a fool's musings

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

Warning: Adult Content

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current mood: current mood

"pathological and unbalanced"

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    Music
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08.26.02 - 10:34 p.m.

we wuz robbed!

So I get my new Movieline this evening, with the hellaciously ugly Jennifer Love Hewitt on the cover, and this little blurb:

What makes Russell Crowe, Benicio Del Toro and Hugh Jackman sexy?

Now, let's put aside the fact that Benicio Del Toro isn't sexy; he resembles David Johansen (and what the *hell* happened there? From the New York Dolls to Buster Poindexter? WTF?), who is also not sexy.

I flip open the magazine expecting some HJ love.

And there are no pictures of him.

Waaah!

There's Benicio Del Toro (see above for my reaction). There's Russell Crowe. Ho hum.

There's Clive Owen. *swoon*

But no pic of Hugh or of Viggo Mortensen, the other sexy man they're talking about.

I feel incredibly gypped, I must say.

That's just a Bum-R.

Hey, does anyone else remember "Bummers"? Were they from Highlights? Or Dynomite?

one of those '70s kids magazines.

Huh.

flashback to my childhood there.

Anyhow, I've updated The Continuing Adventures of Han & Logan if you want to go read the whole enchilada at one sitting.

Don't drink while you do, though. I don't want anyone choking. *g*

Yes, it is that funny.

~victoria



link



[current mood: gypped]
[current music: Pride and Joy - SRV]
[random quote: \"Let me answer that question with a head-butt.\" Buffy Summers]

~*~

08.26.02 - 5:33 p.m.

pimping Han/Logan

The latest installment of The Continuing Adventures of Han and Logan: Two Gruff Manly Men in Love is up in the LJ.

Also, in addition to Sirius Black, I think Clive Owen should be the new Bond.

*nods decisively*

Home now.

~victoria



link

[current mood: caffeinated]
[current music: All of My Love - Led Zeppelin]
[random quote: Sometimes you just gotta say, 'what the fuck'.]

~*~

08.26.02 - 12:12 p.m.

"they put a hot wire to my head cause of the things I did and said"

After thinking about this far more than is healthy, I'm ready to tackle Julad's "gun to your head" questions:

1. Twenty stories, one writer, writing at their peak. You choose the fandom(s), but it has to last you a year. Only one writer. No, seriously. Gun to your head. Only one writer. No exceptions. Only one writer.

This was really hard.

Jenn.

Because then I get Smallville along with my Logan/Rogue. Uh, do I have to actually list the stories?

Exceptions, the For Now series, A Year and a Day, Syzygy, In a Thousand Miles, On Bluffing and Its Consequences, Happy Little Sounds, Just Breathe, Bedtime Stories, A Little More than Intimate, Jus Ad Bellum, the On Love and Lust Series (which I'm counting as one big story, so nyah!), Advanced Masochism 101, Spaces, Sleep While I Drive, Only Sometimes, Closer to Breathing, Shift, Spin, 6 AM

2. God is merciful. You can choose five stories each from four writers, but only after you've chosen twenty stories from one writer.

Elizabeth: Safety in Numbers. Magic of Belief. Smile. Equation. Living Ever After.

Molly: Life Less Static. Accidentally Like a Martyr, Defensive Lines, Counting Backwards, Definition.

Diebin: Niagara Falls, Not Quite Domestic, Return to Sender/Will You Accept the Charges (With Donna), On Milkshakes and Marie, Agony and Ecstasy

DNC: Make Me Forget. Use Me. Almost Dead. Raining Inside. Everything.

Dianna writes and it breaks your heart. Every. Time.

3. God is kind. You can choose five pro authors, living or dead, to write one story each in the fandom(s) of your choice.

Joss Whedon to write Star Wars and Harry Potter and West Wing and X-Men. The dialogue! The cheesy villains! The romance! The fight scenes! How could you go wrong?

Neil Gaiman to write Buffy and Angel and Harry Potter. Ah, someone who knows how to build an arc, and to bring the spooky intelligently. Plus, understated romance and knowledge of all sorts of arcana.

James Ellroy to write Angel. I hyperventilate just thinking about it. A real noir Angel. Oh God... *swoon*

Carla Kelly to write X-Men (Logan/Rogue). She's my favorite Regency romance writer - she's got a beautiful, poignant style that doesn't shirk real questions and difficult decisions in her stories.

