"Can I ask a nerdy question?"
"Yeah."
"It's more a question for the table."
"Go ahead."
"Did you guys read Dragonlance books?"
"Duh."
"I suppose I always had an idea of what they were based in. But really the connection just became apparent to me. I had shelves of those books. I used to go to out of print book stores to find old copies of the villain's series."
Truth time, Dragons of a Summerflame was the first book that really got me into reading, fantasy and otherwise. I read it in fifth grade and never stopped. Well I did, after the War of Souls series came out I just lost interest. Who were these new characters? I wanted my Tanis Half Elven back. They have been sitting, forgotten in a box for many years now. I have this dread feeling that they may have been sold. It's bittersweet since now I would love to go back to them after retroactively playing D&D.
Those stories were a definite gateway drug into my current nerdiness. I had a school girl crush on Raistlin Majere, which is weird to think of now. It may have had something to do with the darkness and light themes presented throughout. Forbidden feelings and all that crap. I think if I were to re-read them today I might be more of a Tanis girl.
Meet cute dream I had:
I am on a committee for a party at work. Its for writers, filmmakers, and other artists. So of course, we plan a Star Wars themed party. Classy as hell, it has AT-AT ice sculptures. Edible versions of various puppets throughout the film. Jawa waiters.
During the planning and running around I meet some of the writers attending that evening. One gives me his novel to read and I place it in my bag. None of them are memorable.
At the last minute I'm told I'll need to run to the bookstore. It seems no one remembered to grab stacks of books for the signing that night.
Smash cut to me running through a mall. My cat Magillicutty is running along side me (obviously) as I dodge people, jump over moving sidewalks, and duck into a comically large bookstore. As I run in I directly smash into someone, the contents of my bag spilling everywhere. The person I smacked into picks up the book I was given earlier and it turns out to be the very same writer. He takes my hand to help me up and I can finally see his face. Most people in my dreams have that vacuous store mannequin face. He is an amalgamation of possibly every attractive thing I have ever seen in a male. Bright eyes. Smiling. Smells like soap. Shortish ski slope hair. Argyle. Glasses. I'm sure he's wearing a bow tie or suspenders but I can't recall. His hand feels firm in mine. His thumb begins to trace small circles on the pad that connects my thumb and forefinger. He also doesn't let go of my hand as we continue to talk.
Then I open my eyes and realize I've overslept by an hour. Shit.
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