#novels — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #novels, aggregated by home.social.
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WHAT AM I READING?
Just finished Ancient Rome by Simon Baker. It stuck with me after I put it down, the mark of a good book. So reminiscent of our current times (despite being over 2000 years ago) and our power hungry, self-centred leaders. A lesson in why we really don't need to anoint a leader for any of our societies.Started The Midnight Train by Matt Haig. So far: like the Midnight Library but slightly better story.
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Edwidge Danticat on Haitian Americans in a Time of Peril
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Edwidge Danticat on Haitian Americans in a Time of Peril
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Edwidge Danticat on Haitian Americans in a Time of Peril
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Edwidge Danticat on Haitian Americans in a Time of Peril
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Edwidge Danticat on Haitian Americans in a Time of Peril
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Well that is it. This is the last entry/segment/piece of Beware the Ills. Thank you everyone who has seen this through till the end. It meant a lot to me. It was my first and favorite book. What a story.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #novels #horror #fantasy #darkfantasy #steampunk
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/04/beware-the-ills-part-59/
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Well that is it. This is the last entry/segment/piece of Beware the Ills. Thank you everyone who has seen this through till the end. It meant a lot to me. It was my first and favorite book. What a story.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #novels #horror #fantasy #darkfantasy #steampunk
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/04/beware-the-ills-part-59/
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Well that is it. This is the last entry/segment/piece of Beware the Ills. Thank you everyone who has seen this through till the end. It meant a lot to me. It was my first and favorite book. What a story.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #novels #horror #fantasy #darkfantasy #steampunk
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/04/beware-the-ills-part-59/
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Well that is it. This is the last entry/segment/piece of Beware the Ills. Thank you everyone who has seen this through till the end. It meant a lot to me. It was my first and favorite book. What a story.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #novels #horror #fantasy #darkfantasy #steampunk
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/04/beware-the-ills-part-59/
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Well that is it. This is the last entry/segment/piece of Beware the Ills. Thank you everyone who has seen this through till the end. It meant a lot to me. It was my first and favorite book. What a story.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #novels #horror #fantasy #darkfantasy #steampunk
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/04/beware-the-ills-part-59/
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Beware the Ills: Part 59
I can feel the opening, a coolness spreading into my abdomen. It was in his sleeve. I have been stabbed, a dagger, rusty and covered with poison. It belonged to them, his people from long ago.
He must’ve dug it up here in the graveyard one day.
I’m on one knee. The poison’s working already. I need to leave here.
Of all places, I can’t die here.
She’s running over to me. She’s safe. She stops to look at Haukter and then back at me. She reaches for his hood, and mangled fur.
“Don’t touch him,” I manage to whisper. It’ll be hard to speak.
She looks at me with a strange mixture of surprise.
“I don’t want to know how he looks. Just leave him alone.”
More snow falling, the wind whirls quietly. She steps away from him and approaches me. I can hear the waves, I swear it.
“Please, please, help me get to the shore.”
I don’t think I’ll be able to talk anymore.
I lean on her as we walk. She’s strong and gentle against my shaky feet. I use every bit of strength to keep the blackness of the poison away. She’s walking and pulling me as fast as she can.
Soon we’re on the hills next to the shore. Our walk through the forest was a blur, a blood induced haze. I have lost my concept of time.
But I can still hear the lovely waves roaring.
She walks me to the edge of the forest where the ground slants down onto the white sand. She stops there, staring at the lapping black waves. She helps me sit down against a tree above the sand. Snow falls on us as we rest against its grey trunk. The evening sun has started to vanish above the lines of sea-clouds.
“Bring me to the water please?” I ask feebly. It’s rather embarrassing, my weakness. I’m not in a position for vanity. I will never again be in the position for it. She kneels down beside me and takes the black glove off my right hand. There’s blood on it, it’s soaked through. She holds my hand with a gentle, trembling softness. The invaders leftover ships bob on the black water like memories. She looks out at the shore and dark sea with dreaming eyes.
“No, you can’t get your way,” she says. She smiles behind her lips. I hope she can return safely.
