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I went to a talk today by Robin Hobb (alias Megan Lindholm, alias whatever her real name is if it isn't Megan Lindholm), largely in the hopes that I would be miraculously introduced to
rivendellrose, which, since my arguable-at-best extraversion did not extend to buttonholing strangers and asking them if they were named Jen, or possibly Rosalind, did not occur. The talk itself was mildly interesting, though it served largely to remind me that I know perfectly well how to become a published writer, and know just as well that I'm not going to make any serious attempt to do so, since my ambitions feature various perks such as a reliable salary and academic conferences in foreign climes. I did finish a green wool hat for
nobu, and start another, which will be larger and therefore hopefully feltable.
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I've read my share of epic fantasy, but-- other factors being equal-- recently I've not been likely to pick up a book by an unfamiliar author if it says something like "Book 1 of the Tales of Darkmere" on the cover, and I missed her in my impressionable youth.
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