a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

08.21.02 - 5:56 p.m. Absolution Getting ready to go see Possession, but since I doubt I'll get around to htmlizing tonight or any time soon, I figured I'd post this here. It's the final version of the Boromir fic, which now has a name and everything. *g* Let me know what you think. Title: Absolution Author: Victoria P. Summary: "He's trying desperately to be the son his father wants, the hero his people need." Rating: G Disclaimer: Not Mine Feedback: Oh yes, precious, we likes feedback. Notes: Thanks to Jen, Melissa-n-Pete, Dot, and Meg. And also to Gail and Match, who took me on sight unseen and whipped me into shape. *g* This is my first, and likely only, LotR fic. But it grabbed hold of me as I was watching the DVD. All dialogue is taken directly from the movie. Started: August 6, 2002 Finished: August 21, 2002 *** Absolution It preys on his mind. Since the day Frodo first set it upon the table at Rivendell, he has thought of little else in the few spare moments he has. He rescued it from the snows of Caradhras, felt its weight dangling on the chain the Halfling wears about his neck. He carried Frodo as well, caught him on the steps as Moria crumbled around them. It appears to be an unadorned band of gold, nothing more, and yet the weight of the world rests upon it, upon him and the others. He is willing, even eager, to bear that weight, but they won't let him. It haunts his dreams, its venom leaching slowly into his mind and heart. A dream set his feet upon this path, and dreams lead him astray. He dreams of its power -- his power, his glory. His birthright. And yet they keep it from him. First Gandalf, then Elrond, and the Elves. He knows that they think little of the race of Men, blaming Isildur for doing the sensible thing and keeping the Ring to fight his enemies. He sees them counsel with Aragorn, a Man who has turned his back on Gondor, who has abandoned everything for which Boromir would fight to the death, and yet he could claim it if he wished. Claim the throne of Gondor, which Boromir secretly believes should be his father's, and his after him. He watches as they defer to the Halfling, who knows nothing of the White City and the peril his people face, and anger rises in him. He is a son of Gondor, and his city is on the brink of destruction. They can save it with the power of the Ring, and they will not. He has heard the stories -- every boy in Gondor grows to manhood hearing of Elendil and Isildur's battle with the hordes of Mordor; how Sauron himself came out to fight, and leveled whole companies of warriors with the might of his sword and the Ring. He believes that if they let him take up the Ring himself -- or even have Aragorn or Gandalf do so -- he could save his city, his people. It's such a small thing to ask in the grand scheme of life. He would hand it back to be destroyed once Gondor was safe. It's been so long since they've had any hope at all in Gondor, that to see it dangled before his eyes and then snatched away by these cowards posing as wise men, seems almost as great an evil as the one against which they fight. He's trying desperately to be the son his father wants, the hero his people need, and he is thwarted at every turn. In the moments before sleep each night, he ranks his place in the hierarchy of the Company, comparing himself to the others and always, always coming up short. He is not Isildur's Heir. He is not the Ringbearer. He is not worthy, a voice inside his head whispers, sounding remarkably like his father. He was chosen for the journey *to* Rivendell, but his place in the Fellowship of the Ring is almost incidental. He would have had to go home regardless, and better this way, with at least a chance of convincing them to go West to Minas Tirith before they destroy the Ring utterly. Had he returned home alone, with nothing, he wouldn't be worthy even of calling himself the Heir to the Steward of Gondor. Not worthy. The words sting, as such half-truths carried on from childhood always do, especially for one so proud as he. He was always his father's favorite, but there were times when even that was not enough, and that is what he's reminded of now, as the others disregard him in favor of Aragorn or Gandalf, or, even worse, the Halfling. 