I smile truthfully, and happily. I didn’t expect this kindness of not being alone. More blood-haze and faraway thoughts fill my inner eyes. Memories of dying faces, the Shingles, and those tortured Ills brush by me like phantoms. My heart feels heavy for them, and my mind can’t focus on anything, just all matters of past and present. I think of myself, and all my actions, and it’s as if two minds were within me. The one killing in the open and the other deep within me hoping and praying.
I would change.
Snow is falling. The waves roll back and forth against the sand endlessly.
The water looks so cold, so black, and so limitless.
It is beautiful.
#books #darkfantasy #fantasy #fiction #horror #novels #reading #steampunk #writing -
Beware the Ills: Part 59
I can feel the opening, a coolness spreading into my abdomen. It was in his sleeve. I have been stabbed, a dagger, rusty and covered with poison. It belonged to them, his people from long ago.
He must’ve dug it up here in the graveyard one day.
I’m on one knee. The poison’s working already. I need to leave here.
Of all places, I can’t die here.
She’s running over to me. She’s safe. She stops to look at Haukter and then back at me. She reaches for his hood, and mangled fur.
“Don’t touch him,” I manage to whisper. It’ll be hard to speak.
She looks at me with a strange mixture of surprise.
“I don’t want to know how he looks. Just leave him alone.”
More snow falling, the wind whirls quietly. She steps away from him and approaches me. I can hear the waves, I swear it.
“Please, please, help me get to the shore.”
I don’t think I’ll be able to talk anymore.
I lean on her as we walk. She’s strong and gentle against my shaky feet. I use every bit of strength to keep the blackness of the poison away. She’s walking and pulling me as fast as she can.
Soon we’re on the hills next to the shore. Our walk through the forest was a blur, a blood induced haze. I have lost my concept of time.
But I can still hear the lovely waves roaring.
She walks me to the edge of the forest where the ground slants down onto the white sand. She stops there, staring at the lapping black waves. She helps me sit down against a tree above the sand. Snow falls on us as we rest against its grey trunk. The evening sun has started to vanish above the lines of sea-clouds.
“Bring me to the water please?” I ask feebly. It’s rather embarrassing, my weakness. I’m not in a position for vanity. I will never again be in the position for it. She kneels down beside me and takes the black glove off my right hand. There’s blood on it, it’s soaked through. She holds my hand with a gentle, trembling softness. The invaders leftover ships bob on the black water like memories. She looks out at the shore and dark sea with dreaming eyes.
“No, you can’t get your way,” she says. She smiles behind her lips. I hope she can return safely.
I smile truthfully, and happily. I didn’t expect this kindness of not being alone. More blood-haze and faraway thoughts fill my inner eyes. Memories of dying faces, the Shingles, and those tortured Ills brush by me like phantoms. My heart feels heavy for them, and my mind can’t focus on anything, just all matters of past and present. I think of myself, and all my actions, and it’s as if two minds were within me. The one killing in the open and the other deep within me hoping and praying.
I would change.
Snow is falling. The waves roll back and forth against the sand endlessly.
The water looks so cold, so black, and so limitless.
It is beautiful.
#books #darkfantasy #fantasy #fiction #horror #novels #reading #steampunk #writing -
Beware the Ills: Part 59
I can feel the opening, a coolness spreading into my abdomen. It was in his sleeve. I have been stabbed, a dagger, rusty and covered with poison. It belonged to them, his people from long ago.
He must’ve dug it up here in the graveyard one day.
I’m on one knee. The poison’s working already. I need to leave here.
Of all places, I can’t die here.
She’s running over to me. She’s safe. She stops to look at Haukter and then back at me. She reaches for his hood, and mangled fur.
“Don’t touch him,” I manage to whisper. It’ll be hard to speak.
She looks at me with a strange mixture of surprise.
“I don’t want to know how he looks. Just leave him alone.”
More snow falling, the wind whirls quietly. She steps away from him and approaches me. I can hear the waves, I swear it.
“Please, please, help me get to the shore.”
I don’t think I’ll be able to talk anymore.
I lean on her as we walk. She’s strong and gentle against my shaky feet. I use every bit of strength to keep the blackness of the poison away. She’s walking and pulling me as fast as she can.
