a fool's musings

Boreas by Waterhouse
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: current mood

"pathological and unbalanced"

Items of Interest

    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

09.15.02 - 10:40 p.m.

banned books and hot men

After I finish here, I'll write about the Sopranos season premiere over in the LJ.

(Now up here).

Ever the follower, and since it's banned books week next week, here's the list of banned books I've read:

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
Forever by Judy Blume
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
Blubber by Judy Blume
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
Deenie by Judy Blume
A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford (is there a porno version I haven't seen?)
Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene

Apparently, I'm not as radical as I thought. I felt sure there were a few other books I'd read that had been banned, and that I'd read most of 'em in high school, for English in my Junior year. Because a lot of these I did read in high school, and I went to catholic school.

And also, seven famous people I'd sleep with, no strings attached, one night (and obviously, marital status and sexual orientation is no object) (except, I listed ten. So sue me.):

Johnny Depp
Keanu Reeves
Hugh Jackman
Ewan McGregor
Nicholas Brendon
Anthony Stewart Head
Eddie Vedder
Chris Cornell
Matt Dillon
Robin Ventura

Edited to add: Arrggh! I forgot Reed Diamond!

Seven characters I'd sleep with (except, again, it's ten):

Logan
Faramir
Aragorn
Ramses Emerson
Lex Luthor (MR version only)
Indiana Jones
Han Solo
Obi-Wan Kenobi
Xander Harris
Rupert Giles

Oh, I can't decide, Scott Summers? Sirius Black? Remus Lupin? Qui-Gon Jinn? Wesley Wyndham-Price? Morpheus? Legolas? Vaughn? Sam Spade? Philip Marlowe? Kellerman? Bayliss? Arrgh...

::head explodes::

~victoria



link

[current mood: exploded]
[current music: Woke up this morning got yourself a gun...]
[random quote: Cunnilingus and psychiatry brought us to this!]

~*~

09.15.02 - 2:52 p.m.

"can't find a better man"

I can't believe I forgot the big news -

Victor won his yellow belt yesterday, and my brother-in-law passed *his* yellow belt test on Friday night.

Alyssa is next.

We'll soon have an army of ninja in the family.

My plan to take over the world proceeds apace.

Woke up this morning (and that reminds me - new Sopranos tonight for the first time in a year and a half! Woohoo! Still haven't figured out the Alias/Sopranos/Angel conundrum, though. Stupid network executives.) with the climactic scene of Dreams in Red in my head, which I proceeded to type up as fast as I could. I even managed to work the title into the story.

It's not a pleasant scene. I didn't enjoy writing it, and I'm glad it's over.

I still have to fill the middle portions in, and decide on a fate for Steve, but the hardest part is written, I think.

Now I just need to do the Logan POV, which I think will be the end. I don't think I'm going to give a first person Rogue POV. We'll see how it feels.

I've edited Stay, as well, and will probably get around to posting it tonight, before I go to bed.

Posting before going out or posting before going to bed are the best ways to stop the 'hovering for feedback' thing I do if I post and then hang around my email all afternoon. I hate that.

I feel mildly accomplished, though, with that scene written and over 400 items in my email trash. Not that I answered 400 emails. No. I just deleted a bunch of emails from July and early August that have been hanging around that I never got to.

I will get all this under control.

And if I keep telling myself that, at some point maybe I'll believe it.

I hope to answer comments sometime later today or this evening.

~victoria



link

[current mood: accomplished]
[current music: silence]
[random quote: she loves him, she don't want to leave this way, she needs him, that's why she'll be back again]

~*~

09.14.02 - 11:07 p.m.

process

In an effort to talk about something *other* than FF.net, the First Amendment, and the coming Fandom Doom, as well as to avoid editing both "Stay" and "Thirst" (I've been on a roll with those one-word titles lately, eh?), I've been thinking about my writing process.

Well, I'm always thinking about my writing process lately, which could be one reason so little writing gets done.

And before anyone makes a smart remark about how I'm complaining about being blocked and yet still managing to produce a story every few days, I will clarify.

These short stories - Stay, or Magic in the Night, or Unrequited, etc. - they appear, they demand to be written, they are edited, and they're gone.

I don't think they have any less value, per se, than longer, more thought-out works, though sometimes the writing quality is lesser, or it lacks that spark of inspiration present even in the other short stories I've written, that somehow feel exactly *right* to me (Kindness Falls Like Rain, or The Space Between, or The Nature of Everything, for example).

However, that lack of a spark sometimes worries me. I can write a story - hell, I can write an L/R story in my sleep these days, and I dismiss more ideas than I actually write (see how long the cheese fic has been sitting, waiting, because again, not exactly inspirational, just a little funny story that needs expanding).

But writing the stories I *want* to desperately write seems beyond me.

The Prodigal. Consumption. Game of You.

I can't seem to make myself sit down and write them.