'But with the Ring you would be worthy,' promises the voice in the back of his mind. It still sounds like his father, which makes it all the more difficult to resist. The thought gnaws at him as he submits gracelessly to Gandalf's leadership. He feels true grief when the wizard is lost in Moria. He isn't heartless, after all, and Gandalf's guidance was their best hope for getting to Mount Doom safely. But part of him -- in the subterranean vaults of his soul -- knows that there is one less obstacle between him and his goal. He speaks the truth when he tells Aragorn he cannot rest in Lorien. Thoughts of his father, his people, and always -- *always* -- the Ring, circle like ravening wolves in his mind. What he could do with it upon his return to Minas Tirith. The sound of silver trumpets welcoming him home. The acclaim of his people and the honor of history would be his. Instead of Isildur, Men would speak of Boromir of Gondor, and his triumph over the fell hordes of Minas Morgul. His father's pleasure and blessing. All that and more would be his. The Ring speaks to him -- knows his darkest desires and how to grant them. He knows Galadriel has seen his heart, and he's afraid. Afraid of what she saw, of what he feels. Of what will happen if he gives into the demons lurking in his heart and in his mind. He is strong, but stronger men than he have succumbed. He can admit that to himself with a candor he rarely indulges in. He has become an expert at lying to himself, at telling himself he doesn't want it, doesn't need it, cannot have it. The path of sanity, of honor, narrows with every step they take toward Mordor, and self-deception is the only thing keeping him on it. He vows he will not stray, and every day is a test of his will. But the closer they get to the split in the road, the stronger he believes he's becoming. Until he finds Frodo alone at Amon Hen. A fever clouds his mind, and he can no longer tell the difference between waking and dreaming. His dreams are there for the taking, and he uses what guile he possesses to try and convince Frodo to give him the Ring, or, failing that, come to the White City himself and be hailed as a hero, a savior. He threatens the Halfling, and Frodo vanishes at his harsh words, disappears from sight like a wraith. He's no longer sure what's real and what isn't. He turns, searching for Frodo, and stumbles to the ground. A few moments elapse as he lies there, and the shadow passes from his mind. "What have I done?" he cries, distraught that he -- the best Gondor has to offer -- has failed, and worse, doomed Gondor to ruin. And then he sees them -- Merry and Pippin -- being chased by orcs the likes of which he's never before encountered. He blows the horn of Gondor, summoning aid, and then draws his sword. He fights like a madman, letting rage and anguish guide his movements, felling his enemies, protecting his friends. That is his mission now, his only chance of redemption. The first arrow strikes him in the chest. He continues to fight with fury. The fate of the world rests on the strength of his arm and his ability to keep Frodo safe from the orcs. From the others. From himself. He goes down again, stinging pain and blood loss making him dizzy, and still he rises. His pride is no longer the first of his concerns -- the Halflings are more important than even his father's blessings. He falls and is preparing himself for the end when Aragorn leaps from the trees and defeats the orc captain, beheading him in a spray of blood and gore. Speech is hard, but he manages. He is strong enough for that. "They took the little ones." "Hold still," Aragorn says, kneeling before him and pushing the lank, sweaty hair off his forehead. "Shh." "Frodo? Where is Frodo?" "I have let Frodo go." "Then you have done what I could not." He feels shame burning in him, more painful than even the wounds that are killing him, but he needs to confess, to gather what's left of his honor around him like a tattered cloak before the better man. "I tried to take the Ring from him." "The Ring is beyond our reach now." He reaches up and grasps Aragorn's shoulder as tightly as he can. "Forgive me. I did not see it. I have failed you all." "No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honor." He is not worthy of Aragorn's kind words. His pride, his belief in his own worth has led to this, his downfall. And he knows now that their Quest is more important than his honor, or even his city. Had he been more worried about Middle-Earth, instead of his own glory, he might have realized that sooner. Aragorn's hands move over his chest, seeking to remove the arrows and staunch the flow of blood. "Leave it," he manages. He knows he is dying. "It is over. The world of Men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin." He grabs his hand in supplication, the taste of blood bitter in his mouth. Aragorn looks at him, his eyes shadowed with pain and sadness, yet the promise of great wisdom resides in them, too. