final straw. Marty was brilliant and he knew it. But a time came when brilliance wasn’t enough.
In fact, he might even be passing beyond the point of mere professional suicide. He shouldn’t have blown off all those Preferendums that had scrolled by. One of them might well have been: “Proposed: That Marty Duiker, scripter of AIP eps, be ostracized.” If that passed, he’d be a non-person – disenfranchised, unemployable, discarded from American society.
He fell asleep to these gloomy musings, and woke with a start when the screen chimed. Would the hotel management actually have the brass to ask him when he planned to vacate this suite? He lunged to wave it to life, shouting, “Well?”
“Marty, you haven’t changed. Not an atom.”
For a moment he was at a loss, but then Marty recognized the rasping humorous voice. “Professor Amundalat?”
“Call me Palana now, dear! You’re not my student anymore. I hear you’re at a loose end now, is that correct?”
“I have some options open,” Marty said warily. Dr. Palana Amundalat had been his professor of drama history. Her sedate scholarly work had nothing to do with the garish and sleazy world of AIP. Marty had enjoyed studying ancient and modern theater with her ten years ago, but his career had gone in very different directions. “Are you still at Cornell?”
“No, I’m running the theater program at the University of Virginia’s Leesburg campus.”
“Where the hell is Leesburg?”
“Oh Marty. It’s one of the outer suburbs of Washington, DC.”
“And you’re working on something new.”
Her laugh sputtered and hacked like a badly tuned engine. “Not at all, dear. It’s quite an antique idea! But there might be something in it for you. Are you coming east any time soon?”
“I was thinking of heading back to Maine,” Marty said. “Tell me more about the project.”
“It might be just the sort of challenge you’d like, dear,” she said with gleeful and maddening coyness. “So old it’s new again. We’re having a major meeting about it next week. So I could squeeze in a chat with you beforehand, if you happen to be passing through.”
Marty muttered a curse as she flicked away. But sleep had fled. He saw exactly what Palana was doing, the old tease: blending flattery with exciting hints to lure him east. It nettled him to realize he was indeed curious. What kind of job could a college professor have for an AIP?
But it wasn’t as if he had anything else on his schedule. He was heading east, home to Maine, anyway. As long as there was any possible avenue out at all, Marty could kid himself he wasn’t really trapped in the box.
Book review: Cuckoo
Apr. 27th, 2026 09:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rocky41_7 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
fffridayAlright, I know it's Monday, but I wrapped up yet another horror novel last night, Gretchen Felker-Martin’s Cuckoo. This book is about a group of kids in 1995 who are sent to a conversion camp, experience The Horrors, and then reunite many years later to have another crack at taking The Horrors down.
First, I have to say the decision to set a horror novel in a conversion camp is kind of galaxy-brained, because it is a place that by design is traumatizing and horrifying. This book will make your skin crawl and your eyes tear up well before the monster enters the scene. There are seven protagonists and they come from all walks of life—gay kids, trans kids, kids from Christian families, kids from Jewish families, white kids, Asian kids, Latino kids, fat kids, mentally ill kids—but they all come from families who were willing to stuff them, sobbing and kicking and begging, into the back of a van and ship them off with a bunch of strangers to be “cured.”
And then there’s the monsters.
Generally I’m not a fan of “body snatcher” kind of horror stories, in the same way I’m not a fan of conspiracy theory stories, but I think it largely works here, because this is what the families want isn’t it? For their problem child to go away for a while and come back a new person, without all those icky traits mom and dad didn’t want. For the teens, watching the queer kids around them succumb to “curing” would feel like a kind of body-snatching—who are you and what have you done with the queer person I knew?
The book is also very gross, and I mean that not pejoratively, but factually. If you have a low tolerance for grossness, this one may not be for you. The monster and its ilk are nasty galore (see minor complaint below) and Felker-Martin does not pull punches about the grossness of human existence, particularly as an angry, horny, repressed teenager in a desperate situation. The characters here puke, piss, make out in public bathrooms, masturbate amidst their sleeping peers, eat pussy during menstruation, and are generally grody in the way teenagers are grody. I think grounding the book in these bodily realities works well given the nature of the horror, which is incredibly personal and physical.
I liked the teens themselves and I felt like they represented a decent spread of attitudes and behaviors from people in circumstances both similar and diverse. They exhibit many of the kinds of irritating and off-putting behaviors you’d expect from a group of young people who’ve already learned they must hide their true selves or be punished for it.
