“A Broken Clock Is Right Two Times A Day, But This Is Not One of Those Times.”

Last year, I re-watched Beauty and the Beast for the first time in ages. I picked at it, because that’s my thing, but I still loved it because I’ll always love it. I have massive little girl nostalgia for that movie.

My interest in seeing the live-action Beauty and the Beast, meanwhile, was always pretty mild, but I went to see it anyway, mostly because my sister and my buddy wanted to watch it, and anyway, I like going to the movies and eating Milk Duds, so I figured I’d have a pretty good time no matter what.

I did have a good time going out . . . but the movie itself? Yeah, not that great.

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8 Things Fanfiction Has Taught Me

Here’s a thing about me: I fall into fandom blackholes with some frequency, sometimes because I’m looking for happy distractions from sad life stuff and terrifying political news, but also just because I love fanfiction: I’ve been reading and writing it since I was 16-years-old, and I can unequivocally say that it’s made me a happier person

I’d planned to write up a review of Seasons 1-2 of Voltron: Legendary Defender, as that was my fandom blackhole of choice a couple of months ago . . . but life happened, the review got delayed, and I’m now happily in the midst of a Riverdale spiral instead. More importantly, I realized that so much of the review was going to be about discussing the relationship between fandom and show that I realized what I really wanted to do was talk about my experience with fanfiction in general: what I look for, what doesn’t interest me, how it’s made me a better writer, and how it can shape my perception of the canon material itself.

I’m not sure if anyone’s interested in that kind of thing, but hey, that’s why it’s my blog, right? (Also, did I mention I’m throwing out some random fanfic recs? Because I am definitely throwing out a few random fanfic recs.)

So, here we go, people. An essay in list form, because that’s how I roll.

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“The Dreams of Youth Are The Regrets of Maturity.”

Without a movie challenge this year, I came to a startling realization a few weeks ago: I could rent whatever the hell I wanted from Netflix. There were no self-imposed deadlines I had to meet, no movies I absolutely HAD to watch. This, of course, left me wondering exactly what I wanted to watch, and I decided I was in the mood for something light, ridiculous, perhaps something that was funny even though it wasn’t actually supposed to be.

This is how I ended up watching Legend, a movie where Child of the Forest Tom Cruise wears armor without pants and has a telepathic conversation with a unicorn.

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“Is There A French Word For Feeling An Overwhelming Sense of Urgency And Impending Doom?”

It is time, I think, to try and return to our regularly scheduled programming on My Geek Blasphemy. Well. Okay. Scheduling was never really all that regular around here and may stay even more irregular in the weeks to come, but regardless, I’ve written a review for every season of Teen Wolf, and despite a necessary delay, I’m not about to stop now.


Oh, show. You started this season out well, anyway.

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And Now An Advertisement For My New Story

A little bored? Looking for something to read? Wishing there were more stories about Horror Purgatory and/or the girls who almost never survive slasher movies?

Assuming the answer to all those questions is yes (and, I mean, why wouldn’t it be), then may I present my short story “If We Survive The Night,” newly published at The Dark.


It’s, well. It’s very much a me story. If you like your horror with a liberal dose of feminism, a huge heaping of meta, and a sprinkle of vengeance, it might be worth checking out. And if none of those sound like your jam, you should check The Dark out anyway because there are other horror and dark fantasy stories you might like in this issue, including one written by my ridiculously talented buddy Helen Marshall.

Happy reading, everyone.

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My father, George St. George, passed away on February 7th, 2017. Our relationship was sometimes complicated, but I loved him very much. It is very hard to believe that I would have become a writer without him; it is harder still to accept that he won’t be here to see me hopefully publish my first novel or meet my children if I ever decide to have them. It’s hard to imagine spending a Christmas where I don’t shake my head, laughing, at whatever thing he got me that was only tangentially related to what I actually asked for. It’s impossible to reconcile what my head knows, what my eyes saw, and what my heart feels: that he’s gone but can’t be gone, because he’s Papa and was always here.

I don’t expect to discuss this in any more public detail for some time, and am not particularly looking for any type of condolences such as “he’s gone to a better place” or “he’ll always be with you.” It just felt wrong to try and return to business as normal around here without saying a word, particularly because my father commented on my reviews so often to tell me how he proud he was, and to stop using so much profanity.

I love you, Papa. Today, at least, there will be no F-bombs.

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A quick update: I probably won’t be writing much here, if at all, for a while. I need to take some time to be with family. How much time, I really can’t say at this point, but while you await my glorious return, try to take care of one another, practice self care as needed (I personally recommend squeezing your cats and watching a bunch of cartoons, but to each his own), and resist as best you can. We all need to fight for each other right now.

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