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Re: Your favourite character partnerships Just finished The Alloy of Law and Wax and Wayne are absolutely great. At least as great as Locke and Jean.
April 08, 2012, 08:48:33 AM
Re: Your favourite character partnerships Colon and Nobby from Discworld, they never fail to make me laugh.
April 08, 2012, 08:42:35 PM
A Thank You to the Forum No, this isn't some sappy goodbye, hello, or what have you. I just wanted to say how truly grateful I am at the amount of good cheer, respect, and leniency this community has, especially in the forum.

I've been a member of FF for almost two years. This was the first forum I ever joined, so when I heard that they were lax, unlike a lot of other forums, I shrugged it off as mere words. But over time, I've visited other forums, and found that this place is amazing.

We've been accused of having a "clique" at one point, but man, some other forums are so indifferent to new members, so impersonal and clique-ish. At least when newbies introduce themselves, we have the decency to address them by their names. Some places say "hi hi, glad to have you, k bye," to a big group of people. We throw in jokes, for crying out loud. And these discussions that can delve into a bit of heat? That's called being rude. That's mean. That's wrong. You point out a flaw, you're not following the rules.

And by God, if you don't adhere to the topic word for word, (heaven forbid you jump on a tangent) then all hell will break loose. It's maddening.

On top of that, places that receive 100+ members at one time are more cluttered than my garbage can. The forum is hard to navigate, there's no structure to things, and no "read unread posts since last visit" button. (Really, that's a godsend.)

Sometimes, I don't think I realize how great this place is.

Anyway, I just want to say I'm glad to have a place that's relaxing, that respects everyone's opinion, but doesn't go crazy saying an opinion is sacred. I'm glad that we revel in our love of the genre, that we allow new ideas to flourish and grow, and that we're lax, that we allow some insanity. Thank you, Fantasy-Faction. Thank you.

March 13, 2014, 07:49:56 PM
Re: Freelance artist looking for work one of the commissioned characters

June 17, 2014, 06:48:38 PM
Re: Women Write Fantasy (The Giant 'Women in Fantasy' Database) Ok, I'll jump.

I think I'm a feminist, in the sense that every person should be one: I want equality between the sexes because I don't believe they are different in core. Same pay, same opportunities, no limits for either.

And because of this, I never pay attention to whether a person is a man or a woman, in all situations in which that doesn't matter - and that is in everything but looking around for a person to love (since I'm not bi hehe)
And because of this, I don't really care if the books I read are written by men or women, they just have to be good enough for me to like them.

So maybe because of this, maybe because I have lived my whole life assuming the above is true for everyone, and all the people I've interacted with think the same (at least they never gave me any indication otherwise), I don't really like these discussions of "You're a bad person because you read more from male authors", "women authors are always victims", etc. The exact same way you can't group all male authors in one group (there are some I love, others I can't stand), you can't group all female authors together: again, there are some great ones and others who can't write as well. I want to read good books, and I don't care who writes them.

Of course, logic would say that the good ones get published and the bad ones don't, but that doesn't happen in real life ('50 shades' anyone?), and my point is that this also happens with male authors. There are a huge number of great male writers who can't get a deal, the same way that there are a huge number of great female writers who can't get a deal. Waterstones also includes really bad male writers in their promotion tables, together with great male ones, great female ones, and bad female ones.

So yes, I get annoyed when people bring in sex/genre as a reason for something that's not directly linked.

And then again, maybe I'm just a very lucky naive person....

July 26, 2014, 10:21:31 AM
Re: Freelance artist looking for work gapcioch, thank you!

here are a couple designs that I did for a client few months ago

August 20, 2014, 06:23:05 AM
Re: Worst Fantasy Book Cover... Ever? Even Buzzfeed have noticed how awful fantasy book covers are

September 13, 2014, 08:33:07 PM
Re: Freelance artist looking for work Thanks so much M.G. Boronha!

October 10, 2014, 01:49:22 PM
Re: Freelance artist looking for work
February 12, 2015, 06:35:07 AM
Re: [Mar 2015] - Rogues - Submission Thread I'm first again this month, but after promising this, I had to get it out there.
So here you have it: "One Rogue, Four Women and Escape on a Bicycle"
Coming in at a trim (for me) 1,485 words

Spoiler for Hiden:
         Jack laughed and spread his arms wide. “I swear, it’s true! Four of them at once!” Catcalls and cries of “Liar!” greeted this declaration. Someone threw a fig. The rogue jumped up on the table, setting the chandelier swinging and flinging hot wax on his audience. “You think this couldn’t handle it?” he shouted, grabbing his codpiece to great laughter and guffaws. “My brave soldier here could find the one virgin in a king’s harem with the lights out and my hands tied.”
   “I think your brave soldier couldn’t find the piss pot with the light on and your fly open!” yelled someone from the balcony.
   “I’ll tell you what really happened,” called a new voice, one with feminine tones and a cultured accent. It was lost in the commotion like a flower in a garbage heap until the speaker raised her voice with a righteous cry. “I’ll tell you what really happened!” And the whole room held its breath.