Soon we’re on the hills next to the shore. Our walk through the forest was a blur, a blood induced haze. I have lost my concept of time.
But I can still hear the lovely waves roaring.
She walks me to the edge of the forest where the ground slants down onto the white sand. She stops there, staring at the lapping black waves. She helps me sit down against a tree above the sand. Snow falls on us as we rest against its grey trunk. The evening sun has started to vanish above the lines of sea-clouds.
“Bring me to the water please?” I ask feebly. It’s rather embarrassing, my weakness. I’m not in a position for vanity. I will never again be in the position for it. She kneels down beside me and takes the black glove off my right hand. There’s blood on it, it’s soaked through. She holds my hand with a gentle, trembling softness. The invaders leftover ships bob on the black water like memories. She looks out at the shore and dark sea with dreaming eyes.
“No, you can’t get your way,” she says. She smiles behind her lips. I hope she can return safely.
I smile truthfully, and happily. I didn’t expect this kindness of not being alone. More blood-haze and faraway thoughts fill my inner eyes. Memories of dying faces, the Shingles, and those tortured Ills brush by me like phantoms. My heart feels heavy for them, and my mind can’t focus on anything, just all matters of past and present. I think of myself, and all my actions, and it’s as if two minds were within me. The one killing in the open and the other deep within me hoping and praying.
I would change.
Snow is falling. The waves roll back and forth against the sand endlessly.
The water looks so cold, so black, and so limitless.
It is beautiful.
#books #darkfantasy #fantasy #fiction #horror #novels #reading #steampunk #writing -
Beware the Ills: Part 59
I can feel the opening, a coolness spreading into my abdomen. It was in his sleeve. I have been stabbed, a dagger, rusty and covered with poison. It belonged to them, his people from long ago.
He must’ve dug it up here in the graveyard one day.
I’m on one knee. The poison’s working already. I need to leave here.
Of all places, I can’t die here.
She’s running over to me. She’s safe. She stops to look at Haukter and then back at me. She reaches for his hood, and mangled fur.
“Don’t touch him,” I manage to whisper. It’ll be hard to speak.
She looks at me with a strange mixture of surprise.
“I don’t want to know how he looks. Just leave him alone.”
More snow falling, the wind whirls quietly. She steps away from him and approaches me. I can hear the waves, I swear it.
“Please, please, help me get to the shore.”
I don’t think I’ll be able to talk anymore.
I lean on her as we walk. She’s strong and gentle against my shaky feet. I use every bit of strength to keep the blackness of the poison away. She’s walking and pulling me as fast as she can.
Soon we’re on the hills next to the shore. Our walk through the forest was a blur, a blood induced haze. I have lost my concept of time.
But I can still hear the lovely waves roaring.
She walks me to the edge of the forest where the ground slants down onto the white sand. She stops there, staring at the lapping black waves. She helps me sit down against a tree above the sand. Snow falls on us as we rest against its grey trunk. The evening sun has started to vanish above the lines of sea-clouds.
“Bring me to the water please?” I ask feebly. It’s rather embarrassing, my weakness. I’m not in a position for vanity. I will never again be in the position for it. She kneels down beside me and takes the black glove off my right hand. There’s blood on it, it’s soaked through. She holds my hand with a gentle, trembling softness. The invaders leftover ships bob on the black water like memories. She looks out at the shore and dark sea with dreaming eyes.
“No, you can’t get your way,” she says. She smiles behind her lips. I hope she can return safely.
I smile truthfully, and happily. I didn’t expect this kindness of not being alone. More blood-haze and faraway thoughts fill my inner eyes. Memories of dying faces, the Shingles, and those tortured Ills brush by me like phantoms. My heart feels heavy for them, and my mind can’t focus on anything, just all matters of past and present. I think of myself, and all my actions, and it’s as if two minds were within me. The one killing in the open and the other deep within me hoping and praying.
I would change.
Snow is falling. The waves roll back and forth against the sand endlessly.
The water looks so cold, so black, and so limitless.
It is beautiful.
#books #darkfantasy #fantasy #fiction #horror #novels #reading #steampunk #writing -
Beware the Ills: Part 59
I can feel the opening, a coolness spreading into my abdomen. It was in his sleeve. I have been stabbed, a dagger, rusty and covered with poison. It belonged to them, his people from long ago.
