I'm pretty much not using this blog any more. Sorry about that, but things don't always turn out as I plan.
You can find me at Archive of Our Own. I don't do much original writing these days, and it's really not anything I want to share at this time.
Thanks for reading!
18 February 2012
19 September 2010
Hi!
Somehow, you've stumbled across this blog. It is a place where I post my writings: original poetry, fiction, and nonfiction; and the occasional stab at fanfiction. The original premise was to kind of...retire finished works here, but I seem to be putting up partial, unfinished, and ongoing stuff here too.
That being said, I should probably plug some disclaimers in here. In the case of fan works, I do not claim to own the characters, the settings, their universes, etc. Those rights remain with their respective creators. I'm just a fan doing this for fun, not profit. (If you should run across something that does not have a disclaimer but should, please let me know. I don't want anyone thinking I have rights over something that belongs to someone else.)
As for original works...well. That's fairly self-explanatory. The original stuff is mine. Always has been, always will be. Should you, for some bizarre reason, want to archive something, please drop me a line so I can go check it out!
Anyway, happy reading!
That being said, I should probably plug some disclaimers in here. In the case of fan works, I do not claim to own the characters, the settings, their universes, etc. Those rights remain with their respective creators. I'm just a fan doing this for fun, not profit. (If you should run across something that does not have a disclaimer but should, please let me know. I don't want anyone thinking I have rights over something that belongs to someone else.)
As for original works...well. That's fairly self-explanatory. The original stuff is mine. Always has been, always will be. Should you, for some bizarre reason, want to archive something, please drop me a line so I can go check it out!
Anyway, happy reading!
19 April 2010
I had a poem...
...but I misplaced it. Really. I have no clue where it went.
I feel awful for neglecting this space, but frankly, I haven't been writing much of late. Between the stress of preparing to move and malware infections from the depths of the internet hells and life in general, I've kind of had all the creative goodness sucked out of me. Admittedly, a fair portion of my creativeness has been taking a detour through fanfiction, but even that has been difficult to do over the past month--month!--since I posted last. I've slowed to a crawl on all my writing projects.
This is, as it turns out, a stupid thing to do. After a full day yesterday of packing boxes and cleaning, the writing bug bit me. Hard. At two in the morning. (Granted, I was sitting in bed trying to ease into sleepytime, but still. I was reading a bedtime story and was just getting toward the end of it.) This is why I keep a pen and notebook by my bed. In fact, I've been cultivating the habit of always wearing clothing with pockets so that I can carry tiny pads of paper and pens at all times. I was a bit put out, though, because all I wanted to do was finish reading and go to sleep. I was hijacked. I was compelled to scribble out a page-ish of dialogue and possible-prelude-to-porn before I could relax.
Now, to come back around, I'm fairly convinced that because I have been bottling up my writing, it comes spewing out at terrible, random, useless times. However! It's not like I can be doing my usual four/six/eight/ten/twelve hours a day right now. I just can't. (Yes, I often do write for eight or twelve hours a day. Not all at once, but in three/four hour chunks.)
I'm not having much luck finding a middle ground. I'm just going around exhausted from everything else I have to do, and so when I do sit down to write, when I make time for it...nothing happens. I just sit there, dumb, and nothing comes, even when I try. I know I probably shouldn't be taking this so hard, but I know that I've got this terrible fear in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, this lack of writing isn't situational. Maybe the words have left me entirely...again. That scares the crap out of me.
I've been trying, desperately, to lay the foundations for good writing habits and consistency and all that. I can be honest: I am a lazy, undisciplined writer. I have been so all of my writing life, and I've been trying to change that so that I have a decent flow of work most of the time. There have been periods of months, even years, where I don't write a single sentence. And I don't think I can take another dry spell. These days, where I've been so phenomenally productive, I'm always looking ahead and dreading that it could come to an end. So I keep pushing myself.
I'm coming up empty today. There's a project I'm stalled on, and another that's perilously close to that edge. I want to be able to move beyond the sticky parts and just do what I want to do.
Argh. I wandered off and lost my train of thought. I suppose I should just put in that I'm more or less on hiatus for the next couple weeks.
~Later
I feel awful for neglecting this space, but frankly, I haven't been writing much of late. Between the stress of preparing to move and malware infections from the depths of the internet hells and life in general, I've kind of had all the creative goodness sucked out of me. Admittedly, a fair portion of my creativeness has been taking a detour through fanfiction, but even that has been difficult to do over the past month--month!--since I posted last. I've slowed to a crawl on all my writing projects.
This is, as it turns out, a stupid thing to do. After a full day yesterday of packing boxes and cleaning, the writing bug bit me. Hard. At two in the morning. (Granted, I was sitting in bed trying to ease into sleepytime, but still. I was reading a bedtime story and was just getting toward the end of it.) This is why I keep a pen and notebook by my bed. In fact, I've been cultivating the habit of always wearing clothing with pockets so that I can carry tiny pads of paper and pens at all times. I was a bit put out, though, because all I wanted to do was finish reading and go to sleep. I was hijacked. I was compelled to scribble out a page-ish of dialogue and possible-prelude-to-porn before I could relax.
Now, to come back around, I'm fairly convinced that because I have been bottling up my writing, it comes spewing out at terrible, random, useless times. However! It's not like I can be doing my usual four/six/eight/ten/twelve hours a day right now. I just can't. (Yes, I often do write for eight or twelve hours a day. Not all at once, but in three/four hour chunks.)
I'm not having much luck finding a middle ground. I'm just going around exhausted from everything else I have to do, and so when I do sit down to write, when I make time for it...nothing happens. I just sit there, dumb, and nothing comes, even when I try. I know I probably shouldn't be taking this so hard, but I know that I've got this terrible fear in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, this lack of writing isn't situational. Maybe the words have left me entirely...again. That scares the crap out of me.
I've been trying, desperately, to lay the foundations for good writing habits and consistency and all that. I can be honest: I am a lazy, undisciplined writer. I have been so all of my writing life, and I've been trying to change that so that I have a decent flow of work most of the time. There have been periods of months, even years, where I don't write a single sentence. And I don't think I can take another dry spell. These days, where I've been so phenomenally productive, I'm always looking ahead and dreading that it could come to an end. So I keep pushing myself.
I'm coming up empty today. There's a project I'm stalled on, and another that's perilously close to that edge. I want to be able to move beyond the sticky parts and just do what I want to do.
Argh. I wandered off and lost my train of thought. I suppose I should just put in that I'm more or less on hiatus for the next couple weeks.
~Later
24 March 2010
Written in a Car
I was in a car the other day, going from my grandparents' house to my mom's. And suddenly, I really started to notice the shapes of the trees. Weather-wise, there's no snow obscuring the branches and trunks, but it's still early enough that there aren't any leaves either. It's been rainy the last couple days, too, and the contrast between the wet, black bark and the grey of the sky blew me away. I noticed that so many of the single trees I saw (whether by nature or by human artifice) had branches that absolutely spiraled out from the trunks. I could look at the trees and see movement. You have no idea how much I A. wished I had a camera and B. wished I could capture on film what I was seeing.
So instead, I cobbled together a haiku and recited it silently until I could write it down.
Here it is. I know it's a paltry offering, considering what I was trying to express, but I worried that if I tried to make a longer poem, not only would I forget half the lines by the time I recorded them, but that the poem's impact might be diminished.
----
The tree: twisted, gnarled
Bent from seasons in the world.
Still, in spring it buds.
----
Argh. I wish I was a better....poet? Writer? Something, anyway.
~Later
So instead, I cobbled together a haiku and recited it silently until I could write it down.
Here it is. I know it's a paltry offering, considering what I was trying to express, but I worried that if I tried to make a longer poem, not only would I forget half the lines by the time I recorded them, but that the poem's impact might be diminished.
----
The tree: twisted, gnarled
Bent from seasons in the world.
Still, in spring it buds.
----
Argh. I wish I was a better....poet? Writer? Something, anyway.
~Later
21 March 2010
Art Blogs
I've been reading a lot of other peoples' blogs lately, and I have to say, this foray has resonated with me. Specifically, I've been dipping into the wealth of blogs written by working artists. (And by working artists, I mean both A. artists who work really hard most of the time at their crafts, and B. artists who then make money off of said art...but mostly I mean type A.)
Even though I am, by and large, not a visual artist--drawings, paintings, sculpture, etc.--many of the artists I've been reading are. And I am amazed at how similar their working lives are to mine. I am also always amazed at how much more awesome their chronicles of their works are, compared to mine (and not just because they post pictures of their stuff!) It's kind of weird to phrase it like this, but I feel like I'm cut off from my work, like I can identify so much more with the struggles other people are going through.
Sometimes--well, okay, most of the time--I feel like my work is just so boring. I've been experiencing an abundance of creativity lately, which is really excellent, because I'm excited about writing again. And not just a little excited. I'm so full of ideas and snippets and just general excitement that my sleep is getting interrupted. The littlest thing will get me worked up so fast that (seriously) I feel ill with the strength of it. I'm frequently burning the candle at both ends, kept awake with the need to write and waking up early because I just can't lay in bed with words burning their way through me.
Yesterday, for example, I found I could not in good conscience retire to the bedroom for the night until I wrote a ballad. And so I struggled through it. I'm pretty in love with it today, but yesterday I just wanted to be able to stop. I took a couple breaks while writing it, yes, but I could not allow myself to quit before it was finished. (And even then, after that, I sat in my bed until two in the morning and scribbled frantically to capture a scene for a story before I was too exhausted to hold the pen any more.)
