Hello to all rusted pennies at the bottom of fountains, guitar picks from outer space, and mugs of hot chocolate sitting dangerously close to the edge of messy bed-side tables.
This one’s mostly for my friends, as they share my enthusiasm on this subject: but for the rest of you, read on if you must.
Rick Riordan’s new book came out yesterday. He’s the guy who wrote Percy Jackson, but he’s also doing a myriad of other series that are more or less identical, but still good. In this series, we follow the adventures of some magic-wielding teenagers caught up in Egyptian mythology, instead of some weapon-brandishing teenagers caught up in Greek mythology. Anyway, I love these books, because they’re silly and fun and have little to no substance yet are amazing in their own way. But I have a little problem: I seem to be obsessed with one of the characters.
Come on– we’ve all been obsessed with somebody. Be it a popular celebrity or good-looking baseball player, you all know the feeling of eagerly flicking the channels or flipping through a magazine for that one person. I’ve never gotten obsessed with real life people, but I’m perpetually obsessed with people from fiction and fantasy. I’m sorry, but no real life person could possibly be as interesting as someone from a fantasy novel. Real life just sucks that way.
The fictional character I’m hopelessly obsessed with from Rick Riordan’s “Kane Chronicles’ is the god of death. (My friends saw that one coming. Or at least George Harrison did.) Please, don’t assume I like dreamy dark heroes of fantasy just because they’re dreamy dark heroes of fantasy. This one is more awesome because he wears ARCADE FIRE T-SHIRTS. Holy moly! As if I didn’t love the death god enough already, he had to go and wear a t-shirt of my favorite band. Rick Riordan’s messing with my head– I’m telling you. Once you break out the soft-spoken, kind death gods who wear Arcade Fire t-shirts, you’ve got me hopeless.
Now, thank you for getting through that little segue of ridiculousness.
The main purpose of this blog today is to tell you what happens when you read for seven straight hours. Your mind starts to unravel. The line between reality and fiction starts to waver, and suddenly your dreams are full of Egyptian gods and giant crocodiles and death gods. And stuff. Mostly death gods. Anyway– it’s not good for you. I can tell you that much. And when you wake up and somebody’s saying Ha-di and reciting a magic spell, you know things are way off.
Not only did a fictional world invade my brain last night, I’ve also been having flashes of imaginary scenes that I’ve dreamed up myself. This means I’ll probably eventually write them down somewhere and maybe upload them to Fan Fiction where all the other people who are obsessed with the death god can giggle together about it. Unfortunately, when you’re a decent writer, you get a whole wave of feedback on your ridiculous little stories if you dare post them online.That’s why I always go incognito on Fan Fiction, but anyway. No one shall ever know that one was mine.
So, sorry you had to struggle through this less-than-mind-bending interlude. I promise next time I’ll talk about the war in the Middle East and American politics and the theory of the universe.
Good-bye, most insincerely yours, Onceabasmentdog.