thumb drives and oven clocks: a litblog, of sorts

Fun facts


My lady and I have a new baby on the way. Newbie's coming (casually checks watch) in the next couple days.


Over the last couple weeks I've realized that my version of "nesting" involves less frantic cleaning, more desperate cobbling together of a list of books I might aim to read this year, focusing more on plotty scifi and fantasy, less on giant sludgy literary works that might make me have feelings because there'll be enough of that going on this coming year, thank you very much.

One thing I noticed, or re-realized, during this exercise is that basically every scifi/fantasy book ever written is part of a series, usually at least a trilogy's worth. So as the number of books in that list rose, the number of actual books it could represent, were I to strike gold every time and felt compelled to go completionist the entire way down the list, rose semi-exponentially. I went through and did the math according to criteria that made sense to me at the time, and as of sometime last week, that list is the facade of a list about 265 books deep.

Worth noting: that does not include a likely eventual reread of the Expanse series, because we have to be realistic, sometimes, nor does it include all future books that may be added to series that are still in the works. It does include all the primary Shannara books, which I think accounts for about half the entire list. Which is itself doubled by the two Stormlight Archive books I've got lined up.

It also doesn't include the Broken Earth series, because that's one I committed to already this year; I just re-read the first book ahead of finally reading the final two, and I'm wondering just how weird that weird mood I was in two years ago was that I did not immediately go out and read the rest of the series after first finishing book one. Did it involve the fact that I don't think the third book was out yet? Should that have stopped me? Maybe not.

Anyway, if you need me, look for me in a month, when I'll probably get stir crazy and slop myself down into a reread of War and Peace or something by William Gaddis or something else that makes absolute zero sense to me at the time.


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