I'm also putting my hand in trying to create an art quilt. It's going fairly well, though I'm only in the planning stage. I'm using a couple of different traditional blocks in addition to the fancy parts. (I hate that quilting requires so much precise math! I'm terrible at figuring out how big I have to make certain pieces if I want them to come out a certain size.)
Doing so much all at once is really very tiring. But...I have found that reading about other people's works restores me. It makes me really happy to be creating things. It gets me excited about all kinds of art again. Now, if only I can control myself a little and stop missing/burning meals because I get distracted by writing.
~Later
Even though I am, by and large, not a visual artist--drawings, paintings, sculpture, etc.--many of the artists I've been reading are. And I am amazed at how similar their working lives are to mine. I am also always amazed at how much more awesome their chronicles of their works are, compared to mine (and not just because they post pictures of their stuff!) It's kind of weird to phrase it like this, but I feel like I'm cut off from my work, like I can identify so much more with the struggles other people are going through.
Sometimes--well, okay, most of the time--I feel like my work is just so boring. I've been experiencing an abundance of creativity lately, which is really excellent, because I'm excited about writing again. And not just a little excited. I'm so full of ideas and snippets and just general excitement that my sleep is getting interrupted. The littlest thing will get me worked up so fast that (seriously) I feel ill with the strength of it. I'm frequently burning the candle at both ends, kept awake with the need to write and waking up early because I just can't lay in bed with words burning their way through me.
Yesterday, for example, I found I could not in good conscience retire to the bedroom for the night until I wrote a ballad. And so I struggled through it. I'm pretty in love with it today, but yesterday I just wanted to be able to stop. I took a couple breaks while writing it, yes, but I could not allow myself to quit before it was finished. (And even then, after that, I sat in my bed until two in the morning and scribbled frantically to capture a scene for a story before I was too exhausted to hold the pen any more.)
I'm also putting my hand in trying to create an art quilt. It's going fairly well, though I'm only in the planning stage. I'm using a couple of different traditional blocks in addition to the fancy parts. (I hate that quilting requires so much precise math! I'm terrible at figuring out how big I have to make certain pieces if I want them to come out a certain size.)
Doing so much all at once is really very tiring. But...I have found that reading about other people's works restores me. It makes me really happy to be creating things. It gets me excited about all kinds of art again. Now, if only I can control myself a little and stop missing/burning meals because I get distracted by writing.
~Later
16 March 2010
Stretched Thin...
I feel pretty exhausted, truth be told. I managed to get myself started on another (potentially) fanfic-o-doom, this time for Saiyuki. This past weekend was hectic, because I was editing Entropy and drafting the as-yet-unnamed fic...at the same time. The new fic was hammering hard, demanding to be written, and yet I had promised myself that I would get another Entropy chapter ready for posting. I persevered and finished the editing.
I have good-ish news, I suppose. Today, I edited and posted a short piece for a Saiyuki challenge community on Livejournal. Did I mention I've gotten myself an LJ for the exclusive purpose of fanfic? Well, I did. I will probably end up crossposting all the things that go up on AFF on the LJ, mostly because I want to offer alternatives to viewing sites. (Read: posting on LJ gives a thin veneer of classiness to my tasteless writings, hahaha.)
Also today, I finished drafting part two of a two-parted fanfic/writing experiment. I say experiment, because it's one of those flip-side things, where you get one writing style and perspective in one half and another radically different style and different perspective in the other half. (And both halves cover the same events.) I need to figure out a real title for it, too. I hope to polish it off tomorrow.
I worked a short while on the unnamed fic, too. It kind of rickrolled me, really, because I was focusing on that two-parter (which is a vastly, vastly different kettle of fish) and the other story was all...BAM! Write this scene, since you're sitting right there! I don't care if you don't want to, you have no choice! Do it!
Let's see...I want to edit another chapter of Entropy over the next couple days, too. (It might be a good idea to draft more of that, while I'm at it. I'm running low on pre-written, just-needs-editing chapters for that.) I have a pretty good handle on where the story is going. It's just a question of connecting the dots with a combination of plot and character development. I haven't exactly lost interest in the story, but I am getting tired of grinding away. I suppose it's more accurate to say that other stories are getting my attention more than this one. (I shall do my best to persevere and get more done, though!)
Must go, words will eat me...
~Later
I have good-ish news, I suppose. Today, I edited and posted a short piece for a Saiyuki challenge community on Livejournal. Did I mention I've gotten myself an LJ for the exclusive purpose of fanfic? Well, I did. I will probably end up crossposting all the things that go up on AFF on the LJ, mostly because I want to offer alternatives to viewing sites. (Read: posting on LJ gives a thin veneer of classiness to my tasteless writings, hahaha.)
Also today, I finished drafting part two of a two-parted fanfic/writing experiment. I say experiment, because it's one of those flip-side things, where you get one writing style and perspective in one half and another radically different style and different perspective in the other half. (And both halves cover the same events.) I need to figure out a real title for it, too. I hope to polish it off tomorrow.
I worked a short while on the unnamed fic, too. It kind of rickrolled me, really, because I was focusing on that two-parter (which is a vastly, vastly different kettle of fish) and the other story was all...BAM! Write this scene, since you're sitting right there! I don't care if you don't want to, you have no choice! Do it!
Let's see...I want to edit another chapter of Entropy over the next couple days, too. (It might be a good idea to draft more of that, while I'm at it. I'm running low on pre-written, just-needs-editing chapters for that.) I have a pretty good handle on where the story is going. It's just a question of connecting the dots with a combination of plot and character development. I haven't exactly lost interest in the story, but I am getting tired of grinding away. I suppose it's more accurate to say that other stories are getting my attention more than this one. (I shall do my best to persevere and get more done, though!)
Must go, words will eat me...
~Later
04 March 2010
Bridging the Divide
I know, it's been ages since I've written anything here. That's because...well...there are a number of reasons, chief of which is that I've been focusing almost exclusively on retooling Entropy and setting up a page with AFF. (You can find that page here, though it is only, I repeat, only going to house my fanfiction, and there's precious little of that right now.)
As for Entropy, I'm going to be going through and uploading the new versions of the chapters sometime soon, so that we're all on the same page, metaphorically speaking. At this time, I don't plan to put up any of the other, shorter fics here. I think I'm going to go back to my original plan of making this blog be for my original stuff and not my fanworks, but I'm not going to get rid of Entropy here yet.
Random Subject Change: epigraphs and epigrams. (Not to be confused with epitaphs.) I'm wondering how well they work as focusing tools. You know, sometimes you'll read a book and it will have a few lines of poetry or a quote at the start of a chapter/section. That's what I'm talking about. I guess I'm wondering about how they cause a person to focus on the contents of a chapter. I'm not in the habit of using them, mostly because I'm concerned I'll get too married to an idea or subtext and ignore the other possibilities and directions the work could take. What if I were to choose and apply them after the chapter is done? I wonder how that would go...
Anyway, must go do other writerly things!
~Later
As for Entropy, I'm going to be going through and uploading the new versions of the chapters sometime soon, so that we're all on the same page, metaphorically speaking. At this time, I don't plan to put up any of the other, shorter fics here. I think I'm going to go back to my original plan of making this blog be for my original stuff and not my fanworks, but I'm not going to get rid of Entropy here yet.
Random Subject Change: epigraphs and epigrams. (Not to be confused with epitaphs.) I'm wondering how well they work as focusing tools. You know, sometimes you'll read a book and it will have a few lines of poetry or a quote at the start of a chapter/section. That's what I'm talking about. I guess I'm wondering about how they cause a person to focus on the contents of a chapter. I'm not in the habit of using them, mostly because I'm concerned I'll get too married to an idea or subtext and ignore the other possibilities and directions the work could take. What if I were to choose and apply them after the chapter is done? I wonder how that would go...
Anyway, must go do other writerly things!
~Later
19 February 2010
At long last...
It's been ages since I've had a real update here, hasn't it? I humbly offer a rough draft of a poem, written tonight as I enjoyed a piece of pie.
----
Fork Country
My people don't hold much truck with spoons.
Spoons have their places, namely stirring coffee in the cup
assuming it's not consumed black.
This is fork country:
For all that the places are set with spoons,
They go back, unused, to the silverware drawer at the end of the meal.
Meat and potatoes and bread and butter
Grace the plates across the table.
Green beans or swiss chard, stewed in the second-largest kettle
Served in a separate dish, for those who like it that way.
A butter knife and three-tined fork are all you'll ever need.
Save your fork for later:
Dessert is mincemeat pie from this year's deer,
God be thanked.
Square pie: done in a baking pan with two-inch-high sides
Still boiling hot and smelling great clear out the dooryard.
There's no call for serrated knives in this house:
All straight-edged blades, pick your choice
Razor sharp in the knife block
Just come back from sharpening in Uncle Phil's basement shop.
Grampy and Grammy and Momma and I each eat a slice,
Served on the thin blade of the cutting knife,
Placed on saucers by Grammy's own two hands.
The crust is the best crust anyone could make,
The filling's pretty darn good, not bad at all, considering
the apples and oranges and raisins were all free.
Grampy eats his with his favorite paring knife
Blade worn to a crescent curving out the bone handle.
He cuts the crust into bites and forks them up.
Grammy pinches stray crumbs with her fingers,
sliding them onto her fork and into her mouth.
Momma eyes the dish-- she'd like a sliver or a whole piece more.
And I think about spoons. I don't need one, but I want one.
But this is fork country,
And I'd be a fool to ask.
