a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or depression.
Like a ship in the Intertropical Convergence Zone, I am going through a doldrum. July has been my least productive month on the blog in the past year, and I’m not very happy about that. I’m not really sure why I’ve been more inactive than usual. Even though I can write about anything and everything, I can’t seem to think of anything to write about. And even if I do think of something, I don’t feel like actually writing it.
Sometimes, I’ll think of a good topic, and then when I think about how much effort goes in to that topic, I decide not to write about it after all. It’s like, I can only bring myself to write the things that don’t take much effort, and even then I would just rather not. Even doing something as simple as the Big Idea takes me hours of telling myself I should do it, even though it only takes me around ten or fifteen minutes.
I keep trying to brainstorm things to write posts about. Lord knows there’s no shortage of current events and political things to be talked about, or movies and shows to review. But that sounds like a lot of effort. And effort is not something I feel like putting in right now.
Not just for the blog, but for life stuff, too. I’ve been sleeping later in the day, moving less (a lot less, even), going outside less, you get the idea. I wish I could blame something like seasonal depression but it’s literally the opposite season of when seasonal depression happens.
I can’t even bring myself to bake anything for the blog, or take some photos to post, or muster up a Charlie post. I just don’t feel like I have it in me right now.
And I feel bad about it. I feel guilty for not providing you all with content as regularly. I feel guilty for not doing the posts I told my dad I’d do. I feel like I’m skimping out on posts, blowing them off left and right. Basically, everyday I think, “yeah, I could do a post today” followed by “…or I could not.” And that always seems to win.
Anyways, I just wanted to be open about what I’m going through right now, and offer some insight as to why I’m not really posting much. I hope you have been enjoying the stuff I have managed to post this month, and I am hopeful there will be more to come next month. Have a great day.
The Big Idea for The Follower started out as (and perhaps still is) a pretty stupid joke.
There was a point in my mid- to late twenties when my whole generation seemed to look around at our adult lives, collectively shrug and say: What, is this it? We’d either set ourselves goals that we were nowhere close to achieving, or else we had achieved them and found, predictably, that they had not delivered the satisfaction they’d promised, or in fact weren’t the goals we should have set ourselves at all, and that there were other goals, better goals, goals goals goals! but much further down the road, or on a different road altogether.
Quite a lot of my friends began to invest in self-help books and courses. At the time I rolled my eyes because I was young and cynical and not very compassionate (and, of course, completely lost myself – at least these people were doing something about it).
The stupid joke was this: imagine if, somewhere in the saturated market for books on manifesting and reframing and self-love, there was one that offered the actual, genuine, honest-to-God secret to happiness. Perhaps a self-published e-book, languishing on page two of the Amazon search results, trying to make itself heard among all the other books clamouring for attention: “No, honestly, I really can make you happy!” The thought became more elaborate, and sillier. Maybe the secret was something quite simple. Maybe it was an equation. Maybe it was linked to how many push-ups you could do, or how many glasses of water you drank. Maybe it was just a really, really nice picture of a horse.
The joke had a bitter aftertaste, though, because it seemed there was something insidious about the whole thing. I felt particularly justified in my eye-rolling when I looked into some of these courses and saw the price you had to pay to “unlock your full potential”; when my friend who had already completed one course was then hounded over the phone about signing up for a second; when the author of a book on self-esteem and fulfilled living went on to write another literally entitled: “You Are A Badass At Making Money”. The genius – and the horror – of capitalism is that it offers itself as a cure for its own malaise.
The idea rattled around for a bit. I fiddled. I came up with a dozen titles and as many opening chapters. I aborted. I clearly needed more help unlocking my full potential.
Meanwhile I noticed everyone’s search for answers had started to take on a more spiritual bent. People who had been content with a fortnightly hot yoga class were now submitting themselves to week-long silent meditation retreats, or a flying to Brazil to lick poisonous toads and talk with the spirits of the forest. It became far more acceptable, and far less embarrassing, even for a buttoned-up Brit, to admit to a spiritual aspect to our lives. But still, you had to pay for it.
This was when The Follower started in earnest. I started thinking about the collision between this new spirituality and good old capitalism. It seemed strange that the two of them should have met at all, since the resurgence of one was surely an adverse reaction to the other. You’d think they would exist in mutually exclusive universes: spiritual vs material, fulfilment vs wanting, stillness vs motion (forwards), the infinite vs the disposable, the natural vs the urban. And yet, the self-help business model is easily transferrable: spirituality and capitalism (or at least commercialism) have not only met, but climbed into bed, put on a CD of some panpipes and started massaging each other with essential oils.
These days it feels like “spirituality” is a vast and complicated continuum. At one end there are those who perhaps take a passing interest in meditation or yoga, and at the other are people who think they can talk to dolphins. (I’m on there somewhere. I practise mindfulness about once every five years and I’ve read the Wikipedia page on panpsychism.) It intersects with various groups and ideologies, from vegans to anti-vaxxers, all of them linked by a greater or lesser commitment to destroying or escaping or at least offering a brief respite from the machinery of the world as it is. This makes it a broad church. It also makes it a broad marketplace. As ever, capitalism is both the poison and the antidote: if you buy enough incense/crystals/dream catchers/organic juices/ecstatic dance courses, you’ll never be miserable again.
The Follower was originally set in London, but something about that setting didn’t feel right. In 2019, I took a trip to a town in Northern California to work on a completely different book. The town was situated at the foot of a mountain that, I quickly found out, was a kind of spiritual Mecca.
I had been off the bus for all of half an hour before a man had complimented me on the colour of my aura. That felt pretty nice. I thanked him. We kept talking. He explained that I was God, and, before I could get too cocky, that he was God too. Things took a sadder turn when he told me that he’d lost his job because he kept having seizures. He’d get better, though, as long as he kept taking his medicine. His medicine, it transpired, was plain old LSD, and was almost certainly responsible for the seizures in the first place.
After talking for an hour I went to find my accommodation. I started writing the first chapter of The Follower – the one that’s still there – before I’d unpacked my bag.
Interactions like this happened several times a day for the month that I stayed there. It was genuinely difficult to find someone who didn’t speak in these cosmic, spiritual terms. I became great friends with some of them. Believe me when I say that The Follower isn’t meant to disparage spirituality. I really am interested in panpsychism. And, as it says somewhere in the book, quantum field theory seems to be arriving at much the same conclusions as that man on LSD, though from a different direction. I also became aware of just how seductive that worldview it is – not just the idea of connecting with a cosmic spirit, but even the wilder stuff about aliens and crystal cities and Indigo Children. It’s easy to believe it when there’s no one to tell you any different. It’s fun, too.