He must’ve dug it up here in the graveyard one day.
I’m on one knee. The poison’s working already. I need to leave here.
Of all places, I can’t die here.
She’s running over to me. She’s safe. She stops to look at Haukter and then back at me. She reaches for his hood, and mangled fur.
“Don’t touch him,” I manage to whisper. It’ll be hard to speak.
She looks at me with a strange mixture of surprise.
“I don’t want to know how he looks. Just leave him alone.”
More snow falling, the wind whirls quietly. She steps away from him and approaches me. I can hear the waves, I swear it.
“Please, please, help me get to the shore.”
I don’t think I’ll be able to talk anymore.
I lean on her as we walk. She’s strong and gentle against my shaky feet. I use every bit of strength to keep the blackness of the poison away. She’s walking and pulling me as fast as she can.
Soon we’re on the hills next to the shore. Our walk through the forest was a blur, a blood induced haze. I have lost my concept of time.
But I can still hear the lovely waves roaring.
She walks me to the edge of the forest where the ground slants down onto the white sand. She stops there, staring at the lapping black waves. She helps me sit down against a tree above the sand. Snow falls on us as we rest against its grey trunk. The evening sun has started to vanish above the lines of sea-clouds.
“Bring me to the water please?” I ask feebly. It’s rather embarrassing, my weakness. I’m not in a position for vanity. I will never again be in the position for it. She kneels down beside me and takes the black glove off my right hand. There’s blood on it, it’s soaked through. She holds my hand with a gentle, trembling softness. The invaders leftover ships bob on the black water like memories. She looks out at the shore and dark sea with dreaming eyes.
“No, you can’t get your way,” she says. She smiles behind her lips. I hope she can return safely.
I smile truthfully, and happily. I didn’t expect this kindness of not being alone. More blood-haze and faraway thoughts fill my inner eyes. Memories of dying faces, the Shingles, and those tortured Ills brush by me like phantoms. My heart feels heavy for them, and my mind can’t focus on anything, just all matters of past and present. I think of myself, and all my actions, and it’s as if two minds were within me. The one killing in the open and the other deep within me hoping and praying.
I would change.
Snow is falling. The waves roll back and forth against the sand endlessly.
The water looks so cold, so black, and so limitless.
It is beautiful.
#fantasy #horror #writing #books #novels #fiction #steampunk #reading #darkfantasy -
Writers and readers of Mastodon! What are your favorite 'guilty pleasure' fantasy, horror, or sci-fi tropes?
A big one for me is magic systems that require a flowchart to understand 😅
#writing #reading #books #fantasy #scifi #horror #novels #tropes #guiltypleasure #fantasybooks #scifibooks #horrorbooks
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I'm currently reading "Middlemarch" by George Eliot -- the pen name of English author Mary Ann Evans -- at night to help me fall asleep, and I'm noticing that the length of the sentences in my Mastodon posts has gotten longer and longer as a result.