----
I know, I know. It's still pretty rough and needs trimming. Nonetheless, I'm fairly pleased with it so far. (Yes, the pie I ate tonight was indeed my grandmother's mincemeat. ^_^ The crust was store-bought, but it still tastes pretty good.)
I've been watching old episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations lately, and it made me wonder: if he were to visit my state, what would we show him, as far as local cuisine goes? Frankly, I don't know of any restaurants that really cover the sort of food my family cooks and eats, and I consider us to be true locals. (I know, I'm being prejudiced about out-of-staters.) I mean, what does my state have? We have a lot of mediocre chain restaurants, a lot of fast food joints, and some half-assed attempts at "fine dining." There are lots of American Chinese restaurants (not to be confused with the Chinese food one would actually find in China.) Honestly? My two favorite restaurants are independently owned pancake houses.
Anyway, I must away!
~Later
----
Fork Country
My people don't hold much truck with spoons.
Spoons have their places, namely stirring coffee in the cup
assuming it's not consumed black.
This is fork country:
For all that the places are set with spoons,
They go back, unused, to the silverware drawer at the end of the meal.
Meat and potatoes and bread and butter
Grace the plates across the table.
Green beans or swiss chard, stewed in the second-largest kettle
Served in a separate dish, for those who like it that way.
A butter knife and three-tined fork are all you'll ever need.
Save your fork for later:
Dessert is mincemeat pie from this year's deer,
God be thanked.
Square pie: done in a baking pan with two-inch-high sides
Still boiling hot and smelling great clear out the dooryard.
There's no call for serrated knives in this house:
All straight-edged blades, pick your choice
Razor sharp in the knife block
Just come back from sharpening in Uncle Phil's basement shop.
Grampy and Grammy and Momma and I each eat a slice,
Served on the thin blade of the cutting knife,
Placed on saucers by Grammy's own two hands.
The crust is the best crust anyone could make,
The filling's pretty darn good, not bad at all, considering
the apples and oranges and raisins were all free.
Grampy eats his with his favorite paring knife
Blade worn to a crescent curving out the bone handle.
He cuts the crust into bites and forks them up.
Grammy pinches stray crumbs with her fingers,
sliding them onto her fork and into her mouth.
Momma eyes the dish-- she'd like a sliver or a whole piece more.
And I think about spoons. I don't need one, but I want one.
But this is fork country,
And I'd be a fool to ask.
----
I know, I know. It's still pretty rough and needs trimming. Nonetheless, I'm fairly pleased with it so far. (Yes, the pie I ate tonight was indeed my grandmother's mincemeat. ^_^ The crust was store-bought, but it still tastes pretty good.)
I've been watching old episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations lately, and it made me wonder: if he were to visit my state, what would we show him, as far as local cuisine goes? Frankly, I don't know of any restaurants that really cover the sort of food my family cooks and eats, and I consider us to be true locals. (I know, I'm being prejudiced about out-of-staters.) I mean, what does my state have? We have a lot of mediocre chain restaurants, a lot of fast food joints, and some half-assed attempts at "fine dining." There are lots of American Chinese restaurants (not to be confused with the Chinese food one would actually find in China.) Honestly? My two favorite restaurants are independently owned pancake houses.
Anyway, I must away!
~Later
11 February 2010
Updates and Odds and Ends
Here's the deal. I've temporarily down-ranked the Entropy index. I'm doing this partly because I don't want any crossover traffic to be getting confused about what's what with Entropy. I'm going through and revising things in order to post them elsewhere, and I don't want people to think that what they've read of it here is the be-all-end-all. It's not. The story is constantly evolving, changing, growing. Some changes are minor, but there are going to be some big revisions, too. I'm working hard to better mesh the older and newer material. It's hard to keep such a sprawling body of work consistent. So anyway, that's why the Entropy index is currently moved down a bit. It can still be found in the tags under "Entropy chapter index."
That aside, I have been working on new chapters for it in addition to polishing the old ones. At this very moment, I have three chapter thirteens. Or wait. No. I have four chapter thirteens and a general sketchy outline of what chapter thirteen is supposed to cover. Working from that outline has produced three chapter thirteens in addition to the fourth, original thirteen. Obviously, once they're all nice and ready for posting, they will no longer be 13a, 13b, and 13c. They'll be thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen...and depending on how the original thirteen looks after all that new stuff, there'll be a sixteen, too. (And all of that will trigger the domino effect, considering I already have a chapter 14, 15, and 16.) I swear, every time I turn around Entropy gets bigger. Maybe I should have called it Inertia. (I'm joking. ^_^)
Besides Entropy, I've recently done up a one-shot, also Naruto and also Kakashi/Sasuke-centric. I'm still on the fence about posting it here, because it definitely requires some sort of adult content warning. Is it possible to be graphic and tasteful at the same time? I definitely shot for intimate and delicate (versus raunchy and porntastic) but I didn't really skimp on the details...In fact, I sort of wallowed in the details.
I have a few other bits and pieces from various fandoms floating around, but nothing is too serious at this point. I've been consumed by the big projects recently.
As for non-fandom things...I haven't done too much. I drafted a poem recently but haven't touched it since. Really, I have two poems on the back burner. I also have been picking at a fiction piece, but I've been derelict in pushing forward with it. That particular one is tricky: I've written some for it before and it was quite serious. Doing bits for it now, I find myself dipping into the humorous and almost farcical. It's tough to balance the different moods and styles, and I'm not convinced I'm doing it successfully. I suspect it's going to be one of those stories where the different styles interrupt the main story every so often. (I consider the serious parts to be the real meat of this story.)
I've had a real yen for discussions of writing craft lately. I've been re-reading pieces of writing manuals and style guides. I've been reading about reading too, and have just encountered a rather interesting-looking book on the subject, entitled "The Crafty Reader." Part of the premise of it seems to be about reading as a multi-faceted discipline. the thing that grabbed me about it was that A. the dust jacket promised a good discussion on the craft and tools of critical reading, and B. it kind of promised to debunk and demean the New Critical theory. (I despise New Critical.)
Still, my search for shop-talk isn't turning up a lot of results. I want discussion, not a "Thou shalt write this way and this way only" sort of thing, of which so many books on writing are. I suppose I'd do better looking for essays on writing, really, but it's kind of the same problem there, with the added distinction that a lot of the "good" essays are either by or about authors I don't read, and the works they may discuss are, for lack of a better term, dated. If I wanted to delve more into the socio-historical aspects of writing craft, I would...but I don't. I think part of the problem is that I can't clearly define what I want; I am only able to look through and say that this or that is what I don't want.
Ugh. This was a singularly unproductive post, wasn't it?
~Later
That aside, I have been working on new chapters for it in addition to polishing the old ones. At this very moment, I have three chapter thirteens. Or wait. No. I have four chapter thirteens and a general sketchy outline of what chapter thirteen is supposed to cover. Working from that outline has produced three chapter thirteens in addition to the fourth, original thirteen. Obviously, once they're all nice and ready for posting, they will no longer be 13a, 13b, and 13c. They'll be thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen...and depending on how the original thirteen looks after all that new stuff, there'll be a sixteen, too. (And all of that will trigger the domino effect, considering I already have a chapter 14, 15, and 16.) I swear, every time I turn around Entropy gets bigger. Maybe I should have called it Inertia. (I'm joking. ^_^)
Besides Entropy, I've recently done up a one-shot, also Naruto and also Kakashi/Sasuke-centric. I'm still on the fence about posting it here, because it definitely requires some sort of adult content warning. Is it possible to be graphic and tasteful at the same time? I definitely shot for intimate and delicate (versus raunchy and porntastic) but I didn't really skimp on the details...In fact, I sort of wallowed in the details.
I have a few other bits and pieces from various fandoms floating around, but nothing is too serious at this point. I've been consumed by the big projects recently.
As for non-fandom things...I haven't done too much. I drafted a poem recently but haven't touched it since. Really, I have two poems on the back burner. I also have been picking at a fiction piece, but I've been derelict in pushing forward with it. That particular one is tricky: I've written some for it before and it was quite serious. Doing bits for it now, I find myself dipping into the humorous and almost farcical. It's tough to balance the different moods and styles, and I'm not convinced I'm doing it successfully. I suspect it's going to be one of those stories where the different styles interrupt the main story every so often. (I consider the serious parts to be the real meat of this story.)
I've had a real yen for discussions of writing craft lately. I've been re-reading pieces of writing manuals and style guides. I've been reading about reading too, and have just encountered a rather interesting-looking book on the subject, entitled "The Crafty Reader." Part of the premise of it seems to be about reading as a multi-faceted discipline. the thing that grabbed me about it was that A. the dust jacket promised a good discussion on the craft and tools of critical reading, and B. it kind of promised to debunk and demean the New Critical theory. (I despise New Critical.)
Still, my search for shop-talk isn't turning up a lot of results. I want discussion, not a "Thou shalt write this way and this way only" sort of thing, of which so many books on writing are. I suppose I'd do better looking for essays on writing, really, but it's kind of the same problem there, with the added distinction that a lot of the "good" essays are either by or about authors I don't read, and the works they may discuss are, for lack of a better term, dated. If I wanted to delve more into the socio-historical aspects of writing craft, I would...but I don't. I think part of the problem is that I can't clearly define what I want; I am only able to look through and say that this or that is what I don't want.
Ugh. This was a singularly unproductive post, wasn't it?
~Later
06 February 2010
Clearing up Confusion
I have been really busy over the past few days. Really, really busy...like working eight or nine hours every day writing and editing. What is it I am working toward? I suppose I'm preparing to transfer my fanfics (what few there are) over to a designated account (with another host) just for fanfics. I'm looking at a timeline of a few weeks to complete this process.