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, our people fail." "Our people?" he asks, and a ray of hope, so long banished from his sight, appears. Aragorn nods, and Boromir knows he is a man of his word. "Our people," he says again, sighing in relief. The king will return to Gondor, and his city shall not fall. He makes the smallest of gestures with his hand, using up what's left of his strength. Aragorn is a warrior; he understands. Aragorn places the sword in his hand, and he brings it to his chest in a silent, heartfelt salute. "I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My king." "Be at peace, son of Gondor," his king whispers, and the light fades. End *** ~victoria link [current mood: productive] [current music: Living During Wartime - Talking Heads] [random quote: I've changed my hairstyle so many times now I don't know what I look like...] ~*~ 08.21.02 - 1:21 p.m. Reading is fundamental I know I've discussed this before, but the What I Like to Read thing has got me thinking again. Thinking about why I read fanfiction, and why my expectations for it are so different - not lower, just different - from my expectations of original fiction. When I pick up a book in the store or the library, I read the back. I may open it up and read the first paragraph or two. Generally speaking, I read book reviews in various places and make a list of books that sound interesting. Sometimes it works out and I find a book I love (that's how I happened upon I Capture the Castle and Dreamhouse, two books that rock my world). Sometimes it doesn't. (I never did finish Kalimantaan, because that damned epistolary/diary type story never does hold my interest. That book now sits in the anteroom to the ladies' room here at work - no one wants it.) I also read based on recs from friends and strangers. When I was a wee Miss P., I used to read fantasy and sf all the time. I mean, you name a lot of the 'classics' of the genre, and I've read 'em, starting with Narnia and LotR, through Pern, the Deryni books, the Riftwar, Shannara, Belgariad, uh, Elric, Earthsea, Stranger in a Strange Land, a Xanth, etc. etc. blah blah blah fishcakes. Plus, David Brin, Greg Bear, Ben Bova, Orson Scott Card, William Gibson when he showed up - a good handful of the usual suspects. When I was 14 or 15, I started noticing how the quality of the stories I read started to decline. As I moved from the known authors into more obscure ones, on smaller imprints, I felt like I was reading copies of copies of a mimeo of say, LotR, or Star Wars, or Dune even (which I hated, btw, but at least the original was fairly interesting and different in some ways, in its focus on the political maneuverings) and I started to lose interest, especially as the world of "classic" and mainstream "literature" opened before me. Now, I still have a weakness for a good high fantasy or tale of magic, but it doesn't form the majority of my reading material. What I look for in a novel is, at base, almost exactly the same as what I look for in fic: Characters I can care about. I read The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Good book. I'll never read it again, though, because I hated all of them. Except Bunny. And I didn't particularly care for him, either. Now, that was probably the point, but I can't love a book if I don't love at least one of the people in it. Contrast that with say, Catcher in the Rye, which may be overrated, but I loved it because while Holden was a prat, he was *our* prat, if that makes sense, and I liked him. I rooted for him. And old Phoebe. 'Cause Phoebe was damned cool. If I only feel lukewarm toward the characters, then the Plot or the Idea has to grab me. I'll read a novel by James Ellroy and pretty much be disgusted by everyone in it and need a shower when I'm done, but I'm a sucker for a good noir, especially when The Writing is so good that I just get pulled along by the momentum of the story. Or, Dreamhouse, which is a retelling of Alice in Wonderland, sucked me in simply because I love Alice, and the story was such an interesting twist on it. Things I *don't* like include gratuitous abuse of children in order for the adults to go through some "life change" or have an epiphany. I hate gratuitous "child in danger" plots in movies and on television, and books are no different for me. I couldn't read A Map of the World for that reason, nor will I ever be able to reread The Bone People (which is a shame because it's a beautiful book otherwise) because of what happened to Simon and how that was used in the plot. Whereas I don't have a problem with it in, say, the Burke books (by Andrew Vachss) or anything by Ellroy, because in those types of detective novels, the whole point is to avenge the wrongs done to the children. But as a catalyst for white, middle-age suburban angst? No thank you. Of course, the whole "white middle-age suburban angst" category turns me off, as does the "I survived X disease/addiction/traumatic event" genre. Bleh. The thing that differs for me in original fiction is that I don't already know the characters, so a writer has to do all that work to get me to invest in them. I also love Regency