The Book of Dust (and my tote bag lust)

“Go places without actually moving.” These words appear on one of the tote bags I got at BookCon. I love the quote because it’s true—books take us to all sorts of wonderful, terrifying, heart-ripping, mind-teasing, entertaining and enlightening… places, and the only thing we must do is read them…

…unless you like to read your favorite books before they are officially out…

…if that’s the case, then there might be a serious amount of moving involved…

…but if you are anything like moi—and Rommy and my Piano Man and the rest of the word lovers who attended BookCon 2017—then you won’t mind the walking one bit.

Let’s see, I got a copy of The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman, which contains a few pages from The Book of Dust, a new volume in His Dark Materials. Inside the book, I also found a lovely print that celebrates the upcoming publication. Yes, I’m all giggles.

There were other yummy books, too… even some doubling for sharing with you later…

…plus miscellaneous goodies…

…that include audio and electronic books yum for sharing with you… now. Just tell me which one you would like, and it’ll be yours. First tell, first serve… until they are gone.

I will even face my deep greed and the wrath emanating out of my Tote Bag Lust, and share one of my delightful totes, when the sharing of the printed books comes. Unless you are wishing for my banned books or A Clock Work Orange totes. “Mine!”

Oh, and yes… I am an unremorseful ellipsisoholic.

And if you haven’t joined the Beautiful Freaks Fest, well… why not? It will be freaking fantastic and beautifully festive. Emma told me. And I believe in the wisdom of her Groovy Gothic ways. Just follow the link, and help us celebrate wonder and weirdness.

She’s So Full of Herself

I was going to bed and my stomach laughed at my presumptuous ways. So, I decided to stop trying to dream with my eyes closed, and chose to spend time leafing through bookish dreams instead—books never laugh at me (too loudly *cough*).

Cinderella Skeleton, by Robert D. San Souci, came first. This Cinderella story makes more sense to me than most. I mean, as the picture below suggests, Prince Charming is obviously a forensic anthropologist with a thing for women’s bones… and shoes, which completely explains why he can identify his soulmate by a dismembered limb and not, for instance, by the depth of her conversation or unforgettable eye sockets.

I left the fairy tale to visit The Devil’s Rose, by BROM. As always, his words and art are dark and delicious. This particular book includes very few images with flesh on them, so I decided to show you this one… Well, part of it, since the rest is drenched in blood, and on the way to also being defleshed—dearest BROM delights in creepy.

Speaking of bloody and creepy and nailed, my delicious Piano Man got me a copy of Harlequin Valentine, written by Neil Gaiman and illustrated by John Bolton. Yep, he loves me that much… Nothing says I love you like Gaiman, nails and bloody hearts.

And because everything deserves loving and cuddling, I read a few poems from The Sex Lives of Monsters, by Helen Marshall. It was a present from Rommy—it seems that she, too, knows me. I must remember to ask her how long it took her to realize that I’m extremely fond of giant eyeballs, ribcages, spines and dreamcatchers.

After three hours of book-dreaming, my stomach was still being a royal bastard. So, I walked to the terrace to talk to my plants in the dark… just to find out that the moon was completely full of herself, and the darkness had to dance in the shadows…

The dark and the moon playing their natural games made me smile. With a grin on my tired face, I went inside to collect some flower petals I had been drying for a day or 3, and offered them to the moon. She didn’t wink in appreciation or anything, but my tummy was finally ready to let me sleep.

How do you capture sleep when it does not want to play, my Wicked Luvs?