Julia Alvarez to write X-Men (Logan/Rogue). She handles romance and political intrigue/big themes easily, not letting one overwhelm the other.

~*~

So it appears that people agree with my suggestion that Clive Owen be cast as Sirius Black.

With Ewan McGregor as Lupin.

I'm getting shivery just *thinking* about it.

~*~

In honor of my inability to write, I'm working on the next Han/Logan chapter, though with the face time Obi-Wan is getting, I'm thinking he should get above the title billing as well.

::looks cautiously at Han and Logan muses, who are currently grousing about the lack of beer::

Hmm...

Hope to have that up in the LJ sometime this afternoon or tonight, depending on how cooperative the boys are. *g*

~victoria



link

[current mood: shivery]
[current music: The Chain - Fleetwood Mac]
[random quote: If you don't love me now, you will never love me again, I can still hear you saying you must never break the chain...]

~*~

08.25.02 - 8:56 p.m.

how did I get here?

I keep trying to do Julad's "Gun to your head" survey and grrr.... that one author/twenty stories thing is hard. Does a long series count as one story?

I hate having to choose.

Sigh.

More thinking.

Meanwhile, Deneba has seen the light.

Now, I don't know who she is, or what fandoms she writes in, but this is a beautiful little testimony on behalf of the beta.

Go read and be saved, my brothers and sisters!

***

In between answering email, I napped this afternoon, which means I won't sleep tonight.

I *always* do this to myself, and it means i start the week out in a crabby, crappy sleep deprived mood.

Logan's shut up and won't talk, which means the watchfic - which was supposed to be short and easy - is not done yet, because no writing is short and easy these days.

Grrr...

You know, I don't think I've been outside at all since Friday.

That can't be good.

I've got to stop that. Got to get back in the habit of, you know, doing non-computer related stuff on the weekends.

Though with the archive to work on, and the site redesign I'm in the middle of, the weekend is usually the best time to work on that stuff...

This is my life.

How did that happen, again?

~victoria



link

[current mood: confused, and headachy]
[current music: Where do we go from here? - BtVS cast]
[random quote: understand we'll go hand in hand but we'll walk alone in fear, tell me, where do we go from here?]

~*~

08.25.02 - 4:51 p.m.

not much in the way of interesting things

I just spent the last two and a half hours writing 52 emails.

This is my Sunday afternoon.

Answering email, some of which is over six weeks old.

And only 52 in 150 minutes.

You'd think I'd be quicker than that.

Sigh.

Well, I do feel a little better, though nowhere near caught up.

~victoria

[current mood: sleepy]
[current music: mets-rockies on tv]
[random quote: ]

~*~

08.24.02 - 9:48 p.m.

an experiment gone awry

Oh well. I tried to do something experimental, and failed.

Future tense, second person (because one wanky gimmick deserves another).

But the future tense thing seems to baffle me. I couldn't do it.

I also started out wanting a drabble, but that fell by the wayside PDQ, too.

I suppose my failure is fitting, given the title and subject matter of this mini-story.

Heh.

***

Fail Safe

You will not go back.

If you go back you will give in, and you can't give in.

You will give in and make another promise, and you will break it, just as you've broken the other two.

"I'll take care of you."

You did such a great job at it that she almost died under your care. The worst part is the way she looks at you afterward; she's forgiven you. You can't forgive yourself.

Your failure haunts you and you will fail again. You will promise to be true, and you won't be able to.

Oh, at first you'll be fine, happier than you've ever been. Even you can see that. She makes you happy. You will never tell her, though. You will continue forward in search of your past, and the one thing that you want to remember -- that you can't forget -- you will try to block from your mind.

Her smile. Her trust. Her scent. The feel of her skin, soft and warm against your lips. The way she asked you not to go.

You promised you'd come back, but you won't.

You tell yourself this as you ride across the continent, west to east, mirroring the sun. Your body controls you, and you are going back despite your best intentions.

You will not give in.

She will run down the stairs to meet you, dog tag in her hand, and you will smile coolly and focus on the redhead, who will never give in to you, and everything will be in balance.

You arrive and she runs into your arms, and even as you think about pulling away, playing it cool, you hug her to you, breathing her in as if her scent is the oxygen keeping you alive.