As I prepare for the move, I'm going through the chapters of Entropy posted here. I'm giving them an extra edit and polish before posting over at the new spot. This means that what is posted here for Entropy is growing increasingly obsolete. Should I bother posting the newest versions of chapters here?
I have not yet decided if I'm going to remove the fanfics from here entirely or not. I am somewhat concerned with someone out there somewhere accusing me of plagarism, despite my carefulness to keep everything I do linked together through various means. Perhaps I will make a redirect index to replace the current chapter index?
Of course, this also brings up the question of new Entropy chapters. I have two more that currently have no internet home. Should I continue posting here and then there? Or should I only post over there? I don't want to exclude anyone...
Ah, administration. How I loathe you.
In addition to the fanfics, I've been grinding away at some original fiction. Also, I woke up this morning and did a rough draft of a poem. I was up ridiculously early today and managed to start off on a good writing foot (though I did have a nap this morning as well, after a few hours of working.) I did something like ten or eleven hours' worth of writing stuff today. If only I were this productive every day! Also, I wish I wouldn't feel so wiped from doing all that work.
I have not been doing well on the daily freewrite and weekly book review goals I set myself. If I even get a freewrite in, it always ends up being something I don't want to share...which is frustrating because part of doing the dailies is to share! As for the book reviews, again, it's a matter of not feeling that what I've read is fit for public consumption. I mean honestly. I read no less than two books a week, and sometimes upwards of one book a day. There's no excuse!
Argh. My brain is fried and I have the attention span of a cracked-out hamster.
~Later
As I prepare for the move, I'm going through the chapters of Entropy posted here. I'm giving them an extra edit and polish before posting over at the new spot. This means that what is posted here for Entropy is growing increasingly obsolete. Should I bother posting the newest versions of chapters here?
I have not yet decided if I'm going to remove the fanfics from here entirely or not. I am somewhat concerned with someone out there somewhere accusing me of plagarism, despite my carefulness to keep everything I do linked together through various means. Perhaps I will make a redirect index to replace the current chapter index?
Of course, this also brings up the question of new Entropy chapters. I have two more that currently have no internet home. Should I continue posting here and then there? Or should I only post over there? I don't want to exclude anyone...
Ah, administration. How I loathe you.
In addition to the fanfics, I've been grinding away at some original fiction. Also, I woke up this morning and did a rough draft of a poem. I was up ridiculously early today and managed to start off on a good writing foot (though I did have a nap this morning as well, after a few hours of working.) I did something like ten or eleven hours' worth of writing stuff today. If only I were this productive every day! Also, I wish I wouldn't feel so wiped from doing all that work.
I have not been doing well on the daily freewrite and weekly book review goals I set myself. If I even get a freewrite in, it always ends up being something I don't want to share...which is frustrating because part of doing the dailies is to share! As for the book reviews, again, it's a matter of not feeling that what I've read is fit for public consumption. I mean honestly. I read no less than two books a week, and sometimes upwards of one book a day. There's no excuse!
Argh. My brain is fried and I have the attention span of a cracked-out hamster.
~Later
05 February 2010
New and Improved Chapter 1!
Holy moley. A whole year? Really? I've finally come back around to fixing the flagrantly bad chapter one of the dread fic Entropy.
Reccomended reading before going forward: The Prologue
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
---
Kakashi waited outside the Hokage's office. He knew exactly why he was here, but that didn't stop his stomach from churning unpleasantly. He had doubts and misgivings about all this. Could he really accomplish what the Hokage had set him to do? He forced his body to relax, made his hands hold onto the paperwork securely but without crumpling it. As he did with most quiet moments these days, Kakashi ruminated.
It was an unspoken rule not to mention the fact that Sasuke was crazy. True, he’d never been right in the entire time team seven had known him, but he had become decidedly worse after receiving Orochimaru's tutelage. Killing his brother had been the last straw.
But, while the ninja of the village were careful not to say anything in front of Naruto or Sakura, they had no such compunctions about Kakashi. Kakashi wondered why this didn’t apply to him. Perhaps because he had been an instructor and not a classmate? Maybe everyone thought Sasuke and he had not been close, despite months of group training and months of one-on-one and that middle-of-the-night intervention that had so miserably failed. Kakashi sighed.
He knew he shouldn’t blame himself entirely. After all, he had had a few months to try and affect the patterns of years’ worth of obsession in a particularly stubborn and willful not-quite teenager. Even then Sasuke had looked like he was only just stopping himself from imploding with hate and anger and despair. He’d been so feral the night Kakashi had tried to intervene, so violent and cruel.
Kakashi smoothed the papers in his hands. He corrected himself. No. Not cruel. But unthinking and uncaring beneath the widespread branches of the tree. If he’d had wings then, no doubt he would have flown off on the wild winds that had stripped the leaves off twigs and frothed the water of the river into great sprays.
Kakashi had failed him, no matter that Sasuke was as flat and dead as the moon. He hashed and rehashed the events, thinking that there could have been some way he could have done more. Kakashi's heart twisted deep in his chest. He felt responsibility for everything Sasuke had done after that, could see the lack of his influence so clearly in all the bad, wrong, and downright nonsensical events that followed Sasuke's defection.
This was why, now, years after Sasuke’s return to Konoha, Kakashi had agreed to take him on again. Sasuke’s homecoming had been no easy thing. Admittedly, he had come back to the village of his own will. It was pure bad luck that he had come to destroy it, but it was the thought that counted, right? He cared enough about it to want it wiped off the face of the planet, at least.
It had been obvious to Kakashi then--and was still plain to him now--that Sasuke had come completely unscrewed. It showed in his commanding, too. He had been too focused on destroying the village and not enough on things like defense…or basic tactics. He hadn’t seemed to care if his people got taken down, as long as he had more time to cause as much destruction as he could. Sasuke had been bent on personally taking out each and every house, building, or wall of mortared stone.
Kakashi remembered that a good third of the village had been flattened by enormous battling summons, and most of what remained had been scorched by Sasuke’s hard-won Amaterasu. The academy was reduced to rubble. Many good ninja had died, not the least of whom was Tsunade. To be more accurate, she didn’t actually die during the battle but rather some days afterward from chakra exhaustion from both the fighting and the healing afterward. Tsunade had spent her last hours dictating village business from her bed. One of her final orders as Hokage was to send Naruto out as a diplomatic envoy.
So, while Sasuke had spent the first few weeks after the destruction of Konoha with Ibiki at the ANBU headquarters, Naruto had been fulfilling Tsunade's request. Kakashi scratched his head, trying to remember. Naruto had spent a year--or was it two?--as a diplomat, first to Suna and then on an as-needed basis to less friendly countries. Although he lacked a certain polish, he was exceptionally good with people. It also didn’t hurt that he had, by then, subsumed all the Kyuubi’s power and could (though he never did) flatten a country with that massive chakra reserve.
During Sasuke's debriefing and Naruto's diplomatic dispatch, a secondary ninja council had taken over as a temporary measure while the village rebuilt and took stock and tried to decide who would be Hokage next. Shizune had taken the lead on it for a time, before declaring that the hospital needed her more. Ibiki was second choice, but he declined before they could officially elect him. He much preferred the shadows to the limelight. Danzou had stepped in to fill the void, which lead to Sasuke's transfer from the ANBU holding cells to the Konoha prison.
There had been months of infighting and backstabbing and dirty politics, to all of which Kakashi had been privy. Finally, the remaining jounin and ANBU who were not loyal to Danzou banded together and kicked him out of office through surprisingly democratic methods. Those same ninja had then stepped up to the responsibility in a rotational fashion. Kakashi had begged off of council duty: he knew he wasn't suited for such a tedious and thankless job, but he had couched it in terms of being more useful in the field taking missions. Thankfully, the majority had agreed with him.
When Naruto had come back from diplomatic deployment, he did some time on the council rotation. He consolidated power, won over councilors and heads of clans, and proved himself to be politically astute. Then he had taken another turn. And another. Finally, the provisional government agreed that he should become Hokage. The regular council insisted that he have advisors who were, quote, “not biased towards him in such a manner as to cause undue favor of his ideas.” This meant that Kakashi wasn’t allowed anywhere near him. (Not that Kakashi wasn't already flat-out with critical and difficult missions.) Naruto's council-appointed advisors were Ebisu, Ibiki, Shizune, and Anko. Naruto agreed that the advisors would assist him with village matters large and small, for a probationary period of six months. If he didn’t manage to run the village into the ground in that time, the council would consider allowing him complete autonomy after that.
Ibiki and Anko had bailed on him after a week. Apparently, for the first time in his life, Naruto proved in a very big and public way that he was more than competent. Shizune gave up dogging him after a month. Ebisu stuck it out the longest, but this was more for the sake of looking good in front of the council than any real desire to assist or police Naruto. By the time Ebisu quit, Naruto had firmly cemented himself in village politics and no one said anything when he announced, with great aplomb, that Ebisu would be returning to his former duties.
As soon as Naruto had officially accepted the mantle of Hokage, he got to work cleaning up the village. He had made public works one of his priorities. He wanted everyone to have a home and he wanted all the buildings and infrastructure repaired, rebuilt, or replaced. The last thing that went back up was the Academy. Once everything was rebuilt, Naruto had set his sights on the prison. It rankled him that not only did Konoha have a prison in the first place, but his former best friend was there…had been there, actually, for nearly five years. Whoops. Naruto asked Ibiki to look into it, and Ibiki did. Yes, Sasuke was still there. No, he didn’t plan on escaping. No, he wasn’t going to destroy the village anymore. Yes, yes, he was still terribly crazy. Dangerously so. Although Ibiki used the terms “unstable” and “likely to harm himself.” Sasuke wasn’t doing notably worse in prison, but he wasn’t getting better.