#Middlemarch #GeorgeEliot #EnglishLiterature #Novels -
“An elegant disorder is perfectly distinct from a vulgar confusion.” https://library.hrmtc.com/2026/05/26/an-elegant-disorder-is-perfectly-distinct-from-a-vulgar-confusion/ #AdulteryFiction #AngleterreMœursEtCoutumes19eSieCleRomansNouvellesEtc #AttraitSexuelRomansNouvellesEtc #BisexualWomenFiction #book #ConflitsConjugauxRomansNouvellesEtc #elegantDisorder #EnglandSocialLifeAndCustoms19thCenturyFiction #fiction #GrandeBretagneHistoire18371901VictoriaRomansNouvellesEtc #GreatBritainHistoryVictoria18371901Fiction #historicalFiction #horror #IndustrialRevolutionFiction #KatDunn #LGBTQBooks #LGBTQIAFiction #MaritalConflictFiction #Novels #perfectlyDistinct #QueerFiction #quote #ReVolutionIndustrielleRomansNouvellesEtc #romance #RomanceFiction #romans #SexualAttractionFiction #VampireFiction #VampireHorror #VampireRomances #VampiresFiction #VampiresRomansNouvellesEtc #vulgarConfusion -
#author #readers #feedback #author #betareader
@reading @bookstodon @books
@joinin#ReadingMemes #Meme #Memes #ReadAllTheBooks #Humor #Humour #Funny
#Reading #Readers #ReadersOfMastodon #ReadingCommunity
#Book #Books #Novel #Novels #Fiction
#Bookwyrm #Bookworm #Bookstodon #BookLove #bookcoverdesign #booklovers #bookillustrations #bookcoverartist -
#author #readers #feedback #author #betareader
@reading @bookstodon @books
@joinin#ReadingMemes #Meme #Memes #ReadAllTheBooks #Humor #Humour #Funny
#Reading #Readers #ReadersOfMastodon #ReadingCommunity
#Book #Books #Novel #Novels #Fiction
#Bookwyrm #Bookworm #Bookstodon #BookLove #bookcoverdesign #booklovers #bookillustrations #bookcoverartist -
#author #readers #feedback #author #betareader
@reading @bookstodon @books
@joinin#ReadingMemes #Meme #Memes #ReadAllTheBooks #Humor #Humour #Funny
#Reading #Readers #ReadersOfMastodon #ReadingCommunity
#Book #Books #Novel #Novels #Fiction
#Bookwyrm #Bookworm #Bookstodon #BookLove #bookcoverdesign #booklovers #bookillustrations #bookcoverartist -
#author #readers #feedback #author #betareader
@reading @bookstodon @books
@joinin#ReadingMemes #Meme #Memes #ReadAllTheBooks #Humor #Humour #Funny
#Reading #Readers #ReadersOfMastodon #ReadingCommunity
#Book #Books #Novel #Novels #Fiction
#Bookwyrm #Bookworm #Bookstodon #BookLove #bookcoverdesign #booklovers #bookillustrations #bookcoverartist -
I just finished reading _The Rose Field_, the third book of The Book of Dust trilogy (Philip Pullman), which is in the same world as His Dark Materials. It just came out a few weeks ago. It's an amazing book. The plot and characters wander all over the place, from somewhere in southern Turkey to somewhere in western China, more or less along the Silk Road. Most of the book happens in Syria and Azerbaijan. It's really interesting to compare British colonialism in Lyra's world vs. ours. People from Syria through Uzbekistan seem to have more power in Lyra's world than in ours. Comparing the technology to ours and thinking of why it might have developed differently remains interesting. I think I can say without spoilers that the main meaning of this book is that participating in modern capitalism kills the soul, or distances people from their souls. It even covers monetization of universities, like naming rights for colleges. I think what the author is objecting to is prioritizing profit over community and human needs, while recognizing that trade in general is an old thing. There's also a lot about authoritarianism. I kept google maps open while I read the book so I could keep figuring out where various characters were, and learned some things about our world in the process. I couldn't reliably say which is the Caspian Sea and which the Black Sea without looking it up, and certainly didn't know anything about the Caspian Sea. I now really need Pullman to write another book in this world, because I need to know what happens in this world next. It's excellent and I strongly recommend it, but if one hasn't read the preceding 5 books, it would be best to start with those. #reading #novels #Pullman #HisDarkMaterials https://bookshop.org/p/books/untitled-knopf-bfyr-6635-knopf-bfyr/22418874
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THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO WRITING A BOOK
https://wp.me/p84YjG-a3t
#writing #author #word #penulis #nulis #writers #writingcommunity #novels #books #buku #reading #reader #learn #howtobook #zsoltzsemba #publishing #penerbit -
THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO WRITING A BOOK
With narrative examples from“The Could Have Been Man.”
THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO WRITING A BOOK
You Too Can Write a Book
Writers often believe they need training or permission to write a book. You do not. You need a clear process, clear goals, and the ability to start. My own path began with soap operas. Then film. Only later did I write novels. That journey shaped how I build stories. I focus on clarity and character choices. This guide shows you the same approach.