The town I was staying in didn’t reek of money or commercial interests. It felt weirdly utopian, in some ways. But then, I thought, what if a commercial enterprise did find a foothold there? What if it became subject to the same spiritual transactions that were taking place in the city I’d left? And then, what if someone really did find a cosmic energy source somewhere on the mountain? The secret to happiness!
And I was back to my stupid joke again.
Cases of COVID are on the upswing again, in Ohio as well as nationwide, so I thought I would check in with the CDC and see how my county is doing. Darke County, Ohio is not particularly well vaccinated — we have something like a 31% vaccination rate (I and my family are of course vaccinated) — so I was curious to see if we’d had a notable uptick in COVID cases recently.
The answer: Not really! Or at the very least, not yet. Darke County is one of the few Ohio counties at the moment with a low incidence of community transmission, with two reported new cases of the virus in the last week. There was one COVID-related death reported yesterday; prior to that the last recorded COVID-related death was six weeks ago. The virus is still in Darke County, but it’s small hotspots at the moment, not a forest fire.
This is good news in that most of the people who live near me appear to be at a reasonably low risk for COVID, despite their current unvaccinated status. It’s less good in that, in a county that already suffers from vaccine hesitancy, it doesn’t seem likely to me that anything is going to move the needle (so to speak) to convince folks around here to get a shot. Yes, it’s nice that the GOP and FOX News have begun, incredibly begrudgingly, to tell people to get a shot, but it may be too little, too late for that, for Darke Country and other rural, conservative counties in the US.
I am vaccinated, along with my family; I’m not too worried about having a breakthrough infection thanks to the Delta variant, and if I am infected, I’m not too worried about getting very sick from it (for values of “very sick” that mean “hospitalized and possibly intubated”). I do worry for my neighbors who haven’t, by choice, been vaccinated, not only because they can get sick but because they can more easily transmit to others, some of whom can’t get vaccinated, even if they want to.
Likewise, I worry that the longer people avoid getting vaccinated, the more variants will pop up. Delta is already more transmissible than earlier versions of the virus; it’s entirely possible we’ll eventually hit on one that the vaccines won’t be effective against. I like my house; I’d still like to leave it occasionally.
Basically, Darke County is currently lucky, with regard to COVID. I sincerely hope it remains so. I would also like to suggest to my fellow Darke Countians that luck favors the prepared, and in this case, “prepared” means “vaccinated.” It’s just a thought.
Humans are garbage. Or perhaps, as author Catherynne M. Valente has it, it’s more accurate to say that the world that people live in is actual garbage. Come along in her Big Idea as she tells you all about Garbagetown, the not-so-trashy setting for her newest novel, The Past Is Red.
CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE:
Wonderful Trash: Tetley Abednego and The Past Is Red
The sea levels have risen. There is nothing left. A hot, blue, ruined world. A girl named Tetley grows up on the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, picking through the literal wreckage of our culture as the trash heap drifts across the planet, grown as vast and peopled as a continent. She is an exile, a romantic, a scavenger—and a criminal, abused by her fellow survivors at will in payment for a terrible, unfixable crime.
And Tetley loves her life. Adores it. Desperately, joyfully, with a powerful determination to protect it from itself.
The Past Is Red is the most cheerful nightmarish climate change dystopia you’re likely to find on the shelves.
Not because humanity bands together to find some magical way to restore what our selfishness and short-sighted stubbornness destroyed—because, let’s be honest, the last year has shown us in living color how truly fantastical that idea always was.
Not because we deserve a cozy It Gets Better fable of the endurance of the human spirit because we definitely don’t.
Because humans can love anything, even the end of us.
No, the good humor and cheer of The Past Is Red comes not from plucky, down-on-its-luck humanity as a whole, but from Tetley Abednego herself, the most hated, and beloved, girl in Garbagetown. A girl who sees her ruined universe through the eyes of a normal, everyday child born into it, who has known nothing else, and so finds beauty wherever she looks.
Tetley began in the 2016 anthology Drowned Worlds, as the voice of a novelette called The Future Is Blue (don’t worry, it’s included in the book) about a delightful, happy girl on the Garbage Patch who did something so terrible that she can never be forgiven, and her punishment can never end. That novelette went on to garner a small but fervent fanbase, and won the Sturgeon Award. Part of me always knew I wasn’t quite done with Tetley or Garbagetown just because I had covered the traditional bildungsroman territory, so I was delighted when the wonderful editor who got the tale out of me, Jonathan Strahan, asked me to expand and continue her story, and The Past Is Red came to be. Tetley has grown up, and so has Garbagetown, with a new despot setting up his empire of pleasure and pain, and a mysterious object unearthed from the rubbish that connects our heroine to the past and the future in ways she can barely comprehend.
Red is much bigger and deeper and gnarlier than Blue. It has some big new things to say about memory and truth, perception and authority, love and grief and intelligence. It takes several sharp left turns and goes places you could never predict from the short story. It is a massive expansion of the Garbagetown universe, both where it’s going and how we got there. And, given that I wrote it at the tail end of 2019, it has some eerily prescient twists of plot that I will not spoil for you, as The Past Is Red has some of the twistiest twists I’ve ever twisted, but I’ll just say they resonate pretty damn furiously with current events.
You’ve come a long way, baby.
We all have, from 2016 through til now.
Drowned Worlds was an anthology of stories of the sea levels rising, of climate change, of the worlds we might inhabit when it has all gone definitively to hell in a plastic water bottle. At the time, I was deep in a middle grade fantasy novel. I’d never written explicit climate change or environmental fiction or even post-apocalyptica before—but my favorite thing to write has always been the thing I’ve never done before and no one expects me to try.
I was intrigued by a line in the anthology pitch: what kinds of stories will we tell when the worst has come to pass?
My knee-jerk, immediate mental response was: absolutely the same kinds of stories we tell now, because humanity never, ever changes, and we’ve been telling the same stories since before we knew copper + tin = Bronze Age Fun Times. We are and always have been such wonderful trash.
Which seems like a lazy, snarky answer, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like there was something more profound, and more comforting, hiding in there, and in those last two words: wonderful trash.
But all of that was just the intellectual scaffolding of the story, of Garbagetown, of the persistence of power and privilege, of stupidity and bravery and love and regret and the unchanging ways in which humans try and try and try again to get what they desire.
