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Two more days.

Of sitting 'round doing safely nothing. And books. Without panic. Sigh.

Finished all the mystery books but the last two - the first is the Sherlock Holmes I've already read and the second is the horrific Mary Sue book. The one where the author is so painfully aware of her twinkage that she includes a five-page disclaimer saying she actually received the manuscripts in a mysterious package and didn't actually write them herself. The one where the narrator/main character/Sue spends the first ten pages of the book talking smack about Watson. Which I'm very sorry, but is absolutely unacceptable and has me hating her already. Also the one where before even knowing who he is spends four pages mouthing off to Holmes, thereby establishing herself as cleverer and also more modern than him. Where she dresses in boys' clothes in the nineteen-hundreds. With her "long blonde plaits" stuffed into a cloth boy's cap. And reads books in Latin whilst wandering the countryside. And oh my gods I hate her so much, the interloper. (This from the girl who reads and enjoys the Valdemar books over and over again when there's nothing else about to read.)

And I've only read the first, like, thirty pages. o.O

So I'm going to re-read the actual Conan Doyle stuff so that I can slog through the fic spinoff with more accurate indignance.

Honestly.

*wonders idly whether she can turn this into a paper*

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reeciebastion
chandri
Chandri MacLeod
Fantasi.net

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