The instructor speaks liquid sunlight, soft, drinkable. Her painting is tangible, trees you could climb and a cabin that glows. You try to follow the instructions but your trees are too thick and the mossy cabin looks more like a dung heap. I lean across the aisle and whisper loudly.
“Reminds me of a book I just read. About paint. By @garen Marie. The book I mean, not the paint. Well, both I guess.”
You refuse to look at me. This is not a new thing.
“I guess it’s more about color than it is paint. There’s painting in it. Either way, it’s a good book. It’s fantasy, or magical realism, maybe. It’s got like a quest narrative where the main character has to go get stuff. It might not be groundbreaking but it is solid, very well done. I learned quite a bit too, you can tell the author knows her stuff. Like art stuff. And colors.”
You look around. Everyone else is ignoring me much harder than you are.
“My only thing was — oh and no spoilers of course — but my thing was that it felt like the main antagonist got sidelined at the end. They had such compelling and intriguing arguments about art and beauty and collecting. Magical realism or stories with the, the whatever they’re called, faefolk, are usually not my type of thing, but I liked this story, plus it incorporates various mythos – mythosis? Mythosees? You know what I mean.”
You do not know what I mean. You begin packing up your things.
“You know, I’m something of an author myself. I’ve actually written two stories alongside Garen. You know we’re going to be in a Thanksgiving horror anthology together too. It’s cool. We’re cool. And with On the Verge, that’s the color book, with that one it’s neat to read and see a talented author’s strong start, then compare it to their current work and see how much they’ve grown and gotten better at – hey, where’re you going?”