It was Tetley that made it a story.
I remember Peter Beagle coming to my creative writing class when I was a sophomore in high school. It made an impression on me something akin to the impression a meteor makes when it hits the Earth. But I couldn’t get my head around one of his stories about The Last Unicorn. He said that he had no business knowing Molly Grue. That she was too good for him. She’d come from somewhere else, somewhere outside him, and he considered himself lucky to have gotten to know her, but she was so different and alive and pure he knew he had nothing to do with her. She was her own, not his.
At the time I thought: what is this guy talking about? He invented her, he wrote her every thought and line of dialogue. There’s no such thing as a character too good for the author who created them. Whatever. Is this what writers are like? I hope it’s pizza for lunch today.
Well. Allow me to delicately lift a morsel of crow onto my fork.
I had no business knowing Tetley Abednego. She’s too good for me. So different and alive and pure I know I had nothing to do with her. She came from somewhere else, somewhere outside me, and I consider myself lucky to have gotten to know her. She is, and will always be, her own, not mine.
Tetley is nothing like me. She’s not really like any character I’ve ever written before. She lives an objectively terrible life, a life I definitely did create and invent and then pitched her in head-first with no protection. She lives a life deliberately designed to skewer the kindlier notions of what an apocalypse is actually like to live through. I fucked it up for her real good. On purpose, and with malice aforethought.
But this girl who arrived in my head wearing her Oscar the Grouch backpack and a smile just refused to see it that way. No matter what I threw at her. For her, the end of the world is simply home. It is beautiful, and magical, filled with adventure and possibility. If she ever found one of those awful home decor signs that say Live Laugh Love or Bless This Mess in the mountains of rubbish that make up her reality, this girl wouldn’t hesitate to hang it on her bombed-out wall, and she’d mean it more fiercely than most of us mean anything. But she’s not stupid or naive or delusional. She just can’t help seeing the way the flames of hell sparkle.
She is a precious cinnamon roll, consistently squashed into a fine paste by humanity’s inability to come together unless it’s to hurt someone. She’s her surname, the Biblical man who walked in the furnace and did not burn.
She’s wonderful trash.
And that juxtaposition of Tetley’s optimistic voice with the hopelessness of this stranded species remnant living their worst landfill life has always been the core of the Garbagetown Saga. She isn’t possessed by the idea of somehow finding a place where the old world lives on. She doesn’t respect the civilization of the past that did this to its own future—we’re known as the Fuckwits to every soul on the Garbage Patch. She doesn’t respect much of anything but the connections she forms with other human beings. And Oscar the Grouch, the great true god of the Old World, to whom Tetley prays every night.
And she’s telling the stories we’ve always told, because we’re people and we can help it. About the things we lose because we can’t evolve fast enough, the family we make out of the scraps at hand, lovers meeting and parting, coming of age and growing old, strangers coming to town, treasures found and stolen, betrayal and secrets and violence done to innocents, and the greater picture we can never fully see, and the impossible choice this single shunned exile will be forced to make for the good, or ill, of all.
The stories we are always going to tell about ourselves, to ourselves, until the sun expands in a fireball to take all its beautiful babies back again.
We are in the past of Tetley’s world now, and we are deep in the red. We are the Fuckwits, and we don’t really deserve respect. We build the present our descendants will call home every day, minute by minute, kindness by kindness, horror by horror, one piece of sopping, wasteful, gorgeous trash at a time. It’s pretty hard to see the beauty in the ruin. But it’s there. It’s just covered in garbage and old choices we can’t unmake. And more garbage still. Those tales we tell over and over are all that are likely to survive the catastrophe ahead intact. There is no temperature at which our stories burn, so long as anybody at all remains to give them voice.
This is a book about one of the people left to lend her voice to her species. A girl full of regret and hope and joy and truly bad decisions, just like her planet.
Just like us.
Welcome to Garbagetown. It sucks here. It’s amazing here.
Bless this mess.
You ever just sit back and think… “holy shit do I need glasses?”
— Athena Scalzi ⭐️ (@AScalzi98) July 13, 2021
A few months ago, I started noticing that things I looked at every day that were not previously blurry had become blurry. The clock on the stove from the couch, the subtitles on a video game from the chair, things I never had an issue seeing before. It was worrisome. Did I really need glasses after a whole life of having perfect vision?
I was always the kid that tried on friends’ glasses and said “wow, you really are blind!” (not very nice, I recognize now). Well, the bill has finally come due, because now I have my own glasses for perfect-sighted friends to try on!
That’s right, I had an eye test today and they told me I’m neither near-sighted nor far-sighted, but that I have astigmatism. So I got a pretty mild prescription, and badda bing badda boom, I now wear glasses! Of course, I won’t be wearing all the time since the only thing I have trouble seeing is tiny, far away words. I’ll really only need them when I drive (for street signage), play video games, or watch a movie with subtitles.
So far, it’s been weird getting used to them. I’ve only had them for a couple hours, but I have so many questions like: why is the ground so much closer to me now? Why does everything look compressed? Why do my hands look so weird? And how do I already have smudges on the lenses?!
Anyways, I guess I knew this would happen sooner or later, but I was really hoping to make it to forty without needing glasses (not that I like super need them or anything). But maybe forty was a bit ambitious.
I also had a really great time picking out frames! One of the staff members helped me out a bit. I told her I wanted thick frames, plastic, a little bit of cat eye, and black. She picked a couple pairs out for me, and I ended up with these Kate Spade frames, which I actually really like.
Do you wear glasses? Maybe contacts? Or even Lasik? Let me know in the comments, and have a great day!
In author Dan Rice’s Big Idea, he shows us a world beyond our own, alongside a world that happens to be our own. How is this possible? Follow along as he tells us a bit about his inspiration for his debut novel, Dragons Walk Among Us.
Is there a world before our eyes that most people overlook? What are the ramifications for someone who can see the unseeable? This is the big idea behind my debut novel Dragons Walk Among Us.
I first became interested in the world that most people overlook through photography. For example, star trails illuminate landscapes that most people never experience except through photographs taken by others. What really started to fascinate me years ago are water droplets––on blades of grass, flower petals, leaves, windows, etc. Individual little worlds are scattered across the dewy grass, and most people never take the time to appreciate them. Sometimes I imagine each dewdrop is a microcosmos populated by strange creatures. I suppose on the infinitesimal scale of microbes, this is true.
