I have this thing where I like to talk about books (novels and short stories and stranger things; I’m being general, here). And my friends are usually enthusiastic, but there are only so many of them, and I’m terribly egotistical, you see. So I thought, hey, maybe strangers would also like to read my opinions about books, both specific reviews and strange things that occur to me in the grand, misty realm of genre writing. Here you will find a strange person telling the internet about fantasy books. That’s, well, about it.
Why am I the Ginger Waif, you may ask? Well, the ginger bit is easy, as I am all kinds of pale and freckled and redheaded. As to waif? Well, before the term was co-opted in the service of describing narcotics-addled alien clotheshorses, it was a very good word. It indicated something odd and small and a bit feral, maybe pathetic, certainly, but perhaps threatening, too, animal or human or something in between, lost and prickly and given to slipping through cracks. The sort of creature who, I think, likes to read books about fantastic events and strange worlds. Thus, I am the Ginger Waif, and all the other tricksy foundlings and stray beasts are welcome to my ponderings.