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LJ needs to rejoin the bleeding edge of the web. Period. The 00s are over...why does lj look like it is 1999?



Just as free, less annoying ads, better interface, better tools, better fucking html.

Welcome to the 21st century, LJ, we have nice things here!


Remembering texting across a room

Blood sugar is crashing

Reaching for a comfort food

...blood sugar and depression ride the same sine wave? WTF?
Not in a mood to expand, expound, or extrapolate. Grok or not. Not my current issue.

Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot

You don't realize how important something is until you have lost it.

Hole In My Soul

Disjointed memories and desires,
Playing constantly in my head;
Feelings, failures, expressions lost;
Mayhaps my muse is dead.

Dramatis Personae

Lady Katrina; the only surviving member of an unlanded family of nobility, her brother died less than a year ago, her betrothed has broken faith with her causing her to seek her fortune elsewhere; Combat Role DPS

Sir Willem; received his knighthood before Lady Katrina was born, served her father prior to his service as her sworn protector, sees Katrina as the daughter he never had; Combat Role Tank/DPS

Lord Edvard; Betrothed to Lady Katrina, his dalliances with a childhood sweetheart have driven Katrina away, not evil, just prone to stupid actions when following his heart; Combat Role DPS

Maester Leri; a quiet and reserved scholar, knows more of Lady Katrina's destiny than he is willing to admit, follows Katrina as much out of an academic curiosity as anything else; Combat Role Crowd Control

Lord Edvard's Mother; a conniving and scheming bitch, she setup the betrothal and is furious at her son for his dalliances and at Karina for leaving, wishes for her son to share in Katrina's destiny; Combat Role Victim

The world contains humans in several variations, as a rule there are no other races, however occasionally people are born with odd defects or birth marks. Magic is very low, mostly consisting of alchemical knowledges, though some Maesters are capable of minor spells. Spells tend to consist of incidental magic, somebody with no understanding of magic that was under magical attack would likely think they were having the unluckiest day ever.

//Note The characters, at least the nobles need last names...


Without You

He's howling at the moon again. Not that the moon is out. Or any actual howling is being performed. He is though. The playlist is called 'hurt love' for a reason. This love doesn't hurt because he lost it. This is a pain he felt before he'd found love that first time.

Love hurts not for the loss of a lifetime. Love hurts for the lack of an appropriate place to pour himself. His heart is aching with a need to be another's. There isn't a face. No name. Just a need to be needed. A want to be wanted.

He's been told that his arms are strong enough. His touch gentle enough. His heart caring enough. But nobody wants him to want them. He isn't needed by another as deeply as he needs them. There is no other half.

So the songs flow by. His soul poured into every word. Nobody hears him. Howling at the moon in his heart.

Steak Dinner

Sometimes I have a craving for a good steak. I am talking about the juicy, cooked just long enough but not too long, melts on your tongue steak. I don't treat myself to a good steak very often. But when I do I usually want it with all the fixings. I want my salad with ranch dressing. I want my mashed taters with gravy. I want my long island. I want my ice cream and chocolate desert afterwards.

When I sit down to enjoy a steak I prefer to have no time constraints. The time and leisure to savor every bite, these cannot be taken lightly. A rushed meal will leave you feeling unfulfilled. Dissatisfied. If you don't take the time to really enjoy it you will have wasted a good steak.

Recently I have had a craving for steak. But not a normal craving. I don't want all the fixings. I don't want to take the time to really enjoy it. I want it seasoned and seared. Then I want to tear into it like a starving man. Not a man with only three weeks to live enjoying what may be his last steak. No. I want to rip it apart with my hands and teeth. Steak can be a finger food and I want to treat it that way.

Jul. 20th, 2010

It has been said that I am happiest when I am writing. That I would truly enjoy being a novelist. There are a couple of things that prove the idea inaccurate. A couple of caveats that stand in the way of this dream job.

The first and more important of these is the impetus that pushes me to write. My strongest pieces, my greatest works, were written while under a great deal of emotional stress. If you want me to write a story build me up and then cut me down. I can write outside of this, but it is harder, it requires more effort. Whilst at my low points the act of writing is my therapy. I work out my internal debates, my dreams, my nightmares. Outside of that framework requires a lot of effort. I have tried a few times to force myself to write, even did some decent writing. These pieces still don't measure up to the emotionally charged ones.

The second flaw is that I gather little joy from the process of writing itself. I don't become giddy when I tuck a treasure of information into a well worded phrase. My true joy in the experience is interacting with others about my writing. Not simply feedback from readers, but actual intellectual conversations about the why's and wherefor's of a piece. Seeing somebody else understand at least some of what went into a peice and conversing not about the piece but about the ideas that created it.

I can write and do on occasion write things that others enjoy reading. This may one day be my vocation, but a lot will have to happen, a lot will have to change about me, before I can enjoy being a novelist.
The best part of writing things nobody else reads, that are never viewed by anyone else, is that you can bare your soul to the world, reveal your darkest secrets, and nobody else will ever know. Not only can you write your own dark secrets out in long form, you can write out the stories of others. You can reveal their darkest secrets. No matter the form through which you tell the secret nobody else will read it, let alone understand.

You can form a rebuttal to an argument as a story that takes over sixteen hundred words to tell. You can write a piece of your history down as a fictional encounter between two nameless characters. A psychotic rant that rambles on for no reason can contain an outpouring of your every desire. An internal monologue can be an angry diatribe against yourself.

The best part of the best part is that not even you get the message, let alone anyone else.

I write a lot of fanfics...

So I am sitting there enjoying one of my guilty pleasures (Buffy) and one of the recurring themes is love. Scattered across multiple characters, in a whole variety of ways. Even some of the baddies suffer from the madness that is brought on by love. Most of these stories just make me smile; even the sad scenes where people break off a relationship I don't feel much wrapped up in them.

There is an exception though. One specific relationship that can rip through me like losing my first love all over again. In fact after particularly strong episodes I can't watch any for a while. I keep comparing the scenes that just played to scenes from my own life. I lose the ability to think. To reason. My breath catches in my chest and I have to stop myself from sobbing. I remember that loss like it was yesterday. I feel like five minutes ago she was here. But when she left it was forever.

Nothing against Whedon, or any of the other writers, but the scenes weren't all brilliantly written. Many of them come off rough. That doesn't matter, the intended emotional turmoil comes through and connects with my own storms. Hits me hard where it hurts the most and leaves me gasping for breath.

Leaves me remembering holding her. Kissing her. Telling her everything would be ok. And then losing her. Not for a few episodes. But for the rest of the series. Only in fanfic can we be together again.