Yet another failure, in a life that's been nothing but; right now, you can't bring yourself to care. Her body next to yours, her voice in your ear, her taste on your lips -- that's all that matters. You can pretend to believe that you'll make it work this time, that you've learned from past mistakes, and you're due for something to go your way.

You will break her heart, you know it. But you can believe, for just a moment, that for once you will succeed you won't.

end

***

I need a better last line, because obviously, he doesn't want to believe he'll succeed at breaking her heart.

And I'm not sure this thing succeeds as a story at all.

Just another oddity for the files.

Aren't you glad I share them with you?

~victoria



link

[current mood: like a failure]
[current music: It's Not Unusual - Tom Jones. In my head. I blame Meg]
[random quote: It's not unusual to be loved by anyone...]

~*~

08.24.02 - 4:09 p.m.

gifts part 2

Next section of the watch fic. Is short.

Am still not certain what-all is going on, but hope to know soon.

***

After breakfast, she took him up to the room he'd stayed in when they'd first come to the mansion.

"I made sure nobody else took it," she said.

He nodded, nostrils flared. She shifted nervously from foot to foot. She'd spent the better part of the last year sleeping in this room, because her nightmares made her a lousy roommate, and she knew he could smell her.

"It's your room now, eh?"

She shrugged a shoulder, which made the dog tag visible in the valley between her breasts. She recalled the warmth of his bare finger tracing the chain earlier, as close to her skin as anyone had come since he'd gone, and grasped the tag.

She held it out to him, still on the chain around her neck. "Do you want this back?"

He walked over to her and stood near enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. He took the tag between his forefinger and his thumb, rubbing at the engraving of his name.

"Looks better on you," he said, once again running his finger along the chain. His hand hovered mere millimeters from her cheek. She held her breath; fear and longing kept her still.

His eyes darkened, focusing on her lips, which tingled as if he'd touched them. She inhaled sharply; he dropped his hand and turned away, the moment broken.

He unzipped his bag and pulled clothes out of it.

"I guess you need to do laundry," she said, after the silence stretched so long it seemed as though he'd forgotten she was there.

"Yeah."

"I can show you where the laundry room is--"

"Maybe later."

"Oh. Okay."

"Don't you have class now?"

She blinked. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that she'd graduated high school a month ago, and that the only reason she was up so early was that Scott had insisted on double training sessions for all the "new recruits." Otherwise, she'd have slept until noon. But she knew when she wasn't wanted, so she said, "Yeah. I'll see you later."

He didn't even turn to watch her go. "Sure, kid."

***

I think a Logan POV comes next. Not sure.

Also feeling a need for HP fic.

strange.

~victoria



link

[current mood: headachy]
[current music: Hindi Sad Diamonds - Moulin Rouge soundtrack]
[random quote: \"We're still looking for either a naked man with huge eyes or an emu.\"]

~*~

08.23.02 - 4:58 p.m.

first draft of Gifts

Today seems to be a day for snippets.

The beginning of the watch fic, though I'm not responsible if it mutates.

Gifts

Rogue came down to breakfast one morning, and Logan was there.

She hadn't seen him in almost a year, though they'd spoken on the phone a few times, but he looked exactly the same. She didn't know why she'd expected anything different, but she had. Maybe because she felt so different herself. Having him and Erik in her head had aged her quickly, and she sometimes couldn't remember if she was eighteen, sixty, or a hundred and twelve, depending on whose nightmares and memories had kept her up the night before.

But last night, it had been a different sort of dream that woke her, one in which she and Logan had been entangled on the grass, skin-to-skin. She'd woken with her heart racing and her body aching for satisfaction.

Seeing him in the dining room made her heart race and her palms sweat. She was glad for once of the gloves that covered her hands, though he'd probably be able to spot her reaction to him regardless.

He was sitting in her usual spot in the back corner of the dining room, away from the crowd of teenagers who seemed to think their express purpose in life was being as loud as possible.

She was not a morning person, and talking to her before her first cup of coffee was taking your life into your hands. The bad nights and nightmares had just added to that tendency. And not even the thrill of seeing him again could quite overpower her distaste for being up before eight a.m.

He didn't rise when she approached, though she knew he knew she was there.

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. It was a posture she'd adopted from him, and when he turned to look, she could tell he recognized it.

"Hey," he said.

"You're in my seat."

"I know."