There were a couple of things that didn’t totally land for me though. First, I think the descriptions of the monster(s) are overdone sometimes. Not because it grossed me out too much but because yes okay, we get it, the thing is nasty, it’s ugly, it smells bad, it’s inchoate; can we move on? Also, I never felt like I had a real idea of what the thing(s) looked like, despite all the descriptions.
Second, the book jacket description makes it sound like the majority of the book will be the teens as adults, returning to the horrors they faced when they were young, but two thirds or more of the book is the actual events of the conversion camp. It makes the final third in their adulthood feel somewhat rushed.
However, on the whole, I liked this book and I’d be open to reading more from Felker-Martin. There are so many moments here where you want to hug these kids and take them somewhere safe, and I enjoyed the book’s balance of the power of love with the grim reality of the cost of life.
"The Stethoscope Song", by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Apr. 27th, 2026 10:33 pmmed_cat posting in greatpoetry'Tis Poetry Month...here, have an old favorite of mine:
Title: The Stethoscope Song
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes
Title: The Stethoscope Song
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes
A PROFESSIONAL BALLAD
THERE was a young man in Boston town,
He bought him a stethoscope nice and new,
All mounted and finished and polished down,
With an ivory cap and a stopper too.
It happened a spider within did crawl,
And spun him a web of ample size,
Wherein there chanced one day to fall
A couple of very imprudent flies.
The first was a bottle-fly, big and blue,
The second was smaller, and thin and long;
So there was a concert between the two,
Like an octave flute and a tavern gong.
Now being from Paris but recently,
This fine young man would show his skill;
And so they gave him, his hand to try,
A hospital patient extremely ill.
(no subject)
Apr. 27th, 2026 07:04 pmthedarlingonei have seen my pcp. i have referrals to a bunch of specialists (endocrinologist, pulmonologist, podiatrist, ophthalmologist, gynecologist, cardiologist), i have had my blood drawn to see how my meds need adjusted (my a1c and cholesterol are probably horrendous since i've been off those meds for most of a year), i have had an ekg for tachycardia because my pulse rate was stuck around 130 (it came back with no obvious abnormalities other than being stupid fast, hence the cardiologist referral), and most importantly i have had my back x-rayed to see if i have any slipped discs or anything similar causing my back pain.
preliminary results on the x-rays say everything looks normal. (i am unsurprised, previous imaging hasn't found anything either.) pcp will decide on wednesday at my telemed followup whether to refer me to physical therapy or an orthopedic specialist. i am hoping for the specialist because i have had pt for my back twice already and none of the exercises or stretches seem to be helping (i did tell my pcp this so hopefully it works out.)
my corset pattern also arrives wednesday or thursday but if i get a referral to an orthopedist i'll probably hold off on any further corsetry expenses until i find out whether i get prescribed something like a medical back brace covered by insurance. (if it is my sacroiliac joints being the problem, one treatment is a special hip-and-back brace that my medicaid apparently covers at 2 per year.) probably still going to cut it out and do a fitting with a paper mockup though because i like to know my options.
now i am being flat on a heating pad for 3-4 business days until i recover from the being vertical for four hours straight. this is so fucking stupid.
preliminary results on the x-rays say everything looks normal. (i am unsurprised, previous imaging hasn't found anything either.) pcp will decide on wednesday at my telemed followup whether to refer me to physical therapy or an orthopedic specialist. i am hoping for the specialist because i have had pt for my back twice already and none of the exercises or stretches seem to be helping (i did tell my pcp this so hopefully it works out.)
my corset pattern also arrives wednesday or thursday but if i get a referral to an orthopedist i'll probably hold off on any further corsetry expenses until i find out whether i get prescribed something like a medical back brace covered by insurance. (if it is my sacroiliac joints being the problem, one treatment is a special hip-and-back brace that my medicaid apparently covers at 2 per year.) probably still going to cut it out and do a fitting with a paper mockup though because i like to know my options.
now i am being flat on a heating pad for 3-4 business days until i recover from the being vertical for four hours straight. this is so fucking stupid.