Romances of many different stripes (and yes, there are subgenres within the genre), but those are usually my escapist, summer reading types of books. My expectations of Regencies are the same almost as they are in fanfic - a happy ending for characters that I already kinda know (the plucky but plain heroine, the poor governess whose inheritance has been stolen by her wicked uncle, the dark man with a haunted past who is returned to society by the love of a good woman, the arrogant aristocrat brought low by love, etc.). I'm also a very character-oriented reader. I mean, yeah, I'd like to not be able to guess the major plot twist before it happens, but if I like the characters enough, I won't mind so much (and in some genres, I *expect* to be able to know this stuff already - that's why it's comfort reading). So I don't read fanfic featuring characters I don't like, in the same way I'll put down a book that's full of characters who do nothing but annoy me. I read fanfic to read *more* about the characters and worlds I already know and love. I read original fiction to get to know and love new (though occasionally familiar) characters and worlds. Huh, that was a really long entry for one fairly obvious conclusion. Oh, and another genre I read, that doesn't fall into this discussion? Non-fiction of the Into Thin Air variety, and THe Hot Zone variety. True-life adventure/survival stories (The Endurance sits unread yet on my shelf) and introductions to diseases and other interesting scientific phenomena will generally pique my interest, as will the occasionally history or, even more rarely, biography. And now I want to curl up with the book I'm currently reading (Flu by Gina Kolata, about the 1918 flu pandemic). ~victoria link [current mood: wanting to read] [current music: I Used to Love Her (But I Had to Kill Her) - GNR] [random quote: Outside of a dog, a book is Man’s best friend. And inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read. ~Groucho Marx] ~*~ 08.20.02 - 10:18 p.m. comments on comments, part deux Pimping first: The X-Men Movieverse Fanfic Archive (affectionately known as XMMFF) is all moved into its new home. Please update your bookmarks accordingly. I'm not accepting submissions yet, but as soon as I figure out how that's going to work, I'll let you know. *g* Also, up on Easter Egg Vinegar In Your Eye, a new article: My First Fanfic by Seema. *** So, blood out one arm and back in the other. Kinda woozy. Kinda headachy. Wrote most of this this after at lunch, but then things got busy, and then I had to leave. But it means I don't have to think much, I can just post it. *g* Replies to comments... Hmm. Contemplating comments. Do people have a preference as to how I answer? I mean, do you come back and check the little comments box to see if I’ve responded? It’s not like LJ where you get notified when someone responds. I’m just going to keep doing mass replies as new entries, I think. It makes the most sense. If you’d rather have an email back instead, let me know Anyhow, let’s get to it. You know, maybe I’ll make this a Friday feature, like Letterman. ‘Cause you know, it’s Dave’s World. We just live in it. On using flashbacks etc. Cschoolgirl wrote: Flashbacks can be over done. I think we have all read stories where the flashbacks don't connect with the current story. The one you have written is great. It conveys, not just the past, but the emotions. If this is part of your fic about Rogue's "deathwish", I think this snippet could go along way in explaining her frame of mind. It's a powerful piece. It left me wondering what she was doing or feeling that made her think of that moment in her past Thanks. It *is* for the death wish story. I haven’t yet figured out what’s got her on the run and what’s got her remembering, but it’s percolating, so who knows? I’m definitely trying to make more time for writing, so I’m hoping this one will start flowing. On writers as painters: Unanon wrote: I have a similar notion for quite a long time now. Both art forms require visual sensory input; both the painter and the writer are attempting to convey feeling/ideas through a visual medium. My favorite authors tend to be those who seem to weave words together in such a way as to create the same reaction (in me) as a painting might. Now, that’s really interesting, because I’m really NOT a visual person at all, which I think is reflected in my writing (sometimes to the detriment of the story). If anything, I tend to write more about the other senses – in some ways, I am a sensualist, in that I like describing nice aromas and good tactile sensations, tastes and sounds. I just sort of forget the visual, because it’s not my primary way of relating to the world. Which makes it funny in some ways that I came up with painters as analogous to writers, instead