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Showing 3538 Columns
Showing 3538 Columns
February 13th, 2020
So many classic couplings spring to mind when we think of the greatest literary love affairs: Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy (or Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy?), Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester, Cathy and Heathcliff, Romeo and Juliet. And not to mention the more torrid romances novels have gifted us, such as Lady Chatterley and Oliver Mellors from Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Emma Bovary and Rodolphe Boulanger from Madame Bovary, and Atonement’s Cecilia Tallis and Robbie Turner.
Read Column →February 11th, 2020
I’m not going to waste time on anyone looking to disagree with the general premise: Men don’t read romance. Yes, SOME men read romance. Because if there’s a thing to be done, there’s a guy out there doing it, doing it with gusto, and I applaud his efforts. But if you know anything about books and readers, you know that romance is not popular with the fellas. Let’s skip the discussion of whether or not this is true. The interesting part is the Why. Why don’t men read romance?
Read Column →February 10th, 2020
February might be one of the coldest and most dreary months, but it’s also a month for love. And no, we’re not talking about the heart-candy-fueled celebration of romance on the 14th. We’re talking, of course, about Library Lovers’ Month! That’s right! From February 1st to the 28th (or 29th for leap years), it’s your time to celebrate libraries of all types — school, private, and public! And we’ve got five tips to help you do exactly that.
Read Column →February 7th, 2020
You poor soul, if you are reading this you are either a writer or romantically involved with a writer. My condolences. Writers are the worst: self-centered, egotistical, insecure, and they write articles on LitReactor self-projecting all their bullshit. But the worst thing about writers is trying to figure out what to get those jerks for Valentine’s Day. Seriously, writers just read and write books and complain on the internet. Besides suffering and rejection, what do writers even enjoy?
Read Column →February 5th, 2020
Dreams, “You’ll never guess who I ran into at the store,” and how much you love your wife: These are the current champions in the Boring Stories Olympics. I’m happy for you. I’m happy you dreamt that you finally hooked up with Samantha Fox. I’m just tickled that your kindergarten teacher recognized you at the store. I’m delighted that you and your wife are doing so well. But none of those are interesting stories.
Read Column →February 4th, 2020
Forget Women in Horror Month. Women don’t want a month. They want a whole year. Hell, they’re taking over the rest of 2020 and probably all the years after that too. I see a few of you nudging each other in the sides with your elbows. I see those smirks and that skepticism. Long has it been believed that the genre of horror is a man's world. Books written by men and read by men. To the untrained eye, it certainly appears that way.
Read Column →February 3rd, 2020
"Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?" —Indiana Jones, Raiders Of The Lost Ark
Read Column →January 31st, 2020
Header images via Thibault Trillet and Harrison Haines The writing convention. That weekend gathering where writers emerge from their offices, bedrooms, pillow forts, and crypts and spend several hundred dollars to socialize with other writers and try to improve their writing skills.
Read Column →January 30th, 2020
Original image via Akshar Dave I don’t know when this myth started, but it seems to be most prevalent amongst those in their late teens and early twenties. The myth of the lone genius writer, undiscovered, but pure and finding their voice in solitude. Blah-blah-bullshit. Myths are fun to make up in fiction, but this particular gem does much more harm than good.
Read Column →January 28th, 2020
Ah, Pride and Prejudice. A classic tale of rivals-to-lovers, it’s a hilarious romp through Regency England which includes everything from a matchmaking mother to a runaway teenage bride to a vengeful suitor. It’s funny in a laugh-out-loud kind of way, incisive in a way that is common to Jane Austen, filled with social commentary that must have struck just as true in 1813 as it does 207 years later, in 2020.
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