New Year's Resolutions and Other Goals
Apr. 27th, 2026 06:06 pmysabetwordsmith posting in ![[site community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/comm_staff.png){kind=small}
dw_community_promogoals_on_dw is a community for people who like goals and goal setting. A key focus is New Year's resolutions, that being among the most popular contexts for such activities. Although the most common time is January 1, "new year" can also refer to other calendars or cultures, whatever works for you. Alternatively, just pick a time that works for you and go for it. You can introduce yourself or make new friends here. We talk about different goal systems, pros and cons of resolutions, arts and crafts for tracking goals, human psychology, and more. You can share your resolutions or other goals. There are weekly check-in posts in January, and monthly ones in the rest of the year, for folks to talk about their accomplishments. December-January is the most active period, and it starts ramping up in November as lots of people begin thinking about their goals for the next year.
2026 Free Printable Calendars, Planners, and More is the guide post for this years goal-setting activities. For more details on relevant topics, see "Things You Can Talk About Here."
( Read more... )
Newcomers
Apr. 27th, 2026 06:01 pmysabetwordsmith posting in dw_community_promonewcomers is a community for people who are just getting started on Dreamwidth, in the tradition of twitter_refugees and reddit_refugees. This community supports former users of other platforms who are moving to Dreamwidth because their previous platform has become untenable or has closed. As such, it will increase activity with each wave of new users, in hopes of helping them get settled in Dreamwidth so they want to stick around. It also serves previous users returning after a long hiatus, people who want to do more with a Dreamwidth blog that was only intermittent, or anyone else who wants help connecting and figuring out how to use this venue.( Read more... )
Monday Word: Ansible
Apr. 27th, 2026 06:12 pmstonepicnicking_okapi posting in 1word1dayansible [an-suh-buhl]
noun
(in science fiction) a device for instantaneous communication, or other purposes, across cosmic distances
examples
1. I could show them the ansible, but it didn’t make a very convincing Alien Artifact, being so incomprehensible to fit in with hoax as well as with reality. The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin
2. "What is an anisble, Shevek?"
"An idea." He smiled without much humor. "It will be a device that will permit communication without any time interval between two points in space." The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin
origin
Shortening of answerable; coined by Ursula K. Le Guin in her novel Rocannon's World (1966)
noun
(in science fiction) a device for instantaneous communication, or other purposes, across cosmic distances
examples
1. I could show them the ansible, but it didn’t make a very convincing Alien Artifact, being so incomprehensible to fit in with hoax as well as with reality. The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin
2. "What is an anisble, Shevek?"
"An idea." He smiled without much humor. "It will be a device that will permit communication without any time interval between two points in space." The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin
origin
Shortening of answerable; coined by Ursula K. Le Guin in her novel Rocannon's World (1966)
Warm Heart #22 [The Fulcrum]
Apr. 27th, 2026 03:10 pmparadoxcase posting in rainbowficName: A Failed Matchmaker
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Warm Heart #22: Sorry
Styles and Supplies: None
Word Count: 530
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Setsiana, Liselye
In-Universe Date: 1912.5.4.6
Summary: Setsiana runs into Liselye.
Note: Sorry, I might need to leave off here for a bit. I wanted to get this posted, because this is the last post I need for the February-May challenge, but I'm in the middle of moving now, so I probably won't have much time for writing in the next couple weeks.
( A Failed Matchmaker )
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Warm Heart #22: Sorry
Styles and Supplies: None
Word Count: 530
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Setsiana, Liselye
In-Universe Date: 1912.5.4.6
Summary: Setsiana runs into Liselye.
Note: Sorry, I might need to leave off here for a bit. I wanted to get this posted, because this is the last post I need for the February-May challenge, but I'm in the middle of moving now, so I probably won't have much time for writing in the next couple weeks.
( A Failed Matchmaker )
[ SECRET POST #7052 ]
Apr. 27th, 2026 04:53 pmcase posting in fandomsecrets⌈ Secret Post #7052 ⌋
Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.
01.
( More! )
Notes:
Secrets Left to Post: 02 pages, 27 secrets from Secret Submission Post #1007.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 0 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.
Bonus Challenge: Mini Mix Meme
Apr. 28th, 2026 06:39 ammatsushima posting in fanmix_monthly
mini mix meme
As part of
3weeks4dreamwidth, fanmix_monthly is doing a mini mix/music recommendation meme!Comment with a fandom, ship, character, theme, etc. prompt and other fanmixers will reply with a song(s) that remind them of that. (You can fill your own prompts, too.)
