East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai

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The Blue Nightingale, a new Tale from the Frontier

I have just posted a new story to my Patrons, the fifth short in the Tales from the Frontier series – a short fun piece, written in a single sitting and set this time on the other side of the Abode of the Snow, in the not-exactly-Chinese-empire of the northwest.

A story about honor, duty and common sense, called The Blue Nightingale.
Because it’s good to be my patrons.


Cultural illiteracy

Werner Herzog, not exactly the latest newcomer, used to joke that kids coming out of film school had wasted three years and a lot of money, and thought the history of cinema started with Star Wars, they had no idea of who Elia Kazan was, or who D. W. Griffith was.

And about half an hour ago I was talking with a friend, and she was aghast: in a TV quiz show, the participant was asked to give the name of “the Sergio who directed Once Upon a Time in America“, and the participant drew a blank – this person had no idea of who Sergio Leone was.

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Plots, Nefarious or Otherwise

Sitting here wrapped in blankets, drinking hot tea and popping aspirins to try and get back on track after two days spent on the road and in the cold, I find that there is little I can do but plot future stories.

I sent a detailed pitch to my Italian publisher, but I’ve yet to hear back from them, and I have here two open calls that would be madness to miss – so I sit, and drink tea, and plot.
This is the phase in which I do not write, but rather I pile ideas upon ideas, and let them simmer.

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The Carole Lombard Memorial Blogathon: the Two Godfreys

Hold on tight to your seats, ladies and gentlemen, because this is the day of the Carole Lombard Memorial Blogathon, and if you’re ever been around here before, you know I worship Carole Lombard, that we lost too soon and was absolutely irreplaceable.

The Blogathon is hosted by The Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood and Carole & Co, so be sure to check the link, and you’ll find a wealth of posts about Lombard, her movies and her life.
And then come back here, because we are about to discuss My Man Godfrey, and also, My Man Godfrey.
It’s going to be a gas.

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A tour on the Minibus

As expected, the night spent reading Chris Fowler’s book about forgotten writers has started wreaking havoc with my reading plans, or at least with my to-read pile of books and ebooks.

Having read Fowler’s fun collection of short bios, I found it to be excuse enough to finally go and check out a writer that’s been on my radars for years now, but I never found the time, or motivation, or that extra bit of curiosity that would make me go and spend money and time on one of her books.

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