I love photographing water droplets with my macro lens. Getting as close as possible, sometimes even using an extension tube so that the lens is practically touching the water (it will if you’re not careful!). This exploration of liquid splendor made me wonder what else is out there right before our eyes that we overlook. Over time and a few false starts, this question became a germ for a story that grew into Dragons Walk Among Us.
In my novel, Allison Lee, the protagonist, is blinded after an unprovoked assault. Frightened that her dream of becoming a photojournalist has just been flushed down the toilet, she agrees to undergo a radical experimental procedure to restore her vision. The surgery is a success. Thanks to her prosthetic eyes, her visual perception is better than ever before. In fact, she can now see things that no one else can. She can see the invisible world that is right in front of our noses.
Allison is thrust into a situation where she is literally unable to believe her eyes. Why can’t anyone else see what she does? Allison doesn’t trust her sight, so why should her friends? Allison eventually tells her friends, her squad as she refers to them, what she has seen. Their reaction is what she expected, incredulity. They give voice to her doubts. Her visions are a byproduct of the assault or a side effect of the prosthetics. She should really get her prosthetic eyes checked.
Despite their reservations, Allison’s squad helps her discover that the invisible world that only she can see is very real indeed. Disturbing the denizens of the realm between worlds has far-reaching consequences for Allison, her squad, and the world.
Ultimately, the lesson I’ve drawn from pondering the consequences of discerning the unseen is that there’s a great benefit to slowing down, lifting your head up, and taking the time to observe your surroundings. You might be surprised by what you see and what inspires you. I know this always proves true for me.
Back in the summer 2018, I wrote for the blog like I do now. For my last post of the summer, I mentioned that I felt bad I never responded to anyone’s comments the entire time. I proceeded to say that if I could do it over, I would’ve responded more. Yet, it’s been almost a year now since I started writing on here again, and I have yet to respond to anyone’s comments.
I constantly wonder why that is. I read all of them, and I get asked stuff pretty often! One would think I’d respond at least once in a while, right? As logical as that sounds, and as easy as I’m sure it would be, for some reason I can never bring myself to respond, even if I do want to answer someone’s question.
I’ve finally deduced that I have a bit of anxiety when it comes to dealing with comments. On one hand, I love them! I love that you fine readers interact with the post and like the post enough to comment on it or ask something interesting! The more comments on a post, the better in my mind. On the other hand, if I respond to one person and not someone else, will the person I didn’t respond to get upset over it? Or what if I respond and they don’t see it, and think that I ignored them?
I guess technically I could reply to everyone’s comments so I don’t feel bad about being selective or seeming like I’m picking favorites or something. But I’m not sure if it’s entirely realistic to reply to every single person all the time. But then how do I choose who I do end up replying to?
I’ve never quite understood how comments on WordPress work, anyway, so I’ve always avoided them because I think they’re weird, functionality-wise. Unlike Twitter, you can’t like, directly reply to someone, so if you want to say something back you just have to put their name in the comment that you’re posting and hope they see it? I don’t know, seems kind of like an odd way to do comments. So I’ve just never bothered to try.
But that’s really a small piece of the pie in comparison to seeming like I’m picking favorites or ignoring people. I guess in my mind it’s just better to ignore everyone and never reply, rather than reply sometimes or only to some of the people that comment. Does that make sense? Of course not! But I don’t know how to stop my brain from thinking this way.
And now that I’ve been doing it this way for so long, I feel like I can’t stop. Like I can’t just start replying to comments now out of the blue! It’s already been a year, won’t it look odd if I just start doing it? Like, “oh, why did she decide to start replying now? Couldn’t she have been doing that the past year?” Yes! I could have! Probably.
Honestly, I just feel guilty. And this is over comments of all things! Am I being a drama queen? Maybe, but how do I tell my brain to quit being difficult? I care about y’all, and I want to start replying to you, even though I haven’t before. Better late than never, right?
So, I’m making this post to hold myself accountable. If I tell you all that I’m going to do it, that’ll make me actually do it! No backing out, anxiety be damned.
I can’t promise to reply to all of you. And with my replies to comments comes my mighty mallet power. So, beware! And have a great day!
We’re at the mid-point of July, and what better time to show off a hefty collection of new books and ARCs that have some to the Scalzi Compound. What here is calling to you for the second half of the month? Share in the comments.
I didn’t think that this post would be the last of its kind, as I expected there to be episodes 7-9, like with WandaVision, but alas, season one of Loki ends with just six episodes. I’m going to assume that season two will also have six episodes, but I guess we’ll see when it gets here.
Anyways, I’m obligated to offer you an OFFICIAL SPOILER WARNING, so here it is! Let’s get into it.
(Also: A link to the write-up for the first three episodes, in case you missed it.)
I just want to start off by saying that I know an enemies-to-lovers trope when I see when one, and BOY FUCKING HOWDY did I see one in episodes three and four. And I thought I had to be wrong. There was no way that they would actually make Loki and Sylvie have feelings for each other, right? And yet I couldn’t stop analyzing every moment they had together that just seemed so typical enemies-to-lover. I convinced myself I was overthinking it, and that I was reading the signs wrong, BUT I WASN’T.
All that banter? All that fighting? All that opening up to each other? Working together? It was so obvious all along and I felt like I was the only one that could see it. But I never in a million years expected the writers to actually like, make it happen.
Is there a lot, and I mean a lot, of discourse surrounding this decision? Yes, absolutely. But no matter how you feel about it, you can’t deny that Loki liking Loki is completely in character. It’s so on brand for him to like someone who is essentially him, right? Even Mobius said that his “demented crush” on her makes sense because he’s a huge narcissist who thinks he’s the greatest thing ever, so how could he not fall for someone who is just like him, and is in fact basically him!
It’s also not even close to the weirdest thing Loki has done if you read any mythology. Now that’s some fucked up shit. So maybe Loki liking Loki isn’t like, the biggest deal ever. Feel about it how you will, but I’m just glad that Loki finally felt love for someone, even if it is a bit odd.
Of course, this only made Sylvie’s betrayal all the more painful in episode six, when she kissed him, not out of love or passion, but to distract him so she could access the TemPad and yeet him into another reality.
But, that’s enough of the romance talk for now (though I could honestly talk about it for a lot longer). Let’s talk about the actual plot and story.
As I have mentioned before, time travel and multiverses are so totally not my cup of tea. All this “void at the end of time” and “multiverse war” stuff is honestly beyond me. I don’t understand it, can’t conceptualize it, and therefore don’t really like it.