This was inspired by the
seasons_of_fandom Challenge #108: Interactive Fanmix challenge in October 2025.
Review – Boring Postcards USA
Apr. 27th, 2026 04:25 pmthebibliophibian_feed
Boring Postcards USA
by Martin Parr
Genres: Non-fictionPages: 176
Rating:
Synopsis:The author has now turned his attention to the USA with 160 of the dullest postcards from the land of opportunity. The book provides not only amusement, but a commentary on how America has changed, and a celebration of those places that have been forgotten by conventional history.
Someone highlighted Martin Parr’s Boring Postcards USA to me because pretty much everyone knows about my Postcrossing hobby (and the fact that I work there!) by this point, ahaha.
Even though it’s about “boring” postcards, it’s actually quite fun to look at and wonder about why the postcards were made, who might have sent/received them, etc — they’re mundane subjects, but there is interest there, especially looking back on the 50s/60s/70s cars, interior design, etc, that show up in the images (and of course as a non-American).
Some of them aren’t that boring, depending on your point of view: I know plenty of Postcrossers who’d love to receive them!
Rating: 3/5 (“liked it”)
Fantasy with Friends: Future Classics
Apr. 27th, 2026 11:23 amthebibliophibian_feed
Uhoh, Monday again! That snuck up on me. Once more it’s time for a Fantasy With Friends discussion post! The prompts are hosted at Pages Unbound, and this week’s is about contemporary fantasies that might be set to become classics:
What contemporary fantasy works do you think could become future classics?
Aaaand I’m pretty stumped. I feel like I have a better handle on it for SF, where e.g. Ann Leckie’s Imperial Radch books and Martha Wells’ Murderbot seem likely to stick in people’s minds. But though I read more fantasy than SF, I’m not sure — maybe it’s because I read more fantasy, and not just the standouts? And also maybe because I’m often running a little behind: due to mood reading, I’m not always reading the latest, though I’ve improved on that in the last year and a half.
But really, looking at my shelves at fantasy from the last decade or so, some of the books I thought were really great have already dipped well out of sight into backlists. I suspect as well as quality, there’ll be a degree of visibility required: books that have been pushed hard and made it onto a lot of shelves might have the sticking power in people’s brains because of the saturation of them. Maybe that means the early cosy fantasies like Travis Baldree’s Legends & Lattes will be considered the classics of the current time? Some of the romantasies?
My tongue’s a little bit in my cheek here, but given these books spurred a change in the genre/the solidification of a subgenre, that’s a reason they might genuinely survive, if the subgenre stays strong (even if it fades back into the background as other trends come along).
If I could pick what will become a classic, I think Marie Brennan’s A Natural History of Dragons and sequels would be good choices, Katherine Addison’s The Goblin Emperor, Nghi Vo’s Singing Hills novellas, some of T. Kingfisher’s (maybe Clockwork Boys?)… but sadly, I don’t get to pick. Which is probably good, because I know I must be forgetting many absolutely wonderful books that I’d absolutely endorse.
Still, I kinda like that question. If you could pick a contemporary fantasy to become a classic, just based on your own fondness for it, what would you pick?
ETA: Made slight updates to the wording to make it clear where I’m not entirely serious.
BVC Eats: Chorizo empanadas
Apr. 27th, 2026 06:01 ambvc_feedJEN’S CHORIZO EMPANADAS
Quick’n’dirty, delicious, no leftovers!
Makes four to six empanadas.
Preheat oven to 350 or 375oF
Microwave 1 lb chorizo for 4 to 8 minutes but do not drain off the greasy liquid.
Make a rich pie crust:
1-1/2 cups flour
1/2 cup yellow corn meal
1/3 c sugar
1 t salt
2/3 cup butter or a bit more (up to ¾ cup)
5 to 7 T cold water
Mix the dry ingredients well. Cut the butter into the dry ingredients until it resembles coarse crumbs. Add cold water sparingly, mixing gently, rather than beating or kneading.
Break pie dough into clumps and roll out one clump at a time on a floured pastry cloth or floured board. (When I roll out most piecrust dough, I flour the cloth with half-flour, half-cornmeal. This gives the piecrust a little extra crunchy “tooth” that grabs butter and makes it better.) Make rectangles (not squares) about 4 inches x 6 inches, not too thin. Thicker is better.