So Naruto, still as surprising as ever, had come up with a plan. The plan still gave Kakashi a warm feeling of pride that this young man had once been his student. Naruto had made many diplomatic overtures and promises and called in favors, and in return the prisoners were sent off to various other countries as menial hard laborers. They’d be fairly treated: properly clothed and fed, but supervised and, most importantly, they wouldn’t be in prison any more. For those prisoners who were ninja, Naruto consulted with Shizune and Sakura and the knowledge of the Kyuubi. He found ways to block their chakra. It was a hard decision to make, but Naruto couldn’t just let the prisoners loose, even in the supervised work environments, to start causing trouble again. If the former prisoners were ever rehabilitated, the blocks could, in theory, be removed.
As soon as the prisoners were taken care of, Naruto gleefully had had the prison demolished. He had vowed that he would find solutions other than incarceration for future offenders. But all this progress still left the problem of what to do with Sasuke. Naruto had been convinced that, given more time, Sasuke could recover into some semblance of normalcy. So, briefly, Sasuke had gone into the hospital. It didn’t help anything and. In fact, Sasuke had gotten a bit worse. More isolated. More withdrawn. More likely to burst out in a fit of anger.
And so Kakashi had volunteered to watch over Sasuke. Or, more accurately, Kakashi was volunteered by the Hokage. Naruto had given it a lot of thought and decided that Kakashi had a better chance than anyone else. Better chance of what he didn’t say. Survival, probably, though success was also implied. It had been made an official mission, paperwork and all. Kakashi would be taking charge of Sasuke tomorrow, which was why he was waiting to see the Hokage now. He had looked over and completed his half of the paperwork. He just needed to turn it in.
Kakashi wondered now if he should have visited Sasuke during either his prison or hospital stays. He had been busy, yes, but being busy was an excellent excuse to not do it. He hadn't always wanted to see Sasuke, for one. He didn't want to see the changes the years had wrought, didn't want to connect the genin he'd trained to whoever Sasuke had become. Of course he had doubts about this mission. But, Kakashi reminded himself, he had to do this. He would do this. He may not like it, but he could endure it.
He took a deep breath and steeled himself as the door to the Hokage's office swung open.
"Come in."
The Hokage's voice drifted into the hall.
Kakashi rose from his seat. It was unavoidable. He couldn't escape this duty now, no matter how he felt about it. He double-checked his paperwork, took another breath, and stepped into the open doorway.
---
I think it is entirely less choppy than before. I also hope that it now reads a bit less like the boring exposition it used to be. (Okay, so it's still exposition. I just hope it's more readable now!) I probably still didn't do enough to make it less boring, but I think I made real, genuine improvements. (For comparison's sake, here's the original chapter one. I'm not removing it from the site, but I will be redoing the index so new readers get the improved version.)
Anyway, I must away! Onward and upward to better and different things!
~Later
Reccomended reading before going forward: The Prologue
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
---
Kakashi waited outside the Hokage's office. He knew exactly why he was here, but that didn't stop his stomach from churning unpleasantly. He had doubts and misgivings about all this. Could he really accomplish what the Hokage had set him to do? He forced his body to relax, made his hands hold onto the paperwork securely but without crumpling it. As he did with most quiet moments these days, Kakashi ruminated.
It was an unspoken rule not to mention the fact that Sasuke was crazy. True, he’d never been right in the entire time team seven had known him, but he had become decidedly worse after receiving Orochimaru's tutelage. Killing his brother had been the last straw.
But, while the ninja of the village were careful not to say anything in front of Naruto or Sakura, they had no such compunctions about Kakashi. Kakashi wondered why this didn’t apply to him. Perhaps because he had been an instructor and not a classmate? Maybe everyone thought Sasuke and he had not been close, despite months of group training and months of one-on-one and that middle-of-the-night intervention that had so miserably failed. Kakashi sighed.
He knew he shouldn’t blame himself entirely. After all, he had had a few months to try and affect the patterns of years’ worth of obsession in a particularly stubborn and willful not-quite teenager. Even then Sasuke had looked like he was only just stopping himself from imploding with hate and anger and despair. He’d been so feral the night Kakashi had tried to intervene, so violent and cruel.
Kakashi smoothed the papers in his hands. He corrected himself. No. Not cruel. But unthinking and uncaring beneath the widespread branches of the tree. If he’d had wings then, no doubt he would have flown off on the wild winds that had stripped the leaves off twigs and frothed the water of the river into great sprays.
Kakashi had failed him, no matter that Sasuke was as flat and dead as the moon. He hashed and rehashed the events, thinking that there could have been some way he could have done more. Kakashi's heart twisted deep in his chest. He felt responsibility for everything Sasuke had done after that, could see the lack of his influence so clearly in all the bad, wrong, and downright nonsensical events that followed Sasuke's defection.
This was why, now, years after Sasuke’s return to Konoha, Kakashi had agreed to take him on again. Sasuke’s homecoming had been no easy thing. Admittedly, he had come back to the village of his own will. It was pure bad luck that he had come to destroy it, but it was the thought that counted, right? He cared enough about it to want it wiped off the face of the planet, at least.
It had been obvious to Kakashi then--and was still plain to him now--that Sasuke had come completely unscrewed. It showed in his commanding, too. He had been too focused on destroying the village and not enough on things like defense…or basic tactics. He hadn’t seemed to care if his people got taken down, as long as he had more time to cause as much destruction as he could. Sasuke had been bent on personally taking out each and every house, building, or wall of mortared stone.
Kakashi remembered that a good third of the village had been flattened by enormous battling summons, and most of what remained had been scorched by Sasuke’s hard-won Amaterasu. The academy was reduced to rubble. Many good ninja had died, not the least of whom was Tsunade. To be more accurate, she didn’t actually die during the battle but rather some days afterward from chakra exhaustion from both the fighting and the healing afterward. Tsunade had spent her last hours dictating village business from her bed. One of her final orders as Hokage was to send Naruto out as a diplomatic envoy.
So, while Sasuke had spent the first few weeks after the destruction of Konoha with Ibiki at the ANBU headquarters, Naruto had been fulfilling Tsunade's request. Kakashi scratched his head, trying to remember. Naruto had spent a year--or was it two?--as a diplomat, first to Suna and then on an as-needed basis to less friendly countries. Although he lacked a certain polish, he was exceptionally good with people. It also didn’t hurt that he had, by then, subsumed all the Kyuubi’s power and could (though he never did) flatten a country with that massive chakra reserve.
During Sasuke's debriefing and Naruto's diplomatic dispatch, a secondary ninja council had taken over as a temporary measure while the village rebuilt and took stock and tried to decide who would be Hokage next. Shizune had taken the lead on it for a time, before declaring that the hospital needed her more. Ibiki was second choice, but he declined before they could officially elect him. He much preferred the shadows to the limelight. Danzou had stepped in to fill the void, which lead to Sasuke's transfer from the ANBU holding cells to the Konoha prison.
There had been months of infighting and backstabbing and dirty politics, to all of which Kakashi had been privy. Finally, the remaining jounin and ANBU who were not loyal to Danzou banded together and kicked him out of office through surprisingly democratic methods. Those same ninja had then stepped up to the responsibility in a rotational fashion. Kakashi had begged off of council duty: he knew he wasn't suited for such a tedious and thankless job, but he had couched it in terms of being more useful in the field taking missions. Thankfully, the majority had agreed with him.
When Naruto had come back from diplomatic deployment, he did some time on the council rotation. He consolidated power, won over councilors and heads of clans, and proved himself to be politically astute. Then he had taken another turn. And another. Finally, the provisional government agreed that he should become Hokage. The regular council insisted that he have advisors who were, quote, “not biased towards him in such a manner as to cause undue favor of his ideas.” This meant that Kakashi wasn’t allowed anywhere near him. (Not that Kakashi wasn't already flat-out with critical and difficult missions.) Naruto's council-appointed advisors were Ebisu, Ibiki, Shizune, and Anko. Naruto agreed that the advisors would assist him with village matters large and small, for a probationary period of six months. If he didn’t manage to run the village into the ground in that time, the council would consider allowing him complete autonomy after that.
Ibiki and Anko had bailed on him after a week. Apparently, for the first time in his life, Naruto proved in a very big and public way that he was more than competent. Shizune gave up dogging him after a month. Ebisu stuck it out the longest, but this was more for the sake of looking good in front of the council than any real desire to assist or police Naruto. By the time Ebisu quit, Naruto had firmly cemented himself in village politics and no one said anything when he announced, with great aplomb, that Ebisu would be returning to his former duties.
As soon as Naruto had officially accepted the mantle of Hokage, he got to work cleaning up the village. He had made public works one of his priorities. He wanted everyone to have a home and he wanted all the buildings and infrastructure repaired, rebuilt, or replaced. The last thing that went back up was the Academy. Once everything was rebuilt, Naruto had set his sights on the prison. It rankled him that not only did Konoha have a prison in the first place, but his former best friend was there…had been there, actually, for nearly five years. Whoops. Naruto asked Ibiki to look into it, and Ibiki did. Yes, Sasuke was still there. No, he didn’t plan on escaping. No, he wasn’t going to destroy the village anymore. Yes, yes, he was still terribly crazy. Dangerously so. Although Ibiki used the terms “unstable” and “likely to harm himself.” Sasuke wasn’t doing notably worse in prison, but he wasn’t getting better.