Generally I try not to fault whatever movie or show I’m watching that uses time travel or multiverses because I assume that it’s not the movie that’s stupid, it’s me. Maybe Loki makes perfect sense with all its time branching and a monster that eats time and space, it just doesn’t make sense to me specifically. I’m the one who doesn’t get it, so I can’t fault it for being a bad show, right?
But honestly, the whole idea of some dude from the 31st century somehow weaponizing Alioth (which was very unclear on the how) and becoming the grandmaster of all time and space is in fact kind of… stupid. I think the “villain reveal” was underwhelming, and that He Who Remains was largely uninteresting. Miss Minutes is a much scarier antagonist than He Who Remains.
Personally, I’m more interested in Loki for pretty much everything other than the plot. The story is by far the least interesting thing about the show. The characters and their interactions with each other are more entertaining and enjoyable to watch than anything that has to do with the story. Plus, the visuals, use of color, and cinematography overall are incredible. So there’s a lot more to Loki than this whole TVA thing, which is good for me considering I’m not a fan of the concept.
There’s obviously a lot more that I could talk about, like all the Loki variants at the end of time, Hunter B-15, Renslayer, the Time Keepers being androids, but honestly none of it sticks me as much as Loki and Sylvie. Of course, they’re the main characters, so that makes sense, but for me it goes beyond them just because the main focus of the show.
I’ve always been overly invested in Loki in particular, invested in his relationship with his brother and father, invested in his schemes and plots, invested in his MULTIPLE DEATHS (goddammit Marvel). But now I get to be invested in a part of him that has never been seen before: his romantic life. We get to see him go through feelings and emotions that have never been shown to us before, and get to see a side of him that’s different from the conniving trickster we’ve known for the past decade. And it’s wonderful.
Loki has given us so much in so few episodes, and I can’t wait for season two.
What did you think of the finale? How do you feel about Loki and Sylvie? Do you think Renslayer is a bad person? Let me know in the comments, and have a great day!
They say you should always know your audience, but in author Nicole Kornher-Stace’s case, she took this saying literally. Follow along in her Big Idea as she tells you about who she wrote Jillian VS Parasite Planet for, and why.
Since approximately five minutes after I started publishing, my mom has been telling me I should write a kids’ book. For a while I was…skeptical. Many of the kind things people have said about my work involve it being dark but ultimately hopeful but before that just. so dark. And many of my rejections have been for being “too dark.” None of which really felt super compatible with, y’know, a children’s book.
It’s not that I thought it was a bad idea, it just felt like an idea that was beyond my skillset or ability to even really conceptualize. So on the back burner it sat for a long time, along with a whole bunch of other stuff I’d talked myself out of writing for various reasons. (Thanks, impostor syndrome. You’re the best.)
And then I had a baby. And then my baby grew up into a kid. And just like that I had an audience to write a kids’ book for. And everything kind of came together from there.
Up until recently my kid was always a reluctant reader—which, as a person who’d spent her childhood holed up in her room with her nose in a book unless compelled to be otherwise, was honestly a really jarring thing to adapt to. He loved books and being read to, but reading was always a chore for him. So I took this as a challenge. I wanted to write a book that might appeal to reluctant-reader kids like mine—but to my kid above all.
My son’s favorite book at the time was Hatchet by Gary Paulsen, which thrilled me because as a kid I was all over the survival story books and spent an inordinate amount of time thinking how I’d prepare for my own Survival Adventure. I used to sit for hours and go through outdoor adventure catalogs that randomly appeared in our mail and pick one item per page that I would be “allowed” to have with me when my plane crashed or my ship ran aground or I got irreparably lost in the woods and had to live off the land. Hours.
(I was a weird kid. Surprise.)
He was also at the time going through a phase I remember fondly from when I was around that age. Namely, deliberately and meticulously scaring the living crap out of himself. I’d already bought him the Scary Stories to Tell In the Dark treasury when he was still practically in the womb, and it sat on a high shelf for about ten years before he was ready for it. But when he was ready he was ready.
So my kids’ book had to be a survival story, and also be a little creepy. Already at the top of my mental stuff I want to write about someday list were: portal-based space travel, mind-control parasites, and a character who’s an intelligent shapeshifting nanobot cloud.
I had a ton of fun doing a research deep dive into real-world parasites and how they manipulate their hosts into doing their bidding. (If this topic interests you even a little, do yourself the absolute favor of getting your hands on a copy of Plight of the Living Dead by Matt Simon. Please.) And a ton of fun coming up with the name for my AI character, the Semi-Autonomous Bio-Reconnoitering Intelligent Nanobot Array (SABRINA).
Suddenly it was starting to look an awful lot like a story.
But first I needed a protagonist.
I was writing the book for my son, but at the same time I knew that if I was going to write a science-heavy hard(ish) SF adventure book for kids, I wanted the protagonist to be…not a boy. We’ve already got a ton of those. So I asked my son how he felt about the main character of his book—who he knew was based on him—to be a girl.
And he was like sure, why would I have a problem with that? Not to brag, but he’s basically the best.
He’s also a kid with a generalized anxiety disorder that took ages to diagnose because his teachers kept telling me things like nooo, can’t be anxiety, he’s so extroverted and outgoing! But then I took him in to see a developmental pediatrician who spent an hour with him and said, basically, yeah no this kid has an anxiety disorder.
Which got me thinking about how anxiety gets depicted in fiction, and how the often-inaccurate shorthand of “anxiety=shyness” that we’ve all internalized might get in the way of other kids’ actual real-life diagnoses. Because my kid? Is not shy. He’s the biggest people person in my household. But he’s also got a brain that is waaaay too good at playing the what-if worst-case-scenario game. A brain that wants to know exactly where things are going before they get there. And which will ask the same questions over and over and over and over again. Not because he wasn’t paying attention when you answered the first time. Because he’s checking in. To see if anything has changed since last time he asked.
And from there I started pondering how that what-if way of thinking and that tendency toward careful planning might actually benefit a person in a survival situation. And how I’d never seen anxiety represented in fiction in a way that was accurate to my experience, or my kid’s. And that I suddenly really wanted for that to be a thing that exists, not just for my kid but for other kids like him.
So my reaction was what it always is when I want to read a thing and can’t find it. I went ahead and wrote it myself.
