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I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Observation
Everyone
Never
Relay
Relays
Observations
Practically
Observe
Gossip

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I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.
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Steampunk is...the love child of Hot Topic and a BBC costume drama
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Ah, Ivy, thought Alexia happily, spreading a verbal fog wherever she goes.
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Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?
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I'd rather be loyal than right.
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Lyall had spent centuries nibbling about the great layered cake that was polite society while Lord Akeldama acted the part of the frosting on its top.
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A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.
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You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.
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Ah, Lady Maccon, how lovely. I did wonder when you would track us down.” “I was unavoidably delayed by husbands and Ivys,” explained Alexia. “These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.
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I do not giggle without purpose. Lady Linette says you should never misapply a giggle.
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How ghastly for her, people actually thinking, with their brains, and right next door. Oh, the travesty of it all.
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His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.
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She moved with such purpose it was as though she walked with exclamation marks.
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[She] lost her patience, a thing she was all too prone to misplacing.
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She was no closer to determining who might want her dead. There were just too many possibilities.
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Biffy didn't like enigmas - they were out of fashion.
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Even Alexia, spinster that she was, was given an allowance large enough to dress her to the height of fashion— although she did tend to stick to trends a little too precisely. The poor thing could not help it. Her choice of clothing simply lacked soul.
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Poetry can cause irreparable harm when misapplied
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As with most things in life, Lady Maccon preferred the civilized exterior to the dark underbelly (with the exception of pork products, of course.)
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...Tunstell was not what one could describe as call subtle. His flaming red hair bobbed up with each pointed and articulated footstep as though he were some cloaked Gothic villain creeping across a stage.
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