So Naruto, still as surprising as ever, had come up with a plan. The plan still gave Kakashi a warm feeling of pride that this young man had once been his student. Naruto had made many diplomatic overtures and promises and called in favors, and in return the prisoners were sent off to various other countries as menial hard laborers. They’d be fairly treated: properly clothed and fed, but supervised and, most importantly, they wouldn’t be in prison any more. For those prisoners who were ninja, Naruto consulted with Shizune and Sakura and the knowledge of the Kyuubi. He found ways to block their chakra. It was a hard decision to make, but Naruto couldn’t just let the prisoners loose, even in the supervised work environments, to start causing trouble again. If the former prisoners were ever rehabilitated, the blocks could, in theory, be removed.
As soon as the prisoners were taken care of, Naruto gleefully had had the prison demolished. He had vowed that he would find solutions other than incarceration for future offenders. But all this progress still left the problem of what to do with Sasuke. Naruto had been convinced that, given more time, Sasuke could recover into some semblance of normalcy. So, briefly, Sasuke had gone into the hospital. It didn’t help anything and. In fact, Sasuke had gotten a bit worse. More isolated. More withdrawn. More likely to burst out in a fit of anger.
And so Kakashi had volunteered to watch over Sasuke. Or, more accurately, Kakashi was volunteered by the Hokage. Naruto had given it a lot of thought and decided that Kakashi had a better chance than anyone else. Better chance of what he didn’t say. Survival, probably, though success was also implied. It had been made an official mission, paperwork and all. Kakashi would be taking charge of Sasuke tomorrow, which was why he was waiting to see the Hokage now. He had looked over and completed his half of the paperwork. He just needed to turn it in.
Kakashi wondered now if he should have visited Sasuke during either his prison or hospital stays. He had been busy, yes, but being busy was an excellent excuse to not do it. He hadn't always wanted to see Sasuke, for one. He didn't want to see the changes the years had wrought, didn't want to connect the genin he'd trained to whoever Sasuke had become. Of course he had doubts about this mission. But, Kakashi reminded himself, he had to do this. He would do this. He may not like it, but he could endure it.
He took a deep breath and steeled himself as the door to the Hokage's office swung open.
"Come in."
The Hokage's voice drifted into the hall.
Kakashi rose from his seat. It was unavoidable. He couldn't escape this duty now, no matter how he felt about it. He double-checked his paperwork, took another breath, and stepped into the open doorway.
---
I think it is entirely less choppy than before. I also hope that it now reads a bit less like the boring exposition it used to be. (Okay, so it's still exposition. I just hope it's more readable now!) I probably still didn't do enough to make it less boring, but I think I made real, genuine improvements. (For comparison's sake, here's the original chapter one. I'm not removing it from the site, but I will be redoing the index so new readers get the improved version.)
Anyway, I must away! Onward and upward to better and different things!
~Later
Take that, crappy exposition!
I have re-worked chapter one of the dread fic Entropy! I'm going to take a break before I give it a quick look over, but I'm fairly pleased at how I was able to streamline it and make it slightly less boringly expositional.
Expect it to be posted later this evening.
~Later
Expect it to be posted later this evening.
~Later
03 February 2010
In the wind...
Remember when I said, back whenever it was, that I was going to have to write all-new material for chapter thirteen of Entropy? And remember how I said more recently that that chapter was going to be a boring montage-ish chapter? Well, I've made a fool of myself. I have a chapter thirteen now, and it is not a montage. It also covers a fraction of what I was intending to cover, which means I need to do even more new writing to catch up between twelve and the chapters that lay in the story's future (which I have already written and will need to rewrite.)
Speaking of rewrites, I've done a quick re-read of Entropy as posted here. I've found some parts of chapter one that I will be tending to in the next couple days. I can finally say that distancing myself from the story has helped me find the problems. I now see better what needs to be improved and removed in order for chapter one to fit in smoothly between the prologue and chapter two. Lesson learned: try to avoid writing prologues after laying out chapters of stuff that come after! I think I can properly streamline chapter one now. It's such a relief! (Especially knowing I had some serious, very obvious errors in there.)
In other news, I've officially taken up with an online fanfic community. This is exciting, mostly because it affords me the opportunity to expand my readership rather dramatically (and yet, so easily!) I'm just getting used to the setup over there as far as posting goes, and it also amazes me how satisfying it is to watch the number of hits my story has crawl higher. (I put up one quick story over there just to acclimate myself to the controls and process and all. I'm going to take my time with the rest of what I want to put up.)
Conversely, this may mean a gradual increase in visits over here, as I've listed this as my website...not that I'm expecting much of anything.
One thing is for sure, though. I'm going to try my best not to sit around waiting for warm fuzzies and hits to come my way. I'm going to try to keep busy writing! If I just keep my head down and work, I may eventually get somewhere. With that in mind, I'll probably post something here in the near future. Fingers crossed!
~Later
Speaking of rewrites, I've done a quick re-read of Entropy as posted here. I've found some parts of chapter one that I will be tending to in the next couple days. I can finally say that distancing myself from the story has helped me find the problems. I now see better what needs to be improved and removed in order for chapter one to fit in smoothly between the prologue and chapter two. Lesson learned: try to avoid writing prologues after laying out chapters of stuff that come after! I think I can properly streamline chapter one now. It's such a relief! (Especially knowing I had some serious, very obvious errors in there.)
In other news, I've officially taken up with an online fanfic community. This is exciting, mostly because it affords me the opportunity to expand my readership rather dramatically (and yet, so easily!) I'm just getting used to the setup over there as far as posting goes, and it also amazes me how satisfying it is to watch the number of hits my story has crawl higher. (I put up one quick story over there just to acclimate myself to the controls and process and all. I'm going to take my time with the rest of what I want to put up.)
Conversely, this may mean a gradual increase in visits over here, as I've listed this as my website...not that I'm expecting much of anything.
One thing is for sure, though. I'm going to try my best not to sit around waiting for warm fuzzies and hits to come my way. I'm going to try to keep busy writing! If I just keep my head down and work, I may eventually get somewhere. With that in mind, I'll probably post something here in the near future. Fingers crossed!
~Later
01 February 2010
Feline Stewardship?
I am consumed with these sorts of thoughts lately...
---
The cat bashes his tail against my shins. He is convinced this will make me feed him treats. He fluffs his tail up, whips it back and forth, and thwacks it insistently on my legs. If he were a tom, he’d probably spray with excitement as I finally reach for the pouch of treats. As it is, he looks ridiculous with his tail vibrating and snaking. He marches in place on my feet.
Fifteen pounds of feline fury crouches over the food dish. He tracks the fall of the treats. His pupils are blown wide. He meows. Only two treats are forthcoming, and two is more than enough, but, of course, he does not feel the same.
Ah well. This is why I am in charge: I have the thumbs it requires to open the cabinet with the treats and to open the Ziploc package itself.
----
Not much of a freewrite. But it wasn't the only thing I worked on today, writing-wise. Maybe tomorrow will feel more profitable. Profitable? Profit-full, perhaps? Whatever the word is, I want to feel rich with writing, for the first time in months.
On a vaguely related note, I was reading bits of "A Cookbook for Poor Poets And Others"--a cookbook about frugal cooking, among other things-- recently, and I suddenly realized that the title might not mean what I had always thought it meant. I always thought it meant poets who were bad at poetry, but I now understand it also means/could mean poets who have no money. I supposed you could be a poor poet who is poor, as well...which would definitely explain your using that cookbook!
Still, I like the idea of a poet writing exceptionally bad verse. (Not that I would seriously want to read it. "Bad" poetry is painful to read.) I suppose my child's brain--my mother has had that cookbook probably longer than I have been alive--latched onto the idea that being bad at poetry meant you had to compensate for or automatically be good at some other area (like cooking.) But, sadly, poetry and cooking are not a linked skill set, inversely proportionate or otherwise.
...I feel rather silly that my post-freewrite ramblings are at least equal to if not greater than my actual freewrite.
~later
---
The cat bashes his tail against my shins. He is convinced this will make me feed him treats. He fluffs his tail up, whips it back and forth, and thwacks it insistently on my legs. If he were a tom, he’d probably spray with excitement as I finally reach for the pouch of treats. As it is, he looks ridiculous with his tail vibrating and snaking. He marches in place on my feet.
Fifteen pounds of feline fury crouches over the food dish. He tracks the fall of the treats. His pupils are blown wide. He meows. Only two treats are forthcoming, and two is more than enough, but, of course, he does not feel the same.
Ah well. This is why I am in charge: I have the thumbs it requires to open the cabinet with the treats and to open the Ziploc package itself.
----
Not much of a freewrite. But it wasn't the only thing I worked on today, writing-wise. Maybe tomorrow will feel more profitable. Profitable? Profit-full, perhaps? Whatever the word is, I want to feel rich with writing, for the first time in months.
On a vaguely related note, I was reading bits of "A Cookbook for Poor Poets And Others"--a cookbook about frugal cooking, among other things-- recently, and I suddenly realized that the title might not mean what I had always thought it meant. I always thought it meant poets who were bad at poetry, but I now understand it also means/could mean poets who have no money. I supposed you could be a poor poet who is poor, as well...which would definitely explain your using that cookbook!