Let’s make the process easier to follow. We use one reference story throughout this guide. The story is a simple drama called “The Could Have Been Man.” It is about an old man who never married, never built a family, and now spends his days alone on a park bench feeding pigeons. He narrates pieces of his past with regret and honesty. Each step in this guide uses his story to demonstrate what you should do in your own book.
Why You Write, and Why It Matters More Than You Think
You sit down to write because something inside you refuses to stay quiet. You might want to tell a story, build a world, or leave something behind long after you’re gone. None of that happens unless you understand why you’re doing it. A clear purpose keeps you steady when the work feels slow or when you’re doubting yourself.
How to make this real? You’re going to meet someone who could have used this chapter decades earlier. His name is Harold, but the neighbourhood calls him the Could-Have-Been Man. He spends most days on the same park bench near the old fountain. He feeds a small group of pigeons that gather around him. People walk past him without thinking twice. He notices everything. He notices the parents, the couples, the noise, the silence, and how time moves, whether you want it to or not.
Harold never wrote the stories he carried. He used to keep ideas in a folded notebook. He had a plan for a small novel about a boy who learned to fix clocks. He kept another idea about a retired detective solving one last case. None of the ideas reached a first draft. At first, he ran out of time. After that, he ran out of confidence. Later, he convinced himself it didn’t matter. Years passed. The pages yellowed. Then the notebook disappeared during a move. Harold assumed writing was something he had missed his chance on. He settled into a routine. Now he feeds pigeons and tries not to think about what he abandoned.
Be Creative and Follow Harold
You don’t want Harold’s ending. You want your words on a page, in a file, in a finished book. You want something you can point to with pride. So before you get lost in structure, character arcs, or editing theory, stop and answer the questions Harold avoided.
Why are you writing this book?
What do you want your reader to feel?
What do you want your work to leave behind?Writers who skip these questions tend to drift. They write in circles or abandon what they start. Writers who take fifteen quiet minutes to think through their purpose finish more often. You don’t need a perfect mission statement. You just need clarity. A simple sentence is enough, such as:
“I want to help a first-time writer finish their book.”
“I want to share a story that has lived in my head for ten years.”
“I want to teach something I learned the hard way.”Get Back To The Keyboard
Purpose keeps you moving when pressure hits. When I wrote my first long project, I nearly quit halfway through. I didn’t like the middle chapters. I thought the entire concept might be weak. The only thing that pushed me forward was remembering why I started. I wanted to show myself that I could complete something difficult. That reason pulled me back to the keyboard every time.
Think of Harold again. Each morning, he wakes up early. He sits on the same wooden bench with a small paper bag of crumbs. The pigeons run toward him. Some jump onto his shoes. He talks to them quietly. You can hear him if you walk close enough. He tells them stories he never wrote. He describes worlds and characters,s and twists. He does it for free and for no audience. He could have shared these stories with thousands if he had taken the first step, then the next, then the next.
Finish What You Start!
Our task in this chapter is to avoid becoming him. The moment you write your purpose down, you become someone who will finish.
Here’s what you can do right now:
• Write one sentence about why this book matters to you.
• Write one sentence about what you want your reader to gain.
• Write one sentence about how your life would change if you finish.
• Write one sentence describing what will happen if you don’t.Writers respond well to honesty. When you see the cost of inaction clearly, you stop wasting time. You avoid what Harold became. He is a reminder, not a warning. He shows you what happens when desire meets hesitation for too long.
As you go through this guide, you’ll come back to him at key moments. His story will help you stay grounded in your own. You’ll watch how small decisions shape his life in the park. You’ll see how a shift in his day can push him out of his usual pattern. And unless something big happens, he stays in character.
No Writer’s Conviniences Here!
This is important. Characters must act in ways that match who they are unless something strong enough forces change. In Harold’s case, the only thing that could alter him would be a real shock. Something that breaks his routine. Something like someone hurting his favourite pigeon. A moment that forces him to stop accepting the life he settled for.
Keep this in mind when you write your own characters later. For now, stay focused on yourself. You’re here to finish a book. You’re here to avoid regret. You’re here because you don’t want to wake up years later feeding pigeons with stories stuck in your throat.
Your writing starts with purpose. Set it down. You’ll need it for every chapter that follows.