   I’ll tell you what really happened. I was handing around tea for the Delacroix sisters - delightful cucumber sandwiches and good Darjeeling - and they, good souls, were enlightening me about society in my new city; when one of them, Mary, I think, whispered “And then there’s Jack.” Jack Stinson, a rake if I’d ever heard of one, had arrived some months earlier and begun a circuit of the eligible maidens and even the ineligible matrons. He was a fine shot and an honest card player so the men welcomed him. As for we women, I suspect we are all susceptible to strong shoulders and a talented tongue.
   The bell rang and another recent acquaintance appeared. It was not more than three minutes before the poor thing was in tears and weeping on my shoulder. We had the truth out of her, and a great determination filled my soul. Jack Stinson must get what he deserved, or in this case, reap what he had sown.
   I know a little magic. Not your parlor trick, sleight-of-hand frivolity, but a true thing handed down from a branch of my family that once owned plantations on exotic Jamerica. The first order of business was to discover how widely the rogue had spread his affections. I set the calling cards of all the women with whom I’d had intercourse in a circle around a delicate glass bottle, and pushed it into a lazy spin. The four of us held our breaths as the bottle stopped first at one name and then another to expostulations of “She would!” and “I never!” and even “I didn’t think she had it in her”, which made me laugh but caused our poor betrayed one to dissolve in tears again. When the bottle pointed at the senior Miss Delacroix, her younger sister’s mouth twisted as though she’d eaten an unripe persimmon, and when it next pointed to the younger sister, things threatened to storm and thunder right there in my sitting room. However, it was soon evident that the bottle would stop at every one of the twenty-three lady’s cards and we four subsided into a simmering, amazed silence. Then we set our plans.
   I made it known I would appreciate an invitation to Lady Baldwin’s soiree, and I know she was thrilled for me to attend. Jack was there, and came to me like a bee to the finest orchid in the garden. I have to admit pleasure at being the envy of every female eye in the room. I should not have been surprised that Jack was the finest dancer I had ever partnered, or that his conversation was in decidedly good taste. But I was unprepared for the originality of his ideas or the effect of his flattery upon me. We set an assignation for the next day, Herod’s Hotel, noon.
   He arrived in a sweat-stained suit and straw hat, saying he had been experimenting with a velocipede and offering to take me riding with him. I think he was taking my measure. Had I been at leisure to enjoy his company, I might have risen to the bait.
   We had a private room in the restaurant. Not even for this noble cause could I afford to risk my reputation by taking a suite upstairs. We dined - a delicious rump roast and breasts of the finest fowl. As the dessert was served, I at last turned the conversation to magic, explaining that I had gypsy blood and could bring him into contact with the Other World.
   “That would be most rare”, said he, and we began. I set the empty bottle of Tolkane ’54 on its side, and began to spin it lazily.
   “Jack, I have come for you,” said a bodyless voice. “You have betrayed and dishonored me.” I attest that Mary’s imitation of a spirit was so much like the real thing that even I shrank.
   “Who is it?” cried Jack, his eyes wide.
   “One who loved you when alive,” the elder Miss Delacroix continued. “But Lucifer has set me loose on you, Jack.”
   “No!” he cried, “Whichever you are, I swear your death was not on me.”
   But now a second voice called out, and I summoned a mist to swirl through the room. “Jack!” it screamed. The younger Miss Delacroix could certainly have taken lessons from her sister, for I couldn’t believe her to be a spirit for one moment. But Jack was growing more agitated. “Jack! You deceiver. How could you leave me for her!”
   It was terrible acting, but Jack was up from his chair, and pacing around the chamber like a man possessed.
   Now the third voice sounded, and I swear that the very hair on my neck stood on end, so authentic was it in its pain and loss. “Jack,” it whispered. “I loved you, Jack. But you took from me what can never be returned.”
   Jack sputtered in surprise, stopping his pacing and gripping the back of his chair. “Angelica?” he asked hesitantly. “If you’re looking for the pearls, I can explain that -“
   “NO!” screamed our poor sister, “NO!” A cold wind started to whip through the room. “It’s too late, Jack! I told you I would, and I’ve gone and done it!”
   At this, my companions threw open the doors of the room and stood revealed in white robes, holding flaming torches. “We have come for you!” they cried, and Jack, brave Jack, threw himself on my breast, crying “Save me!” then ran screaming from the room. We hunted him then through the hotel, for the staff - well-paid for this adventure - made certain of the front door.
   Suddenly, our man burst from a maid’s closet, dressed in a woman’s sleeping gown, robe and blond wig, pursued by Angelica as though the hounds of hell were at his heals. He hurled himself wildly against the plate glass window of the hotel, shattering it into a thousand pieces and finally rolling into the gutter. The four of us were hard on him, and we chased the rogue into the street. His two-wheeled contraption was there, and he threw himself upon the seat. Then leaning over the steering bars, he pushed desperately with his feet to build up speed. His robe was flapping in the wind behind him as he cycled away, and we truly thought we’d seen the utter end of Jack Stinson.
   We stood in the street, our clothes in disarray, our chests heaving, and smiles of triumph on our faces. (Though poor Angelica was still looking positively ghostly.) Then I raised my hand to straighten my hair and discovered that the scoundrel had stolen my earrings, my necklace and even a small gold ring I wore on my left pinky.
   This wasn’t the story I told the crowd, of course.

   “Please, for the love of God and the saints, have mercy on a fallen woman!” she cried. “This black villain must do as he promised and marry me, or I shall be ruined!”
   At this, the audience turned a bleak though bleary eye on Jack, and some of the more drunk of the jury began to scale the table to seize him. A cry rose up to bring a rope. The rogue ran the length of the table toward his accuser, dodging glasses and tankards with nimble feet, and he might have reached her had not a drunken crone thrown a beer bottle and knocked him off his aim. He ended up face-first in the bosom of the bar maid, who pushed him off with a practiced hand and sent him sprawling to the ground in front of the woman he’d so deeply wronged.
   “I want my jewels back, Jack,” she hissed.
   Jack smiled wickedly and launched himself back onto the table. “That’s not what really happened!” he yelled over the chaos.

   Friends – Let me tell you what really happened.

March 04, 2015, 03:22:34 PM