Still, I like the idea of a poet writing exceptionally bad verse. (Not that I would seriously want to read it. "Bad" poetry is painful to read.) I suppose my child's brain--my mother has had that cookbook probably longer than I have been alive--latched onto the idea that being bad at poetry meant you had to compensate for or automatically be good at some other area (like cooking.) But, sadly, poetry and cooking are not a linked skill set, inversely proportionate or otherwise.
...I feel rather silly that my post-freewrite ramblings are at least equal to if not greater than my actual freewrite.
~later
Story Index
It was suggested to me by a friend attempting to catch up on the fanfic o' doom that I ought to make a story index. Considering that roughly one post in five on here is a chapter, I agree. It's a pain in the butt to sift through the other things.
Therefore! I give to you the snazzy chapter index, seen below.
I shall endeavor to keep it current as I put up new material.
Important Editing Note:
As I am working to transfer my fanfiction to a separate space, I am re-editing Entropy, chapter by chapter. Some of the chapters here are old versions. I will be posting the new versions once my editing is complete, but this will not be happening for some time.
Entropy Index (a.k.a. the Fanfic O' Doom)
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
There we go. All nice and neat. Theoretically, it will now be the foremost post for forever and a day, but just in case it moves around, it can always be found in the tag cloud under "entropy chapter index."
Happy reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. All rights remain with its original creator, Masashi Kishimoto. I make no profit from writing these stories.
Therefore! I give to you the snazzy chapter index, seen below.
I shall endeavor to keep it current as I put up new material.
Important Editing Note:
As I am working to transfer my fanfiction to a separate space, I am re-editing Entropy, chapter by chapter. Some of the chapters here are old versions. I will be posting the new versions once my editing is complete, but this will not be happening for some time.
Entropy Index (a.k.a. the Fanfic O' Doom)
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
There we go. All nice and neat. Theoretically, it will now be the foremost post for forever and a day, but just in case it moves around, it can always be found in the tag cloud under "entropy chapter index."
Happy reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. All rights remain with its original creator, Masashi Kishimoto. I make no profit from writing these stories.
31 January 2010
A priest, a rabbi, and an atheist walk into a bar...
...but you already know that old chestnut.
Here's another old chestnut: I have not been posting lately. I am incredibly remiss and derelict in my self-proposed writing goals, and I feel pretty awful about it. I feel hopeless and helpless, which is never a good combination.
I've been grinding away at the same poem for almost a week now. Looking at it swamps me with misery, which is half the problem why it isn't done--I almost can't bear to look it over. The other half is, of course, that I am not yet satisfied. It's definitely missing something and I have no clue how to fix it. Today I separated it into stanzas (of a fashion) to see if I could spot the problem. Is it the order? Have I said too much? Not enough? I have a sinking feeling that I may have accidentally jammed two separate poems into one, and now they're having awkward hookup sex, and really both of them would rather be alone, but they're too polite to go their separate ways.
Entropy is going nowhere fast. I'm overwhelmed with the scope of what I hope to orchestrate in the next chapter. Knowing it's going to be something of a montage showing the development of the main characters' friendship does not help. It's still a lot to do.
I have been unable to work on any old original stuff or start any fresh. I think it's fair to say I don't have my heart in it right now, because every time I squeeze a sentence out it looks bad and I toss it in the garbage. A rookie mistake and all the more discouraging for that.
And yet, I keep trying, am driven to try.
~ciao
Here's another old chestnut: I have not been posting lately. I am incredibly remiss and derelict in my self-proposed writing goals, and I feel pretty awful about it. I feel hopeless and helpless, which is never a good combination.
I've been grinding away at the same poem for almost a week now. Looking at it swamps me with misery, which is half the problem why it isn't done--I almost can't bear to look it over. The other half is, of course, that I am not yet satisfied. It's definitely missing something and I have no clue how to fix it. Today I separated it into stanzas (of a fashion) to see if I could spot the problem. Is it the order? Have I said too much? Not enough? I have a sinking feeling that I may have accidentally jammed two separate poems into one, and now they're having awkward hookup sex, and really both of them would rather be alone, but they're too polite to go their separate ways.
Entropy is going nowhere fast. I'm overwhelmed with the scope of what I hope to orchestrate in the next chapter. Knowing it's going to be something of a montage showing the development of the main characters' friendship does not help. It's still a lot to do.
I have been unable to work on any old original stuff or start any fresh. I think it's fair to say I don't have my heart in it right now, because every time I squeeze a sentence out it looks bad and I toss it in the garbage. A rookie mistake and all the more discouraging for that.
And yet, I keep trying, am driven to try.
~ciao
12 January 2010
Diseases are icky.
I know, I've been missing for a couple days. I've been severely lacking in motivation to do anything constructive...in fact, I've done a pretty good job avoiding the things I want to accomplish.
Today, though, I have a small piece of a freewrite. This isn't the whole thing, but I'm really struggling to process how I feel about the part I'm not posting. I'll probably have to write more of it before I've resolved the problem (and still I might not post the rest of it.)
---
Harry had an unreasonable fear of gangrene. He’d never experienced it, nor had he ever known anyone who had. And, as a receptionist in the office of an obstetrician, the likelihood he would encounter gangrene in the workplace was very slim.
Harry wasn’t the adventurous type. He considered an evening in to be the best sort. He had a record collection, focused on pre-World War II opera divas. While he had cd doubles of some of his collection, much of it couldn’t be found on cd. Harry preferred to use his record player, at any rate. He felt closer to the singers. His interest in movies was also pre-World War II; he liked the silent, black-and-whites much more than what passed for cinema these days…though he conceded the creation of the DVD was probably a good thing. He didn’t have to worry about wearing out his vhs tapes anymore. Harry also had a cat, Burt. Burt was quiet, middle aged, and seemed to enjoy the opera as well. He was a good lap cat. Burt didn’t complain if Harry to the same album over and over.
Harry’s taste in clothing tended to button down shirts and sweater vests. Occasionally his co-workers teased him about being an old man before his time, but largely he didn’t mind. He had a comfortable, safe life with a comfortable, safe routine, surrounded by the things that gave him the most satisfaction.
But Harry still feared gangrene. He feared it so much that any slight deviation in his health was attributed to it. Suspicious moles, stubbed toes, a scratch gained while riding the subway…all of it pointed to gangrene. He had not one, but two physicians. They were both on his speed dial. He had a small library of medical texts and a special book with nothing but photographs of the various stages and permutations of gangrene.
He spent two hours before work each day examining himself in the bathroom mirrors, comparing himself to the pictures in the book. Burt assisted and encouraged. And then, after dinner but before his bath and his time with his movies and opera divas, Harry would spend another hour on a quick check for gangrene which might have developed during the work day.
---
I too have a fear of gangrene, but more in a general "that's really gross" way, not a "holy crap is that gangrene on my body?!?!?" way. I believe it's hardwired in the species to fear visible grossness. You know, the whole deal about not wanting to eat a delicious meal if it's being served up on a garbage can lid (whether or not the lid is used, clean, sterilized, or new.)
Maybe I should write more about the scary things that, were I a different person, could rule my life and change the way I behave. Nightmares are always rich soil for creativity, even if they are unpleasant.
~Later
Today, though, I have a small piece of a freewrite. This isn't the whole thing, but I'm really struggling to process how I feel about the part I'm not posting. I'll probably have to write more of it before I've resolved the problem (and still I might not post the rest of it.)
---
Harry had an unreasonable fear of gangrene. He’d never experienced it, nor had he ever known anyone who had. And, as a receptionist in the office of an obstetrician, the likelihood he would encounter gangrene in the workplace was very slim.
Harry wasn’t the adventurous type. He considered an evening in to be the best sort. He had a record collection, focused on pre-World War II opera divas. While he had cd doubles of some of his collection, much of it couldn’t be found on cd. Harry preferred to use his record player, at any rate. He felt closer to the singers. His interest in movies was also pre-World War II; he liked the silent, black-and-whites much more than what passed for cinema these days…though he conceded the creation of the DVD was probably a good thing. He didn’t have to worry about wearing out his vhs tapes anymore. Harry also had a cat, Burt. Burt was quiet, middle aged, and seemed to enjoy the opera as well. He was a good lap cat. Burt didn’t complain if Harry to the same album over and over.
Harry’s taste in clothing tended to button down shirts and sweater vests. Occasionally his co-workers teased him about being an old man before his time, but largely he didn’t mind. He had a comfortable, safe life with a comfortable, safe routine, surrounded by the things that gave him the most satisfaction.
But Harry still feared gangrene. He feared it so much that any slight deviation in his health was attributed to it. Suspicious moles, stubbed toes, a scratch gained while riding the subway…all of it pointed to gangrene. He had not one, but two physicians. They were both on his speed dial. He had a small library of medical texts and a special book with nothing but photographs of the various stages and permutations of gangrene.
He spent two hours before work each day examining himself in the bathroom mirrors, comparing himself to the pictures in the book. Burt assisted and encouraged. And then, after dinner but before his bath and his time with his movies and opera divas, Harry would spend another hour on a quick check for gangrene which might have developed during the work day.
---
I too have a fear of gangrene, but more in a general "that's really gross" way, not a "holy crap is that gangrene on my body?!?!?" way. I believe it's hardwired in the species to fear visible grossness. You know, the whole deal about not wanting to eat a delicious meal if it's being served up on a garbage can lid (whether or not the lid is used, clean, sterilized, or new.)
Maybe I should write more about the scary things that, were I a different person, could rule my life and change the way I behave. Nightmares are always rich soil for creativity, even if they are unpleasant.
~Later
09 January 2010
What a Crock.
Quick freewrite. I've been thinking about this all day.