I'm still trying to figure out what the balance is between needing the social aspects of fandom (lists, blogland, email, AIM) and needing the time to write, and for *months*, I've spent what should be writing time on socializing, on meta, on stupid crap like fandom infighting. (Not to mention the things I should be doing vis a vis the archive.)

And because I enjoy all these things (even the infighting on occasion, if my masters let me off the leash), I find it very difficult to give them up.

"Moderation in all things," is a lovely motto, but one I've never been able to quite manage. I have no willpower.

Anyhow, I'm still thinking about my own lack of interest in writing when I have time lately, and warring with my desire to finish these stories sometime this millenium (and preferably *before* the sequel comes out), and I've not yet come to a solution.

Slogging it out has worked in the past, but currently leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth, though I'm sure it's what I'll end up doing.

Anyhow, the question came up on Glass Onion, raised by Thamiris, iirc, about *how* we write. And this is what I said:

I'm a very, er, organic writer. (I prefer that term to "seat of my pants".)

Usually I start with a line of dialogue or an image, and write and write straight through to the end, or as near as I can get in one sitting, without much idea of where I'm going to end up or what the whole point is. This goes for vignettes, PWPs and typically anything up to about 5000 words. Writing this way generally means having to go back in on a second draft and fill in/clarify the more elliptical stuff, because while it makes sense in my head, the dear readers are not in there with me (thank god) and can often be very confused at how/what I was thinking and what connections I've tried to make.

Unfortunately, I'm terrible with longer stories, and plots, so I usually hit a snag with those types of stories.

I've also been known to write scenes as they come and stitch them together later, but that feels horrid and unnatural to me. I don't like segues or transitions, and leaving all that interstitial stuff for last is a good way to stall me out. Generally, if I can't write in a straight line, even over the course of a month or two, it takes a much longer time for the story to get written. And again, anything with a plot more complex than 'A meets B, A loses B, A gets B' is going to kill me, because I suck at plot.

I don't write detailed outlines. Once I know what happens in a story, I have no interest in actually writing it. I tend to find that the plot unfolds naturally in the writing process; I just have to have faith that I'm going to get from Point A to Point Z eventually.

There are a few stories I've made bare bones outlines for, because they were complex enough to need it, but none of those has been finished yet. The outline is to remind me of the major beats I need to hit for the overall story to work, and as I said, those usually are the complicated plots involving murders, double-crosses, fake deaths and govt black ops agencies. (So feh on those people who think shippers write nothing but shippy fluff or shippy angst.)

I edit as I write, so I never have a true first draft that's gone straight from my head onto paper. Usually I do a lot of crossing out (if I'm writing by hand) or backspacing, until the word or sentence or paragraph *sounds* right, both in content and rhythmically. Before I started writing fanfic, most of my finished writing was poetry, and I have a very keen sense of rhythm and meter in my sentences and paragraphs - I construct them sometimes as I would a poem, rather than a prose work. So if a word has too many syllables, or doesn't *sound* right, I'll struggle until I get a word that fits perfectly. Sometimes that doesn't happen and I'm stuck with an inferior word, but at some later date I usually figure it out and fix it.

I do take notes and scribble brief descriptions of what comes next if I'm going to be interrupted (e.g., "Scott's debriefing goes badly. Jean-Logan conversation, overheard by Scott" etc.). Just so I don't forget. If I have the actual *words*, I don't stop. I don't care if it's the Second Coming - if I've got the right words, I'm gonna ride 'em as long as they're flowing, because there's nothing worse than losing that choice phrasing because you were interrupted or you wanted to go to sleep or something.

And you've all heard me bitching in this very diary about losing the words even when I'm not really distracted, in the time it took to find a pen in my bag, so you know I loathe that feeling with every fibre of my being.

~victoria



link

[current mood: thoughtful]
[current music: some football game on tv]
[random quote: I don't mind if you don't like my manners. I don't like them myself. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them]

~*~

09.14.02 - 12:39 a.m.

Tales of Earthsea

Finished Tales of Earthsea on the train this evening.

Lovely book.

You have to understand, Ged is one of my fictional boyfriends from way back, and Tombs of Atuan is one of my favorite books ever.

LeGuin's writing is beautiful. Fabulous. Assured, quiet, masterful, and simple. The way I'd like to write.

I really liked how the stories filled in stuff I'd wondered about, like how Roke became the School for Mages, and why women aren't allowed to be wizards, and a couple of other simple stories about forgiveness or finding who you are, etc.

I'd totally recommend the whole cycle. This is the kind of fantasy I could fall in love with again - totally believable real world, with a long history, the feeling that things have been lost and are changing, magic and dragons.

I really ought to read the first four books again, particularly Tehanu, which just doesn't want to stick with me. I've read it twice, and damned if I can tell you what happens in it, except that Ged returns to Gont and Tenar. And Tehanu herself is burned badly and beaten and just a mess.

And she talks to dragons.