I guess in the end the Big Idea behind this one was: pinpointing your ideal audience, and then writing them the very best book you can. Even if it catapults you—much like the protagonist, surviving by her wits on a hostile planet—straight out of your comfort zone.
It was going to be released on March 22, 2022 (in the US and Canada). Now it’s going to be released a week earlier: March 15, 2022. Why the change? For abstruse reasons relating to international distribution, and also because, well, why not, apparently the date was open on Tor’s schedule, so here we are. Now you have one fewer week to wait!
Also, yes, audio/ebook will also be March 15, and the UK release will be on March 17, and the rest of the world will be whenever it will be. For answers to any other question about the book you might have (probably), there’s the New Book FAQ.
By now, you’ve probably come to expect my monthly snack box review posts, and with this post I shall have met said expectation, because this post is my review of the July Sakuraco Box!
If you haven’t read any of my previous Sakuraco posts, Sakuraco is a company that is dedicated to bringing you authentic Japanese tea time snacks and home goods. Each monthly box has a unique theme that the snacks tend to follow, and each box has twenty snacks total, including a home good such as a cup or bowl.
Unlike my previous Japanese snack box post, which was TokyoTreat instead of Sakuraco, I pay for my Sakuraco boxes. Of course, paying or not paying does not affect the honesty of my posts, but I figured I’d let you all know anyway that these posts in particular are not in exchange for anything, rather I just really like these boxes.
In previous months, the themes have been things like Sakura, Matcha, or Citrus, but this month’s theme was very interesting. July’s theme was Hokkaido Summer. The booklet that came in the box talked about how Hokkaido is known for having the best dairy products in Japan, as well as having a special kind of melon there called the Yubari Melon. So, basically every snack in the box was melon or cream themed, or a mix of both.
I always like to share the snacks with others, so I tried this box with my friend, and I’ll be including some of their thoughts, as well.
The first thing we tried was the Melon Mochi:
This actually came as a big package of twelve individually wrapped mochis, which is a lot! Upon initially trying it, my first thought was that it felt and tasted exactly like gum. It almost felt as if I shouldn’t swallow it since the texture was so similar to gum. The melon flavor was honestly so perfect, and the white chocolate filling was absolutely bangin’. All in all very delicious. I’m definitely going to blow through the whole dozen of them in no time. My friend and I both gave these a 9/10.
Up next, we tried something a little crunchier, the Yubari Melon Cream Sandwich Cookies:
These shortbread-like cookies weren’t as sweet as I was expecting, but they had a subtle melon flavor that was very pleasant. I thought the size of these cookies was perfect, they were just the right amount for a quick little treat. They didn’t have like, a ton of filling, but they were still pretty good and quite enjoyable. My friend and I gave this one an 8/10.
We followed that one with another crunchy-sandwich-esque snack, the Melon Soft Sand:
Here we have two extremely thin monaka wafers with melon cream in between. If you’ve read the previous posts, you know that monaka wafers can be extremely hit or miss. I’m pleased to say that this one was a total hit. This snack had legit the most ideal crunch imaginable. Very pleasant mouth feel, I would say. One problem though is that there was no trace of melon flavor to be found. I pried the sandwich open and tried the melon cream on its own to really concentrate on the flavor of the cream, but I tasted nothing. It was just cream. Regardless, this snack was still pretty tasty and I would definitely eat more of them, so my friend and I gave it a 7/10.
Moving away from the crunchy stuff, up next was the Yubari Melon Jelly:
Okay, y’all definitely know I have wildly mixed feelings on jellied snacks like this, and I’m sad to say this one didn’t really pass the vibe check. It felt like a mouthful of pureed cantaloupe, and honestly tasted pretty similarly. It was a little on the slimy side, so I called it quits after a couple bites. Definitely not my favorite jellied snack I’ve tried, but the melon flavor was pretty alright. It earned itself a 4/10 from my friend and I.
No melon in sight for the next one we tried, the Hokkaido Milk Cheesecake:
This dense little pound cake was dotted with weirdly hard cubes of cheese throughout. The pleasant softness of the pound cake was unfortunately interrupted by these little cubes, and I did not care for their presence in an otherwise great snack. The cubes kept getting stuck in my molars. On the plus side, the pound cake was moist and yummy. This is the first snack my friend and I disagreed on the rating for, since they kind of liked the cheese cubes. I gave it a 5/10 and they gave it a 7/10.
Sticking with the cream flavor, up next was this Milk Mochi:
As soon as I tried this, I recognized the taste and texture as something incredibly familiar, but couldn’t place it until my friend said “cowtail”. When I was younger, I used to eat “Cow Tales”, a soft caramel tube with a vanilla cream filling throughout. I really enjoyed those candies when I was a kid and enjoyed this milk mochi even more so! They’re chewy, sweet, and a pretty decent size. My only complaint is that they come wrapped in some kind of edible plastic-y film, which I tried to take most of off but couldn’t quite get it all. I gave this a solid 9/10, but my friend was less of a fan of it and gave it a 6/10.
I’m pretty positive every single box thus far has come with a Dorayaki:
These little pancake sandwiches are so good, I honestly never get tired of seeing them in the boxes. Each one is slightly different from the previous boxes’, so it keeps it interesting. This one in particular was a little bigger than usual, but also a little blander, as well. It was soft and pleasant enough, of course, but just a little too mild in flavor, which earned it a 7.5/10 from me and a 6/10 from my friend.
Totally going away from the box’s theme, we have the Yawaraka Rum Raisin:
I can honestly say I have never tried anything rum raisin flavored, so this was an interesting snack to try. It had a unique flavor I’ve never really tasted before, again probably only because I’ve never tried anything rum raisin flavored, but it was good! This cookie was especially soft, and the raisins added some nice texture, as well. The cookie was the perfect size, as well, and overall it got a 7/10 from the both of us.
Another non-melon/cream related snack, we have the Hokkaido Grilled Corn Senbei:
As can be expected with senbei, these little rice crackers were extremely light and airy, but still had crunch to them. This roasted corn flavor also had soy sauce flavor in it, so these were total umami bombs. The flavors were honestly really complex and it had a lot going on. It was pretty good overall, and a nice change of pace from all the sweet stuff we had thus far. I gave it a 5.5/10, and my friend went with an 8/10.
Continuing with the break from the sweets, we have Hearty Aged Mochi:
I had never seen or even heard of mochi that wasn’t soft, but lo and behold crunchy mochi! These were reminiscent of cheese puffs, in that way that they are crunchy but also kind of melt in your mouth. The booklet says these are made with three types of salt, and you can definitely taste it! They’re extra salty lil’ things, but not so much so that they aren’t good. They’re a solid 6/10 to me and my friend.