---
Mass Hysteria
It happened like this:
Once upon a time, there was a planet, occupied by men and women. The men did manly things, like shooting guns and playing sports and earning money, which they brought home to their wives, who did womanly things like have babies and cook dinner and knit wooly socks. This system worked rather well for the men and not so well for the women.
So, gradually, women started joining a massive Cult of Ideas. No one knew who founded it, exactly, but women all over the world joined it with the belief that chores and wage-earning and everything that made up their lives should be shared equally between men and women. They went through great pains to keep this society secret from men, because the men were sure to try to nip this rebellion in the bud, seeing as the current status quo was just fine for them.
This Cult of Ideas crept into the lives of the women over many, many years, and it became less of a secular idea and more of a religious one. Its members started praying to a universal Goddess to help them change things and make it all even between men and women. (By this time, men had become even more stuffy and unwilling to change the way things are, because the way things are is the way things always have been, and who wants to break up that sort of history anyway?)
And so it came to pass, on this planet inhabited by men and women, that a wave of mass hysteria swept the planet, and the men of the planet panicked like nothing else. You see, for a very long time, “mass hysteria” was a purely mind-over-matter issue of panic and delusion. Men knew this, and they also knew that it was a woman thing, having its roots in the womb, center of all of those uncontrollable, dangerous emotions found in women. Men didn’t have hysteria.
But, possibly through alien experimentation, maybe through the power of the years of women’s prayers, men all over the world suddenly developed wombs of their own. The men panicked like there was no tomorrow. And the women laughed themselves sick before they did anything else, like try and help the men adjust to this abrupt anatomical phenomenon.
----
This idea may sound completely cracked out, but it's not half as crazy as this show I was watching today, an anime in which a little boy lives in a jungle with his mom. And one day his mom inexplicably adopts a strange little girl who eats everything (like statues and people everything) and the stuff she eats gets sent to a different dimension...inside of her. And she can spit the stuff out again if she really wants. It's insane but insanely cute. Plus, it has the bonus of having one of my favorite voice actors in it.
Anway! Back to mass hysteria! I've always thought it was kind of a strange term. Sexist, yes, but also weird. And anyway, these days "mass" is always about cancer...or church. But mostly cancer.
My brains are going to explode out of my aching skull, and I'm still not free of yesterday's ailments. I should go to bed, maybe?
~Later
---
Mass Hysteria
It happened like this:
Once upon a time, there was a planet, occupied by men and women. The men did manly things, like shooting guns and playing sports and earning money, which they brought home to their wives, who did womanly things like have babies and cook dinner and knit wooly socks. This system worked rather well for the men and not so well for the women.
So, gradually, women started joining a massive Cult of Ideas. No one knew who founded it, exactly, but women all over the world joined it with the belief that chores and wage-earning and everything that made up their lives should be shared equally between men and women. They went through great pains to keep this society secret from men, because the men were sure to try to nip this rebellion in the bud, seeing as the current status quo was just fine for them.
This Cult of Ideas crept into the lives of the women over many, many years, and it became less of a secular idea and more of a religious one. Its members started praying to a universal Goddess to help them change things and make it all even between men and women. (By this time, men had become even more stuffy and unwilling to change the way things are, because the way things are is the way things always have been, and who wants to break up that sort of history anyway?)
And so it came to pass, on this planet inhabited by men and women, that a wave of mass hysteria swept the planet, and the men of the planet panicked like nothing else. You see, for a very long time, “mass hysteria” was a purely mind-over-matter issue of panic and delusion. Men knew this, and they also knew that it was a woman thing, having its roots in the womb, center of all of those uncontrollable, dangerous emotions found in women. Men didn’t have hysteria.
But, possibly through alien experimentation, maybe through the power of the years of women’s prayers, men all over the world suddenly developed wombs of their own. The men panicked like there was no tomorrow. And the women laughed themselves sick before they did anything else, like try and help the men adjust to this abrupt anatomical phenomenon.
----
This idea may sound completely cracked out, but it's not half as crazy as this show I was watching today, an anime in which a little boy lives in a jungle with his mom. And one day his mom inexplicably adopts a strange little girl who eats everything (like statues and people everything) and the stuff she eats gets sent to a different dimension...inside of her. And she can spit the stuff out again if she really wants. It's insane but insanely cute. Plus, it has the bonus of having one of my favorite voice actors in it.
Anway! Back to mass hysteria! I've always thought it was kind of a strange term. Sexist, yes, but also weird. And anyway, these days "mass" is always about cancer...or church. But mostly cancer.
My brains are going to explode out of my aching skull, and I'm still not free of yesterday's ailments. I should go to bed, maybe?
~Later
08 January 2010
What was I thinking?
I confess that physical weakness has been a stumbling block to my plans for today. I don't have a brand new spanking freewrite to share. I don't have a poem, either, and I doubt you want to read either of the anatomically-involved short lists I made today.
I was going to share a bit of fanfic, but I then realized that would involve drafting a disclaimer, and I had no idea who the original creator of the canon material was.
Better luck tomorrow, when, hopefully, it won't feel like someone's driving spikes into/through my lower back, hips, and thighs. Ugh. I just bet the weather's changing. After all, there is truth in the following saying: Old soliders and their wounds know the coming storm.
~Later
I was going to share a bit of fanfic, but I then realized that would involve drafting a disclaimer, and I had no idea who the original creator of the canon material was.
Better luck tomorrow, when, hopefully, it won't feel like someone's driving spikes into/through my lower back, hips, and thighs. Ugh. I just bet the weather's changing. After all, there is truth in the following saying: Old soliders and their wounds know the coming storm.
~Later
07 January 2010
What's in a name?
For some reason, I seem to write about names a lot. Here's a short snippet entirely devoted to it.
---
Prudence Chastity Maheux, age seventeen, was counting down the time until her eighteenth birthday, when she would legally be allowed to change her name. She didn’t know what her parents had been thinking, naming her that. Maybe her mom had still been high on painkillers when she put that down.
Since age ten, when she had realized it was patently uncool to share her names with the Pilgrims coming off the Mayflower, Prudence had been looking for a better name. Her parents had been calling her Prudie since she could first talk. No amount of argument could convince them that her new nickname (adopted age twelve) was Chaz. It was the most cool, smallest part of her soon-to-be-ex name. Still, she reflected, Chaz was a little bit too boyish for a forever name.
Prudence had been collecting names over the past seven-and-a-half years. She kept the list in a three ring binder. She’d write down names of movie and book characters, classmates, and celebrities. If she overheard a name she liked, it went into the notebook. She had several baby name books and she eagerly awaited the coming of new phone books with their thousands of intriguing entries.
She knew all about last names as first names, and names that bridged the gender gap. She knew some names that crossed from widely male usage into widely female and the converse. Prudence was of the opinion that many Germanic names were too harsh for what she wanted. French ones sounded too snooty. And the Celtic ones…Prudence couldn’t even pronounce half of them, let alone imagine calling herself by one.
Still, she had hundreds of names to choose from, and she spent a little time each day trying them out in front of the bathroom mirror. Otherwise, how would she know which one she was? Sometimes she liked one enough to try it out for a day or two, signing her new name on her school papers and refusing to answer to her (soon to be ex) name. Prudence had invested in some “Hello my name is” stickers and they were invaluable.
---
I always have a hard time naming characters. I can't imagine how hard it might be to name myself. I mean, I go by a nickname I've had for years, but it's derived from my full name. I don't know that I could find the perfect, right name for me starting cold from a list, even if I took years to suss it out. And as for legal name changes? I don't know that I could jettison my old name. My name has history and sentimental importance attached to it.
But, if I were a Prudence Chastity, I'd make the effort.
~Later
---
Prudence Chastity Maheux, age seventeen, was counting down the time until her eighteenth birthday, when she would legally be allowed to change her name. She didn’t know what her parents had been thinking, naming her that. Maybe her mom had still been high on painkillers when she put that down.
Since age ten, when she had realized it was patently uncool to share her names with the Pilgrims coming off the Mayflower, Prudence had been looking for a better name. Her parents had been calling her Prudie since she could first talk. No amount of argument could convince them that her new nickname (adopted age twelve) was Chaz. It was the most cool, smallest part of her soon-to-be-ex name. Still, she reflected, Chaz was a little bit too boyish for a forever name.
Prudence had been collecting names over the past seven-and-a-half years. She kept the list in a three ring binder. She’d write down names of movie and book characters, classmates, and celebrities. If she overheard a name she liked, it went into the notebook. She had several baby name books and she eagerly awaited the coming of new phone books with their thousands of intriguing entries.
She knew all about last names as first names, and names that bridged the gender gap. She knew some names that crossed from widely male usage into widely female and the converse. Prudence was of the opinion that many Germanic names were too harsh for what she wanted. French ones sounded too snooty. And the Celtic ones…Prudence couldn’t even pronounce half of them, let alone imagine calling herself by one.
Still, she had hundreds of names to choose from, and she spent a little time each day trying them out in front of the bathroom mirror. Otherwise, how would she know which one she was? Sometimes she liked one enough to try it out for a day or two, signing her new name on her school papers and refusing to answer to her (soon to be ex) name. Prudence had invested in some “Hello my name is” stickers and they were invaluable.
---
I always have a hard time naming characters. I can't imagine how hard it might be to name myself. I mean, I go by a nickname I've had for years, but it's derived from my full name. I don't know that I could find the perfect, right name for me starting cold from a list, even if I took years to suss it out. And as for legal name changes? I don't know that I could jettison my old name. My name has history and sentimental importance attached to it.
But, if I were a Prudence Chastity, I'd make the effort.
~Later
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