Which sent blood rushing to her cheeks. Because that meant he'd sniffed her out, and well, there were all sorts of interesting ideas suddenly tumbling through her head like dice on a craps table.

She needed to sit.

It was too early in the morning for those kinds of thoughts, though the version of Logan in her head disagreed, flooding her mind with memories of all sorts of early morning behavior that was inappropriate in public.

"We could share," he offered.

"Uh--" He grinned at her obvious discomfort and she felt the need to wipe that smile off his face. "Okay."

And slid into his lap.

She smirked at the startled look in his eyes, but he wasn't disconcerted for long. He slipped an arm around her waist and leaned in to sniff at her hair.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, voice pitched low, so no one else could hear him.

She shivered at the feel of his breath on her ear, only partly from fear at the danger to him. With his other hand, he traced the chain of his dog tag, still hanging around her neck.

"A little," she said, her own voice breathless.

"Just a little?" There was a hint of teasing in his tone, and she thought she could get used to the feelings that evoked.

"Well, in some ways it's like you've been here all along." She tapped the side of her head, and he frowned. She could feel him withdraw, even though neither of them moved. "It's not a bad thing," she continued. "I mean, you know, in the grand scheme of things, being alive with you in my head is a hell of a lot better than being dead."

He snorted. "That's comforting."

She bit her lip, then, "It is."

He opened his mouth, and she held her breath, hoping she'd conveyed the truth -- that she really was okay with him in her head, that he had helped more than hurt her, but he said, "Jean."

And there Jean was, resplendent in red silk and black wool.

"Welcome back, Logan," Jean said, smiling.

"Good to be back," he answered.

"I can tell."

His hand tightened on Rogue's hip, and she squirmed, causing him to inhale sharply. She bit her lip again, as she felt the tension in his body.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you look happy to be back."

They stared at each other for a moment. It wasn't flirtatious; Logan was challenging Jean. Rogue could tell from the set of his jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes.

Jean looked away first, but Logan didn't relax.

"And we're happy to have you back," Rogue said, snaking a hand around Logan's neck and stroking the hair that curled over his collar.

He swallowed hard, and Rogue felt a little thrill that she could affect him.

"Speak for yourself, Rogue," Scott said, joining them. "Is my bike still in one piece, Logan?"

Logan laughed, and she was silently thankful for Scott's interference. She didn't quite understand what had just happened, but she'd get to the bottom of it when they were alone.

"She's in the garage, Cyke."

"Come on, Jean." And Scott led his fiancée away, in a hurry to see what condition his bike was in.

Logan squeezed Rogue's hip again, and then smacked her lightly. "Why don't you go get me some coffee?"

"Why don't you go get *me* some coffee?" she said.

"You're on top. No need for both of us to get up."

She held his gaze for a moment and she realized he was trying not to laugh, which made it hard for her to stay angry at his demand.

"I like it on top," she replied, sliding off his lap to her feet.

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, and she laughed as she walked away, exaggerating slightly the sway of her hips, knowing he watched.

***

I'm not sure I like the serious note that crept in with Logan's reaction to Jean's innocent comment, but then again, it's been a while since I've written a "young" Rogue, and while I don't plan on this being a long story, the age thing is something that always has to be dealt with if Logan comes back fairly quickly.

Which, I guess, depends on your definition of quickly. But if it's going to center on the tags, then it has to be the first time he's come back, because why else would she offer them?

Anyhow, I'm starting to pack up so I can go home, but i wanted DD to see that I *am* working on the tags/watch fic.

And I am still contemplating the Bruce lyrics thing.

And Khaki was graciously provided another opening line to get me started. *g*

"I was running away."

Hmm...

That could be all sorts of things, now, couldn't it?

At least I'm writing *something*. I don't mind being stalled on the big stories so much if I'm still able to crank out shorter stories.

Okay, I don't mean crank out, even though I sometimes do feel like a hack.

I'm just tired and not being very articulate. I wouldn't like to be thought of as someone who just cranks out stories non-stop, like a machine, unmindful of quality in the quest for quantity. That sounds bad. I don't mean that.

I just mean I'm happier when there's something going on, instead of just me staring at all the WIPs, lost and forlorn.

I have a headache.

Sigh.

~victoria



link

[current mood: creative but tired]
[current music: Rock-n-Roll - Led Zeppelin]
[random quote: Oz: Hey, you got a table. Willow: I had to kill a man. Oz: Well, it's a good table.]