Next, we have the Butter Mochi Senbei:
Just like the previous senbei, these were super light and airy crackers. Unlike the savory ones mentioned before, these were insanely rich and sweet, because they were covered in some kind of sugary powder that was totally decadent. Behind all that sweetness there was a bit of a toasty flavor element, as well. They tasted just like honey butter, and were a solid 8/10 to us both.
To finish off the snacks, we have the Kibi Dango:
I was initially confused by this one, because it looks exactly like the milk mochi, but shorter in length. I honestly thought they were the same thing at first, but this one is actually less sweet and flavorful than the milk mochi. It was still perfectly fine, but not nearly as tasty as the milk mochi. I forgot to ask my friend what they gave this one on a scale of one to ten, but I give it a 6/10.
And here we have the home good, the Hangetsu Side Plate:
This plate looks exactly like the previous month’s serving tray, but that’s because they’re both designed to represent the “four seasons”. Personally, I really like the black and gold look, and the art is super nice, too. I love the uniqueness of the shape of the plate, I’ve definitely never seen anything quite like it before, and I’m happy to add this piece to my ever-growing collection of dishware. It’s a little on the small side, but it’d make for a good appetizer or snack plate (you can actually see it pictured in the second snack’s photo).
And of course, here is the tea that came in the box if you’re curious:
This is Peach Matcha Tea, and honestly I really considered trying this one because I like peach, and I know I at least like peach tea when it’s iced and sweetened, so I thought maybe I’d like this one. But I’ll probably just try it on my own and not write about it, because I think it’s unfair to try and review something I know I don’t like, like tea or coffee.
Anyways, that’s it for the July box! This was definitely my favorite box so far, which I think I might’ve said about the last box, but honestly this one was a total banger. I’m super excited to get the final summer box when August rolls around, and then I’ll decide whether or not to renew my subscription since I got the three month plan back in June after my three month plan from March was up (I’m definitely gonna renew, I don’t know why I even acted like it was up for debate in my mind).
Do you like melon? Did you get a July box, too? What’d you think of it? Let me know in the comments, and have a great day!
When I wrote The Outside I had the luxury of writing an apocalypse. Cosmic horrors had been unleashed on the galaxy my characters called home; they’d burned through a fifth of a planet’s surface and left it in ruins. My protagonist, Yasira Shien, got to do some very dramatic magic to lessen the cosmic horror’s effects; but, as in many fairy tales, she wasn’t able to undo it all the way. Entropy only goes in one direction, and the damage that was done remains.
This left me in a quandary when outlining The Fallen, because the aftermath of The Outside needed to be a post-apocalyptic story, and I have complicated feelings about those.
The idea of people having to scrabble and use their skills to survive in the aftermath of disaster is an appealing one, and one that’s only going to become more relevant as we feel the effects of climate change. But it’s too easy for post-apocalypse stories to drift into gritty machismo in a way that doesn’t work for me. Battening the hatches in your survivalist compound; stocking up on guns to defend yourself from ravenous unreasoning raiders who will take everything that’s yours; being manfully confronted with “hard choices” where you get to decide who in your community lives and who dies. (As a disabled author who’s been told my life wasn’t worth living before, I really hate the narrative of “hard choices.”)
So I started researching what actually happens, in the real world, after a disaster. At the recommendation of a few friends, I stumbled onto Rebecca Solnit’s book, A Paradise Built In Hell: The Extraordinary Communities That Arise In Disaster.
Solnit studies actual disasters in the last century of human history – including the San Francisco earthquake of 1906, the Halifax explosion, Hurricane Katrina, and 9/11 – and comes to a startling conclusion. In the most desperate circumstances, the instinct of the vast majority of humans is to help each other. In each of these disasters, strangers spontaneously came together, without being directed by a higher authority, to make sure everyone was fed, sheltered, rescued, and cared for – often doing a better job than any official organization trying to help from on high.
In fact, powerful organizations trying to clean up after a disaster are often the ones compounding the harm. In a phenomenon called “elite panic,” people who had power before the disaster are the ones most likely to be violent in a disaster’s aftermath, “keeping order” by defending property and the existing hierarchy even at the expense of human lives.
Looting is a good example of this. It happens, but mostly it’s people foraging for food, medicine, and other essentials that are no longer accessible in the usual way. Elites use fear of looting to justify violence towards people who threaten property – or people, especially people of color, who simply set foot in an area where the elites don’t want them.
When I read A Paradise Built in Hell I knew that I didn’t have to write the world of The Fallen as a grimdark, every-man-for-himself wasteland. I could show people in flawed but caring communities working together as best they can. It wouldn’t drain tension or danger from the story, because the people in those communities are still up against something truly massive in scale.
Elite panic was also the perfect concept to motivate The Fallen‘s primary villains – the artificially intelligent Gods who rule The Outside‘s galaxy. It fit the narrative perfectly (not to mention Their characterization in The Outside) for these Gods to be interested in strict control, more concerned with punishing heresy than in helping the humans who depend on Them. In fact, it would be convenient for the Gods if this part of the planet went away completely – and They’re powerful enough to make that happen, in time.
Yasira and her friends, having partly saved the planet once already, are tasked with protecting the people who remain. They have particular talents and resources that the rest of the planet doesn’t, and they use them to help connect different survivor communities together. The Gods are far more powerful than all the mortal survivors combined, but as They continue to make things worse, resentment rises, and even talk of rebellion. It’s up to Yasira to figure out how to harness that rebel energy for some purpose that won’t just doom everyone all over again.
What results is an unusual book about mutual aid, (mostly) nonviolent resistance, trauma, resilience, and community – added to even more of the first book’s AI and cosmic horror strangeness.
News arrives to me today that the Coca-Cola company is yet again tweaking both the formula and look of Coke Zero (more formally known as Coke Zero Sugar, but literally no one outside Coke’s marketing department calls it that). This is the second time Coke has tweaked the Zero formula, the first time being in 2017. Coke Zero fundamentally differs from Diet Coke, Coke’s other zero-calorie cola, in that it is based on the “classic Coke” taste profile, whereas Diet Coke was a new flavor profile at the time of its release (and indeed was the basis for the infamous New Coke). Coke Zero also differs from Diet Coke in that it’s traditionally been marked more toward men than women, hence the lack of the word “diet” anywhere on the labeling, because as we all know men don’t go on diets, that would make them look weak in front of all the other men, who would fall on them and tear out their viscera or something sad like that. The new taste and look are apparently debuting in Manhattan tonight (it’s “Manhattanhenge“) and then will start appearing in US stores this month.