of musicians, which would seem the obvious choice. Except that music is ephemeral in a way that writing and painting are not. Hmm... more to think on there. One of my personal favorite authors who manages to do this is Ray Bradbury. The way he combines words and sounds creates a nearly tangible landscape, regardless of subject matter. Yes, he is descriptive, but my reaction to his writing is much more visceral then that. He paints with words as deftly as others have done with oils. He transforms prose into poetry, even when writing about the most mundane events or locations. Writing that is art makes you feel. *nods* That visceral reaction is something every writer lives for, I think. I think that people gravitate toward certain writing styles in much the same manner that they gravitate to certain types of art. I know that this is true for me, at least. Definitely. It’s just funny to see that for me, my style and preferences as a writer slot neatly into the types of art I prefer to look at, and that move me. Were I more a fan of the Old Masters, or of Cubism, would I consider myself that type of writer, even though I’m not really? Or would I actually write more in a style that would match that artistic vision? Interesting question. O.k. I've prattled on... :p I do believe I'll return to lurk mode again. Oh, no. Don’t lurk. Come back and chat. *g* On gafiating and beta and crit and self-pity Jintian wrote: I don't think it's so bad that the criticism stung a bit. Everyone has their own approaches/preferences/comfort levels when it comes to writing and improving their writing, you know? As long as you recognize what yours are, you can stick to them and let all the rest of fandom adjust itself accordingly. Or, if it doesn't, you know what you can ignore. It’s hard to explain. I mean, I know criticism helps me improve. And I can deal with that. I just sometimes feel like I’m not supposed to be stung when it happens. That I’m supposed to be all, “Thank you, ma’am. May I have another?” I’ve been a very vocal champion of constructive criticism in my time in fandom, and I feel like a hypocrite whenever I write about how much I hate it. Like I said, I take it, and I know it’s good and useful, but it hurts. It’s like taking your medicine. You know it’s going to help, but it tastes awful going down. *G* I guess I need a spoonful of sugar. I don't use betas myself anymore, but now I'm contemplating asking for help on some stories I have in the works. I think it's curious that I have to think about it, though -- like, when did I suddenly become resistant to this widespread fandom practice that myself I used to swear by? Interesting. It depends on the availability of people to beta for me, certainly, and also the length and focus of the story. I’m not going to worry about a 500 word Rogue introspection piece, whereas I will always have something longer than 1000 words betaed, especially in a new fandom, which is what this particular story is – I’ve not written any LotR fic, I have no intention of writing any *more* LotR fic, and I wanted someone in that fandom to help out. Hope wrote: *hugs* Here's to hoping things get better, vic. I know about the cruel muse, the one who tells you you're really just a fraud, and how she fights with the god muse. Truth's somewhere in between for all that shrieking. You have that too? I thought I was the only one. Yeah, I know – you’re never as good as your best work or as bad as your worst. *g* Sometimes though, usually on the bad stuff, it feels true. Of course, then I have my ego days, where it’s “World, watch out!” Unfortunately, that high usually doesn’t last. And you know what? It was a clean shoot. I’m not gonna disagree. *g* Kest wrote: Hey, just wanted to send some encouragement to stick in there, and to do what you need to to keep fandom from driving you batty. Thanks. I would just let the criticism sit for a while, do other, non-writing things (or start on a new project altogether), then go back to it when you're ready to. I think it was Maren who said (ages ago) that a writer who has just posted a story is legally insane in that week period after posting, and I think that holds true for stories in beta *g*. It's all too raw, too personal. Get some distance from it if you can, then go back and see if the critique addresses anything you think is important in revising the story. *nods* Good advice. I’ve taken it. I did revise the fic for the basic editorial comments that were made, and I’m still mulling the major points, which would mean a complete overhaul, and if that’s something I 1. feel is necessary and 2. want to do. I'd tell you to treat yourself to hot cocoa and a warm fire, but it's freaking hot. Iced tea? Strawberries? *g* Works for me! Maybe a nice cold beer. *g* Dee wrote: Take a deep breath. Find something