~*~

08.23.02 - 11:38 a.m.

awkward first times - snippet

Brief snip from Dreams in Red, which is still hanging around on the edges of my consciousness.

Scene: Rogue's first blow job.

Background: OMC - Steve - his mutation is he's immune from others' mutations, hence, Rogue can touch him.

***

Their first few dates went extremely well, and after a month, Rogue felt comfortable letting Steve slide his hands up under her shirt to cup her breasts. She was amazed at the feelings he evoked, simply by touching her skin.

She was so starved for that contact that she almost didn't need anything else those first few weeks, but she found her craving for touch growing.

They were out at the lake, on the dock, enjoying a picnic when it happened.

Steve was kissing her urgently, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. His hands caressed her breasts, sending electricity shooting through her, centering on the damp place between her legs.

She steeled her nerve and slid his zipper down, reaching in and freeing his cock. She'd imagined doing this (though not, perhaps, under these circumstances, or with this particular man, but this wasn't the time to think of that) and now here she was, slowly feeling her way along his shaft, enjoying the way he gasped and jumped as she squeezed and stroked.

"Yeah," he breathed, "a little harder."

She did as he said, and then tentatively bent to kiss the head. She looked up at him, but his head was thrown back, his eyes closed.

"Come on, Rogue," he said, his voice tight with tension. "Suck it."

She took the head in her mouth, sucking lightly. His hands threaded through her hair, and she applied her tongue and teeth to the job. She thought she was doing pretty well until his hips started bucking, forcing him deeper into her throat.

"Fuck, yeah," he shouted, and her mouth was filled with warm, sticky fluid. She tried to swallow. Really, she did; but she gagged, and pulled away, choking and spitting. He yanked her head up by the hair, looked into her eyes. "Not bad. Not bad at all for a first time. It was your first time, right?"

She nodded quickly, her head a little sore from where he'd pulled her hair. "Yeah."

"Clean yourself up," he suggested, handing her a napkin. "And then pack. We should get back to the house."

She did as he said. She ignored the clamoring demands of her own body, still unsatisfied, and set about rinsing her mouth and face, which had become sticky with semen. She ignored the memories their activities had aroused, memories of Logan burying his face in the warmth of some woman's sex, luxuriating in the taste and texture of her.

'He's just taking it slow with me,' she told herself.

They walked back to the mansion hand in hand, and she reveled in that simple touch. They stopped outside the front door, as if he were dropping her off from a date, and she said, "I love you, Steve."

He kissed her. "Goodnight, Rogue."

She pulled her gloves back on and tried not to cry when he didn't say the words back to her.

As the weeks turned into months, she found that he was most often concerned with his own satisfaction, and occasionally, if she'd been 'an exceptionally good girl,' he'd slip his fingers between her legs and get her off. That's what he called it. "It's time to get you off, baby," he'd say, slipping his hand down to tangle in the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

***

Awkward, selfish first times...

You can see why this fic depresses me, right?

Because obviously, it only gets worse for Rogue from there, and there's no knight in shining armor coming to her rescue.

Sigh.

Why am I writing this again?

I'm also contemplating a brief watch/tags ficlet, and the song lyrics thingy. I think I might make the song lyrics thingy an Unfit challenge, as we haven't had one in ages.

~victoria



link

[current mood: not silly anymore]
[current music: Under the Bridge - RHCP]
[random quote: It's just that it's buggin' me, this 'cool' thing. I mean, what is it? How do you get it? Who d]

~*~

08.22.02 - 11:37 p.m.

waiting for quicktime

So I'm finally home and awake etc. and I go to look at the X2 trailer...

And it tells me I need the latest version of QuickTime.

Which I downloaded.

And am now waiting for the stupid installation program thingy to finish its downloading and install already.

This is pissing me off.

In other news, I did htmlize tonight, though I hadn't planned to, so both Absolution and Magic In the Night are up on the site.

I also rearranged the Other Stories page slightly.

I suppose I should stop now, and let all my resources be applied to this stupid download.

Grr...

The things I do for Wolverine...

~victoria



link



[current mood: impatient]
[current music: the hum of my laptop]
[random quote: ]

~*~

08.22.02 - 3:38 p.m.

ways to break the block

Discussing writer's block on zendom.

