Kindle Notes & Highlights
Is there a reason for a literate person to read century-old pulp fiction? For the most part, no, which is why most of it has been forgotten by all except obsessives and weirdoes.
Small enough that the publisher still lived with her parents, and produced the books herself one at a time from homemade paper and crochet thread.
was a knot of black t-shirts and bad haircuts—ratty ponytails, the sort of bangs one usually sees on a child, and the
Mostly just awkward erections during uncomfortable conversations.
“Oh man, if only Tomato was still around—we could
“I think he’s NSA,” Panossian said. “Here’s your wine.” He handed her the empty glass.
abounded, many emblazoned with jokes about role-playing games that Colleen was pleased to not actually understand.
He gave her the once over, and Colleen felt like a hand had reached inside her and run up and down the bones of her spine.
Boys, almost all boys, too fat or awkward or arrogant for sports, and not actually bright enough to achieve top marks, find their ways to the darkest corners and dustiest shelves, and there Lovecraft is waiting.
As if I didn’t have access to my own royalty statements; clearly everyone was already never buying my work to begin with.
not even for another hotel over the border in Massachusetts, where the fans were dressed like buff, sexy Klingons instead of grotesque Hefty bag Shoggoths.
