3/5/09 11:30 am - Dreams and memes--when I pronounce those words, they don't rhyme.
I woke up clearly hearing this music, though my room is empty of aught but birdsong. It was restful and pleasing.

(I woke from a dream with Draco Malfoy and Catherine Deneuve, set in some odd version of the Squirrel Hill Library, the point of which seemed to be that one's circumstances have a lot to do with who one becomes. Draco Malfoy was a lot less bitter with Catherine Deneuve as an adopted mother.)
But! Neat Works In Progress meme from
rainjoyous.
Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations (sayeth Laura, and agreed with by Gen, bollocks to that, most fun bit). No more than one sentence!
First; a line apiece from a bunch of unfinished spoken word pieces and shreds of poetry:
I wonder--where is the point that emphasis begins to mean nothing?
To stay in love with you I need you to be less afraid of *silence,* because while thunderclouds start in the quiet, so do forests, and to stay in love with you I need more than the cultured little knot-garden of affection that seems to be all you'll plant for me.
and I don't remember being jealous of you, my little fairy-baby
There are some choices that make us not human anymore, for a minute, a year
(I wonder if I/will have those hands, when someday/I've earned my black belt)
The day I left my mother's house, my hands were painted with maps, and arrows were stitched onto the soles of my sandals
And then, some stuff from stories:
It's the drizzly, I-can-do-this-all-day sort of winter rain that makes the entire world seem as though it's dead or dying--there are no birds today.
When I woke up today, I was already at work.
I am not sure if this is a horror story or not, because it's strange and slow and sad.
English magic is strong, but it is hardly the only flavour of the Art that exists, and betimes a man likes the taste of something unfamiliar.
(That's from the Sedna story that I still can't make work.)
She's not overlarge, a sweet, young thing, golden of wood and barely stained, unencrusted by barnacles, her sails a deep rose in hue. Every inch of her is bright against water or sky.
(My Canterbury-by-Sea collection. It's coming along okay-ish.)
Still, she did have to go out among the wolves to get the things she needed to keep her hair so red.
There was something alien behind Grandma's face today.
Two separate attempts at a very particular sort of Red Riding Hood tale.
And then, some fanfic
First, a handful from different approaches to a Walter/Seras Hellsing fic that I'm beating around, or a couple of them, really:
Alucard was full of a fizzing energy, a sharp-toothed delight, that Walter found questionable in the best of times; laid against Seras' evident fear, it was disgusting.
The vampire--Master, came the knowledge again, bright and joyful and fierce, and the desire to do right by him--who had killed and then unkilled her seemed much less interested in her now that the tall blonde woman was around. He dumped Seras unceremoniously on the back seat of an expensive car, and Seras drifted out of consciousness until the door opened again.
Behind the dark-haired man, the front doors opened, closed. His lips thinned, though no irritation marked his brow. "Welcome to Hellsing."
It didn't matter where she'd been, how long she'd been gone from the pillow, but every time she laid her head down to rest through the day, there was the faintest breath of lavender from the linens.
And then some other stuff;
'I always wondered," Simon said, "If your ears were more sensitive than mine, since there's more there to play with."
From my as-yet-untitled Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann Viral/Timeskip!Simon that just WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE
And in his arms, she went to light and mist, and the wall went to snow, and Katara wept, scrabbling for the Avatar
The best Avatar fic I feel I've ever written, hands-down. Unfinished. Sigh.
"My son was older than you when he died, Toph." Iroh said. *cough* ahem. Yeah, exactly what it looks like. But I swear to god she isn't twelve in it.
(I woke from a dream with Draco Malfoy and Catherine Deneuve, set in some odd version of the Squirrel Hill Library, the point of which seemed to be that one's circumstances have a lot to do with who one becomes. Draco Malfoy was a lot less bitter with Catherine Deneuve as an adopted mother.)
But! Neat Works In Progress meme from
Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations (sayeth Laura, and agreed with by Gen, bollocks to that, most fun bit). No more than one sentence!
First; a line apiece from a bunch of unfinished spoken word pieces and shreds of poetry:
I wonder--where is the point that emphasis begins to mean nothing?
To stay in love with you I need you to be less afraid of *silence,* because while thunderclouds start in the quiet, so do forests, and to stay in love with you I need more than the cultured little knot-garden of affection that seems to be all you'll plant for me.
and I don't remember being jealous of you, my little fairy-baby
There are some choices that make us not human anymore, for a minute, a year
(I wonder if I/will have those hands, when someday/I've earned my black belt)
The day I left my mother's house, my hands were painted with maps, and arrows were stitched onto the soles of my sandals
And then, some stuff from stories:
It's the drizzly, I-can-do-this-all-day sort of winter rain that makes the entire world seem as though it's dead or dying--there are no birds today.
When I woke up today, I was already at work.
I am not sure if this is a horror story or not, because it's strange and slow and sad.
English magic is strong, but it is hardly the only flavour of the Art that exists, and betimes a man likes the taste of something unfamiliar.
(That's from the Sedna story that I still can't make work.)
She's not overlarge, a sweet, young thing, golden of wood and barely stained, unencrusted by barnacles, her sails a deep rose in hue. Every inch of her is bright against water or sky.
(My Canterbury-by-Sea collection. It's coming along okay-ish.)
Still, she did have to go out among the wolves to get the things she needed to keep her hair so red.
There was something alien behind Grandma's face today.
Two separate attempts at a very particular sort of Red Riding Hood tale.
And then, some fanfic
First, a handful from different approaches to a Walter/Seras Hellsing fic that I'm beating around, or a couple of them, really:
Alucard was full of a fizzing energy, a sharp-toothed delight, that Walter found questionable in the best of times; laid against Seras' evident fear, it was disgusting.
The vampire--Master, came the knowledge again, bright and joyful and fierce, and the desire to do right by him--who had killed and then unkilled her seemed much less interested in her now that the tall blonde woman was around. He dumped Seras unceremoniously on the back seat of an expensive car, and Seras drifted out of consciousness until the door opened again.
Behind the dark-haired man, the front doors opened, closed. His lips thinned, though no irritation marked his brow. "Welcome to Hellsing."
It didn't matter where she'd been, how long she'd been gone from the pillow, but every time she laid her head down to rest through the day, there was the faintest breath of lavender from the linens.
And then some other stuff;
'I always wondered," Simon said, "If your ears were more sensitive than mine, since there's more there to play with."
From my as-yet-untitled Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann Viral/Timeskip!Simon that just WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE
And in his arms, she went to light and mist, and the wall went to snow, and Katara wept, scrabbling for the Avatar
The best Avatar fic I feel I've ever written, hands-down. Unfinished. Sigh.
"My son was older than you when he died, Toph." Iroh said. *cough* ahem. Yeah, exactly what it looks like. But I swear to god she isn't twelve in it.


