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This Is How You Lose the Time War
I love you. If you’ve come this far, that’s all I can say. I love you and I love you and I love you, on battlefields, in shadows, in fading ink, on cold ice splashed with the blood of seals. In the rings of trees. In the wreckage of a planet crumbling to space. In bubbling water. In bee stings and dragonfly wings, in stars. In the depths of lonely
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glistening viscera
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
London Next—the same day, month, year, but one strand over—is the kind of London other Londons dream: sepia tinted, skies strung with dirigibles, the viciousness of empire acknowledged only as a rosy backdrop glow redolent of spice and petalled sugar. Mannered as a novel, filthy only where story requires it, all meat pies and monarchy—this is a pla
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The snow’s gone and everything is warming, as if the sun were knuckling into the earth with both hands and kneading it into release.
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
Two great empires broke themselves here, each a reef to the other’s hull.
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
It feels harder to write than it should. It feels easier to write than it should, as well.
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
As the prophet says: Everybody’s building them big ships and boats.
Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone • This Is How You Lose the Time War
Books are letters in bottles, cast into the waves of time, from one person trying to save the world to another. Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep fighting. We’re all still here.