As with last time the formula was tweaked, people are wondering what I, who basically lives on Coke Zero (not because I have fragile masculinity I SWEAR but because I prefer the taste to Diet Coke), thinks of the plan to fiddle with the taste profile. My response is basically the same as last time: If it ends up tasting more like regular Coke, great, because that’s what I want; if it goes horribly wrong and I hate it, well, then, it’s a very fine time for me to give up my cola addiction, which as a 52-year-old man is probably doing neither my pancreas or my kidneys any favors. That said, the last time Coke tweaked the Zero formula, I was perfectly fine with it; it was only subtly different. I imagine they’re not going to mess with it too much this time around either. I suspect I will be perfectly fine with it again. I will let you know what I think when I get the new stuff.
What I actually find more interesting is the new look, which has totally gone over to a red can after a decade at least of black being the primary color profile for the brand. This suggests to me two things — one, Coke is going to start trending away from making Coke Zero their “dude” zero-calorie beverage and open up the marketing to a wider audience of consumers, and two, Coke also realizes sugared sodas are a consumer sector that is likely in a permanent state of decline, both as consumer tastes change and as governments start taxing sugared sodas as the empty-calorie-laden candy water health hazards they are. Every marketing tweak brings Coke Zero that much closer to just being “Coke.” Diet Coke can’t do it — after nearly forty years its own brand is too strong — but Coke Zero can do it just fine. It was meant to be just like Coke from the beginning.
In a larger sense, I am struck with the recent ascendance of the “Zero Sugar” labeling in the sodasphere. It’s not just Coke who uses it: Dr. Pepper now has “Zero Sugar” lines, as does Pepsi, and other smaller soda companies as well. The era of “diet” sodas appears to be ending, again, because the soda companies don’t want to associate lack of sugar in their soda with commentary about losing weight or getting healthy. This is honestly just as well, since at this point it appears deeply questionable whether drinking unsugared sodas is either healthy, or helps with managing weight. And, again, fragile masculinity doesn’t “diet.” So, fine: “Zero Sugar” it is.
So, yes: Behold the New New Coke Zero (Sugar), also possibly the soon-to-be-new-old-Coke (but not, to be very clear, the new-old-New-Coke). I will almost certainly drink it! And it will probably be just fine.
RYAN VAN LOAN:
My Big Idea began with that old saw: “power corrupts”.
The actual quote is “power tends to corrupt” (emphasis mine) “and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” It was written by a stodgy British lord whose only real claim to fame was influencing the British Prime Minister of the time to tacitly support the Confederacy during the American Civil War…and that quote that’s been oft repeated, little reckoned in the centuries since.
It’s something I’ve reckoned with my whole life. When you grow up poor, when you grow up short and scrawny with a late growth spurt, and when you sign up for the infantry for six years during a time of war…power is something you are faced with time and time again. Power tends to corrupt. Tends to. Does it? That’s what I wanted to find out when I sat down to create The Justice in Revenge, sequel to my debut, The Sin in the Steel.
Last year I wrote about my Big idea for Sin: that my streetwise protagonist Sambuciña “Buc” Alhurra, was looking for a lever to upend her corrupt society and break the cycle of violence and poverty she’d been born into. Buc and her war-weary Watson-esque partner in crime-solving, Eld used their reputations as the first private investigators to solve a mystery empires and the Gods themselves had failed to solve in exchange for a seat on the board of the most powerful trading company in the world. A pair of seats as it turned out, handing Buc the power she needs to reshape society in such a way that children like herself never go hungry, never find themselves born into the gutter, never to rise from it…maybe.
(Reader, be warned: slight spoilers for The Sin in the Steel follow)
What I discovered when writing The Justice in Revenge is that power changes people in ways both great and small. Buc has the ear of the Doga of Servenza, one step below the Empress herself. She’s sparring with the chairwoman of the mighty Kanados Trading Company on the daily, and she’s got a shard of a Goddess inside her thanks to the events of Sin which grants her superhuman powers…along with the shard’s constant temptation for Buc to surrender to the Goddess and become one of her full fledged mages.
The Buc of Justice has choices available to her that the old Buc never could have dreamed of and those choices necessarily force her to reevaluate her approach. Should she use her access to the Doga to secure favors that could further her goals? Should she try a hostile takeover and wrest control of the trading company’s board to herself? What about making a truce with one of the most powerful beings in the universe? Surely any or all of those could help her upend the corrupt society she’s dreamed of scouring clean…but none of those things happen in a vacuum.
Even a genius like Buc can’t engineer every coup to be completely bloodless and to compromise with the elite of this society–those who prop it up every day and seek to profit from it in perpetuity–is going to have its own set of costs. Buc is going to have to bend to the realities of realpolitik, and that, Dear Reader, is where the corruption question really comes to the fore. It was lurking there in the background, even just by association Buc was already feeling its creeping tendrils, but in taking a seat at the table, in playing their game, has she already been compromised?
Stories are full of characters who are given great power. We’ve seen when those characters live up to their expectations in movies like Captain America and Spiderman and we’ve also seen when the power takes control like in Saruman and (dare I peer into that Pandora’s box of an ending) Daenerys in Game of Thrones. I wanted to test that notion, to test Buc’s resolve and really, that’s my Big Idea: Is power inherently evil or is it but the first step on a path that diverges, with the well trodden one leading to hell? It all comes back to that one phrase: “tends to” and whether Buc, or any of us really, are capable of the constant vigilance required to keep from slipping onto that bright shiny path that leads to the side of absolute power and the very real, absolute corruption that comes with it.
Look, the whole fuckin’ point of M&M’s is that they are the milk chocolate that melts in your mouth, not in your hand™. So this unholy monstrosity is not only questionable the level of composition (really? As the add-in to a chocolate bar, you’re adding… chocolate? Really?), it also goes against everything M&M’s stands for as a product line. This is, literally, the actual worst.
This is why we can’t have nice things, people. This is why our nation is on the precipice. I just hope we all can take a long, hard look in the mirror at who we’ve become, and realize what has to be done. I pray we can find the courage. Our children’s children will remember what we do, here, now.
(And no, I didn’t buy it. I SWEAR. Stop looking at me like that.)