Neil Gaiman writes short stories so so well but they literally fall into 3 categories:
-the occult treated so mundanely that it makes you cry and scream at the night stars and wish for a childhood so foreign that you don't recognise yourself afterwards
I used this link to see what my writing style was like and I—
I am humbled by this honor. It’s not the first time someone has told me my writing style was reminiscent of Mr. Gaiman’s and it remains to this day the highest and greatest compliment I have ever received.
I doubt @neil-gaiman will see this, but I really had to share.
“Hullo, again,” he rubbed his palms together as if deciding how much to bet on a horse at the track, “can I have—uh, hmm—ah, let’s stick with those two americanos again, if that’s alright.”
“Room for cream and sugar, too, right?” Asked the barista, her eyes darting between the professor and the table he’d just alighted from.
“That would be correct, yes,” opening his wallet, “how much do I owe you?”
She pursed her lips, “If it’s just a few shots of espresso and water, it’s on the house. You and your wife come here all the time, it’s fine.”
Gale’s chest tightened—all of the air gone in an instant. He blinked several times, visibly processing. “My uh—my, my what?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you two were—”
“HA, No! Oh, no no, I mean of COURSE not, we work together that could—that could never be a…possible—ahem, thing,” he glanced back at her, adjusting his glasses, hoping the ambient noise of the coffee house was enough to keep her from hearing all of this.
“Sorry, I just assumed, my bad,” the barista avoided eye contact as much as possible, writing their order on a napkin and handing that with the two mugs to her coworker.
“No, it’s fine, I can see where the confusion would come from. We certainly frequent your establishment often enough,” he looked down and fiddled with his wallet.
“Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you,” an absent-minded nod as he stepped off to the side, letting someone else order next. Gale leaned against the wall near the pick-up counter, sliding his wallet into the pocket of his dockers and fidgeting instead with his glasses. He didn’t dare look up to see if Meg was looking his way; if she had heard and was now staring at him with an incredulous look. Or worse, an entertained chuckle about to burst forth from her lips.
They looked fuller today, didn’t they. Maybe it’s because she keeps biting them while she studies.
Tik Tok folks are also on the same page as US,here on Tumblr. This guy used to be a Sugar, not so much anymore. This is so laughable, pretending to be something they're not. They needed a caravan just to walk from around the block. This reminds me of the national theatre incident when she was given her marching orders but pretended she came from that event.