It's a feeling I know all too well lately, though as I said, I think I've mostly been getting in my own way.

My somewhat successful solutions to the problem:

Challenge in a Can or opening sentence challenges are great to break writer's block. (Khaki, where are you when I need you with the evocative opening sentences?)

I mean, just three little words, like "Xander, enraged, bag" or "Anya, ecstatic, jewelry" can send my mind off and I get inspired to write something short, and then I can usually get back to the WIP that's stuck.

Also, the whole opening sentence thing feels very freeing - "The night was moist" inspired one of my very best stories. "His blood dripped from the counter like spilled milk" inspired me to write Magneto, whom I normally don't write.

I don't do well with other sorts of challenges, generally, but those freeform ones seem to inspire me.

Also, music is good - I go back and listen to my favorite inspirational songs and try to fit them to characters or pairings or situations and see where that leads (I recommend August and Everything After by the Counting Crows, Achtung Baby by U2 and Born to Run by Springsteen as highly inspiration albums).

Inspirational songs include "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley, "The Space Between" by the Dave Matthews Band, "Thunder Road" and "She's the One" by Bruce, "Untouchable Face", "Gravel", "As Is", "32 Flavors" and "Shameless" by Ani DiFranco, "Love's Recovery", "Closer to Fine" and "Galileo" by Indigo Girls, "Nightswimming" by REM, "Gold Dust Woman", "Rhiannon" and "Silver Spring" by Fleetwood Mac, "Sour Times" and "It Could Be Sweet" by Portishead, "Overfire," "Need to Destory" and "Dip" by THC...

Dabbling in a new fandom has also helped - I've written in AotC and LotR completely unexpectedly and I think those detours into unfamiliar country, as it were, helped me with stories my main fandoms.

Walking away for a while is also a good idea. Taking a break from the story that's causing trouble, or from fiction writing altogether for a few days can help.

And last, but certainly not least - reading is always good. Especially original fiction. Stirs up all sorts of ideas. I found when I had narrowed my reading focus to mostly fanfic, I suddenly felt stifled and unable to write. Now that I've once again been reading widely outside fandom, I find myself much more interested in my own fanfic.

Of course, none of this is helping as I stare at the Prodigal today and wonder what the hell I was thinking, and how I'm going to get from the beginning to the end (the end is written already).

Sigh.

~victoria



link

[current mood: tired]
[current music: You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet - BTO]
[random quote: some people claim that there's a woman to blame but I know it's my own damn fault...]

~*~

08.22.02 - 11:36 a.m.

possession

I am apparently the only person on earth who has not yet seen the X2 trailer that is now online.

I will see it, tonight, but last night I didn't even turn on my computer when I got home.

I came in, put the garbage out, sorted my laundry, took a shower, and went to bed.

I was in bed by midnight, which was awesome.

I still overslept my alarm, and had a bit of a morning - apparently everybody decided to drop their laundry off today, so there was a line at the laundromat (who ever heard of such a thing?), and the V train was running on the F track, but I eventually made it to work, by 9am no less.

Go me.

*snerk*

The movie was excellent. I really liked it, even if I occasionally flashed back to The French Lieutenant's Woman (which I was never able to sit through as a young'un) when Christabel was wandering around in her hooded cloak.

It's the same sort of story, as well, flashing back and forth between two sets of lovers.

Who knew Aaron Eckhart was so good-looking? I knew he could act, but damn, skippy - he was *hot*.

So Possession gets two thumbs up from me and L.

We went to dinner afterward - she treated me as a belated b-day pressie (life is good - I also got a beautifully hurtful little ChLex fic from Hope, which I suggest you all go read, like, NOW) - and hung out in the cafe until they closed.

It was a beautiful night to sit outside and discuss the movie, and love and art and writing. (she's taking what sounds like an awesome class - "Literature for Writers", which apparently studies great novels from the POV of the writer - focusing on structure, POV, tense, etc. - when I've got a spare $400, I really ought to look into it. Anyone else have good experiences with the Gotham Writers Workshop? that's where she's taking the course.)

So it was a good night, even if I was dead dog tired at the end of it.

~victoria



link

[current mood: good]
[current music: Dreams - Fleetwood Mac]
[random quote: Love just makes you more of who you really could be. ~The Tears of St. Lawrence, by Pix]

~*~

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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.

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