Zsolt Zsemba
THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO WRITING A BOOK
https://wp.me/p84YjG-a3t#writing #author #word #penulis #nulis #writers #writingcommunity #novels #books #buku #reading #reader #learn #howtobook #zsoltzsemba #publishing #penerbit
#author #books #Buku #howCanIWriteABook #howToWriteABook #howtobook #learn #membaca #novel #novels #Nulis #nulisBuku #penerbit #penulis #publishing #reader #Reading #word #writers #Writing #writingABook #writingCommunity #writingcommunity #ZsoltZsemba #zsoltzsemba -
The Silent Publisher: All Monogatari Novels Books Facing Additional Delays
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[Book reviews] #Solarpunk, #utopian and #AntiCapitalist fiction for imagining brighter futures
Novels with political under- and over-tones that have captivated me recently
by Katy Nightingale, Nov 28, 2024
"All of the books I’m including here are unique in their styles - some encompassing all of these visionary genres, and some just a few of them. Here’s a little glossary I came up with:
- futurist 🔮 - taking place in the future
- utopian 🌈 - taking place in an idealistic society where everything is designed to be harmonious, just, and fulfilling for all people
- solarpunk ☀️ - a sub-genre of utopian literature, solarpunk fiction takes place in a sustainable, eco-friendly future where humanity lives harmoniously with nature, often featuring renewable energy, green cities, and with a focus on social equity
- anti-capitalist 🌹 - the characters and plot tell a story that illustrates the pitfalls of capitalism and shows resistance and possible alternatives"
Read more:
https://wanderingk.substack.com/p/solarpunk-utopian-and-anti-capitalist#PostCapitalism #Degrowth #Novels #SolarPunkSunday #SolarPunkFiction #Books #Reading
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Have you ever heard people ask successful #storytellers "Where do you get your #ideas from?" I try to break down what a #storyidea is so we can generate #story ideas of our own.
https://markkieltywriter.com/2024/07/08/three-things-you-should-know-about-ideas-for-stories/
#WritingCommunity #HowToWrite #novels #comics #ShortStories #writing #blog #writing
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I just completed the first in the four part series of novels by Vilhelm Moberg (1898-1973) - The Emigrants - written between 1949 and 1959, that describes a Swedish family's emigration to Minnesota in the mid-19th century. A fantastic book.
The novels have been interpreted to film a few times - The Emigrants (based on the first two novels) and The New Land (based on the second two), both starring Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann, directed by Jan Troell in 1971-2 and more recently in 2021, a film by Erik Poppe starring Gustaf Skarsgård and Lisa Carlehed.
Moberg committed suicide by drowning himself in a lake outside his house. He left a note to his wife saying: "The time is twenty past seven; I go to seek in the lake the eternal sleep. Forgive me, I could not endure."
#vilhelmmoberg #theemigrants #novel #filmadaption #swedishauthor #swedishnovel #swedishauthor #book #books #mybookshelf #novels #bookrecommendation #ilovebooks #booksilove #moberg #bookworld #jantroell #erikpoppe #maxvonsydow #livullmann #gustafskarsgard #lisacarlehed #gustafskarsgård #filmworld #film #reading #author #novelist #writer
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What the Dickens? Our Mutual Friend (my favourite book ever) - YouTube. Haven’t watched this video yet, but saving for later. Our Mutual Friend is easily my favourite Dickens novel, and one of my absolute all time favourite novels ever. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKIG2UPlflU #Dickens #CharlesDickens #Literature #VictorianLiterature #Fiction #Novels #Books #Reading #Bookstodon #Booktube #FavouriteBooks #FavoriteBooks #NineteenthCentury
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Hi fellow book nerds! I'm trying to put together a Utopian Book Club (focused on novels and novellas). I want to include LeGuin's The Dispossessed and @pluralistic 's Walkaway, but from there I've got an endless list of mostly white dudes.
What cool utopian fiction by BIPOC writers have I missed out on?
#BookWorm #books #utopia #BIPOCLit #literature #UtopianFiction #utopian #solarpunk #novels #novella #BIPOCwriters #fiction #ImagineUtopia #eutopia #SpeculativeFiction #scifi #fantasy #BookWyrm