Spoon about 2T of the chorizo, with its juice, onto one half of each pie dough rectangle. Fold over and crimp shut. Place on a baking sheet.
Brush the tops of the empanadas with melted butter. Don’t be chintzy with the butter.
Bake at 350 to 375oF until the crust is done.
Hint:
For extra richness, I brush on melted butter before baking, then twice or three times during the baking.
If you can’t take the heat of picante chorizo, get the no picante version. The sweetness of the buttery pie crust offsets the spiciness of the chorizo.
You will like these just as much as my Mexican Casserole, but unlike the casserole, this recipe gives you only four to six spicy empanadas with an irresistable flaky, browned-butter crust and a juicy chorizo center. The finite number of empanadas means you can overeat, but you won’t actually burst like that guy in the Monty Python movie.
Review – Murder at Gulls Nest
Apr. 26th, 2026 10:30 pmthebibliophibian_feed
Murder at Gulls Nest
by Jess Kidd
Genres: Crime, MysteryPages: 336
Series: Nora Breen Investigates #1
Rating:
Synopsis:The first in a sparkling new 1950s seaside mystery series, featuring sharp-eyed former nun Nora Breen.
Somewhere in the north, a religious community prepares for Vespers. Here on the southeast coast, Nora Breen prepares for braised liver and a dining room full of strangers.
Nora Breen arrives inconspicuously in the seaside town of Gore-on-Sea, and takes a room at the Gulls Nest guest house. Supper is at 6 o'clock sharp, and there will be no admittance after 9 - a routine Nora likes, as it reminds her of her former life as a nun.
As she settles in, she is careful not to reveal too much about herself to the other guests. Instinct tells her it's better to watch and listen. Because Nora is not here on a whim. She has a disappearance to investigate.
Before long, Nora realises that she may not be the only resident hiding something at Gulls Nest. To untangle the web of secrets and deceit, she'll need to do more than just observe. Does she have what it takes to stop a killer?
Jess Kidd’s Murder at Gulls Nest surprised me by being written in present tense; it’s not something you see a lot, and it didn’t always 100% work for me — I like it in short fiction, but I find it hard to sustain in my own writing, and at times I thought there was a strain here too. I also thought there were some very weird turns of phrase that felt like someone reaching for half-remembered words and applying them wrongly; the one I wrote down while reading was “pertaining to be [another person]”. I think Kidd needed ‘pretending’ here — or some other phrasing entirely.
As for the story itself, well: I enjoyed the choice of protagonist/amateur detective. Nora is an ex-nun who left her convent in order to discover what happened to another ex-nun who had left because of her health and suddenly stopped writing to Nora. She assumes foul play pretty much from the start, and it feels weird how reckless she is about the way she reveals her identity to some and not others. The narrative doesn’t even remark on that, there aren’t any consequences, which honestly makes it feel like the author’s oversight at times.
I found Nora in general to be a bit… inconsistent? I can understand that to a degree we’re seeing someone breaking out of a mould and learning who she is outside of the convent, but some of her actions feel erratic — like throwing her shoes at the duty sergeant, and letting herself being photographed dancing around wearing only a curtain — and I had trouble reconciling it all as believable variation in the behaviour of a single fully compos mentis person with control over her own actions, even though I’m certain we’re supposed to believe that she is.
The same applied to other characters too, and particularly Rideout, who seems to entirely lack professionalism. When other details felt grittily realistic, that kind of cavalier attitude to keeping civilians out of police work felt weird.
I think overall it all just… didn’t quite come together for me. It was entertaining, and the mystery hung together alright, but something was just a bit off in the narrative.
Rating: 3/5 (“liked it”)
[ SECRET POST #7051 ]
Apr. 26th, 2026 05:10 pmcase posting in fandomsecrets⌈ Secret Post #7051 ⌋
Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.
01.
( More! )
Notes:
Secrets Left to Post: 02 pages, 32 secrets from Secret Submission Post #1007.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 0 - too big ], [ 1 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.
New Community for Gifs
Apr. 26th, 2026 05:49 pmmaevedarcy posting in dw_community_promo
Are you a tumblr user moving to DW who misses moving images? Are you a seasoned DW user who wants to try their hand in a new medium? Do you have an extensive gif catalog that you'd like to show off? Do you like gifmaking and want to share your knowledge to others? Then this comm might be for you!