that buoys you up and makes you smile. Run with the feeling. I'm of the opinion that fandom should never be hard work, and the bits that get like that should be purged. That’s a sound philosophy. I did write myself a little songfic, which always cheers me up. Nothing like Thunder Road blasting to raise the spirits. (You're one of my favourite writers to read, because your stuff is always a delight, always effortless to peruse, always enjoyable. You can write Logan/Rogue as many times as you like, and I'll still be there to read every darn one. I'll always take time to take in what you have to tell.) ::blushes:: Oh. Wow. Thank you so much. Harsh criticism does sting. But it is useful for pointing out things that are problems. Someone once told me that if the reader has a problem, there is a problem, and you need to be aware of it, whether or not you decide to alter anything regarding it. (At the end of the day, it is your story. Tell it the way you want it told. But use criticism as a helpful tool. Make it work for you.) *nods* I wouldn’t use beta readers if I didn’t find them useful, and I know my own flaws well enough to know that sometimes I am elliptical and unclear in my writing, simply because I’ve got the story in my head, so I know what everyone’s thinking and why they do what they do, but if it doesn’t get communicated to the reader, then my story is a failure. *hugs and happy elven thoughts* Right back atcha. And Legolas is SO my boyfriend. I even have an icon that says so. *g* Ingrid wrote: When I use pre-readers (which is rarely, I'll admit) I try to break down their harsh crits in parts, unless they say I should just trash the whole thing, which, yes *ouch* that would hurt horribly. Sometimes in the flow of a fic, as writers we lose balance -- between characterization and actions, dialogue and our desires to hear, see and create the world we want in any particular work. Oftimes that either doesn't gel within the fic itself, or it just seems strange to any particular reader, pre-readers included for whatever reasons they have. Yeah. Sometimes the story just doesn’t work for a particular reader, and sometimes there really is something off about the story. The hard part is knowing when each of those is true. The balance looking off to a pre-reader isn't necessarily the writer's fault, and it's certainly not a sign of lack of talent. Perfection on the first try is usually impossible, even though it hurts to hear someone say "Your baby is sooo cute ... except for that great big honking nose. Are you going to get it fixed?" Ain’t it the truth? *g* I guess what I'm trying to say is to try and take the criticism for what it is ... a minor glitch in a vast ocean of well-done words and work. In fact, you never know, they might even be wrong. I know all of this objectively, but thanks for pointing it out again. I sometimes get irrational, and let my stomach (not my heart, but my stomach *G*) rule my head. All in all, I'd like to say thanks to all the people who sent me love on the self-pity thing. It really, really helped. And hearing the stuff I know is true from other people helps, as well, if you know what I mean. I'll try to get to the Femme!Frodo comments tomorrow. Now, Norton wants me to reboot to update my virus defs, so TTFN! ~victoria link [current mood: loved. also, woozy] [current music: silencio!] [random quote: la la la rain of blood and toads...] ~*~ 08.20.02 - 3:37 p.m. "I really like your peaches wanna shake your tree" Off to donate leukocytes in a few minutes. Am working on answers to comments. Question: Does anyone out there know who sang the '80s song "Slang Teacher"? That might not have even been the title, but it was certainly in the lyrics. Part of me is insisting it's Sigue Sigue Sputnik, but I don't think it was. Also, anyone got the origin of the phrase "shake your tree" as a sexual euphemism? Yes, I was listening to the Pompatus of Love himself, Steve Miller today, and the phrase, "I really like your peaches wanna shake your tree" struck me, and I realized I've heard the used as a sexual euphemism elsewhere. Also, does the origin of the term "lemon" for smutfic in yaoi have anything to do with "Traveling Riverside Blues" by Led Zeppelin? I.e., the lyric "squeeze my lemon until the juice runs down my leg?" And now that I've gone all porno-diary, I have to finish collating so I can go get leeched. ~victoria link [current mood: rushed] [current music: The Joker - STeve Miller Band] [random quote: Some people call me the space cowboy / Some call me the gangster of love...] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within. The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme. The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney. This site is best viewed with IE4+ | 1024x768 | true color | verdana | tables