*nods*

So I've got The Other Wind here at the parents' (yeah, I'm back again) and I'll probably read it tomorrow. And spend the rest of the weekend pining for the first four books, which are home.

Anyhow, I'd wholeheartedly recommend the Earthsea series (it's six books now - that's a series) to anyone and everyone.

***

One last thing...

on the FF.net business:

What's really bugging me now is that there are people advocating being nasty to this guy Xing, who provided them a free service for the past 4 years at mostly his own expense, a service they were only too happy to deride as a haven of crap for so long. I don't really know if it's some harbinger of doom for the fanfiction world. I think it's just one guy who's trying to wipe the bullseye off his ass.

Anyhow, more complete thoughts are up in the LJ, including ramblings about the First Amendment.

~victoria



link

[current mood: snarky]
[current music: Beautiful Day - U2]
[random quote: touch me, take me to that higher place, teach me, I know I'm not a hopeless case]

~*~

09.13.02 - 12:01 p.m.

pop quiz, hotshot

Said this over in the LJ, but I'll say it here, too:

In light of the FF.net developments, if there are any XMM authors out there who are losing the only place to host their stories, email me or post a comment, and we'll chat.

I can't guarantee anything, and I won't host fic I consider to be sub-par quality-wise, but we can talk, and see if we can't come up with a solution.

If anyone out there sees this and you know people in this situation who wouldn't normally be reading my diary or LJ, send 'em my way.

***

Am still considering fanfiction as political.

It's been a topic I've mulled for months, years, even, on and off.

I can see why it is. I even agree, to some degree, that it is.

However, I don't think that not wanting to stand up and be political about it is wrong.

People write fanfiction for myriad reasons, and Fucking the Man isn't always one of 'em, even if, by its very nature, fanfiction is subversive.

I still need more time to be coherent about this. I'm all in a tizzy about people misconstruing what "censorship" is and tossing it around.

If instead of saying, "No NC-17 fic", the latest news had been, "I'm taking down everything I consider badly-written, poorly spelled, and craptacular!" I can *guarantee* (ooh, Justin Wilson flashback) that half the people up in arms about this would be *cheering*.

Hypothetical time:

So let's say you're Xing right now - you're getting nailed on the one side by parents/teachers/whoever who've suddenly discovered their precious darlings are writing about the HP kids screwing like rabbits at the age of 14. Not only are they having sex, a good deal of the time, it's GAY sex. ::rolls eyes:: Horrors! for a good deal of middle-aged middle America.

Let's not get into how parents ought to know what their kids are up to and *they* should be responsible for vetting their kids' reading material. In western society today, many parents have abidicated their parental duties and expect the govt. and the schools and everyone else to do their job as parents.

Given that mindset, *of course* they're going to be complaining.

On the other side, you've got authors like Anne Rice and JK Rowling - multi-million dollar makers for publishers and movie studios and toy makers etc. - publicly decrying fanfiction. And the big businesses that want to protect their "intellectual property".

What's the most likely thing to get the site in trouble?

Underage, gay sex, preferably non-con or having some kink that most of mainstream America would find ... ishy, at least in public.

So, pop quiz, oh webmaster of the site hosting all this underage gay porn written about characters that are copyrighted: What do you do?

And no, that's not a rhetorical question.

Anyone? What would *you* do in Xing's position?

I don't think that this is a comment on morality at all. It's simply a reaction to burgeoning fears of legal reprisal. Now, do I think it'd be best in the long run if the whole site were just closed down now, and reopened as "amateurfiction.net"? Probably. It'd be quicker and less painful than chopping the site up bit by bit, which is what I envision happening. But I'm not the site-owner. Hell, I'm not even a paying member. So it's not my decision.

still thinking,
~victoria



link

[current mood: thoughtful]
[current music: Losing My Religion - REM]
[random quote: you can't always get what you want but if you try sometimes you'll find you get what you need]

~*~

09.12.02 - 10:54 p.m.

in brief

Thanks to my dad, The Muse's Fool has been updated. (Thanks, Dad!)

See, I did all the coding etc. last night, but never uploaded it.

'Cause I am a dumbass.

Anyhow, I walked him through the ftp process this afternoon, and he took care of everything.

So Unrequited is up, if anyone's interested in reading a story inspired by Janis Ian's "At Seventeen."

I'm currently in the process of removing my stories from FF.net, but I'm alarmed at some of the ... more vehement reactions some people are having.

See, it's a business. And if the guy who runs it is beginning to get threatened with legal action, he's gonna protect his ass, and ditch our fic.

And you know what?

That's okay.

That's not censorship. He's not telling you, "Don't write that."

He's just saying, "I can't host that anymore."

As is his right.

He's the one who has poured money and time and sweat into creating the site, and he is the one who gets to decide what the rules are.

If you don't like his rules, you can go elsewhere. It's as simple as that.

"Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its being extolled, but some people's idea of it is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage."
~Winston Churchill

~victoria



link

[current mood: piqued]
[current music: silence]
[random quote: Fear of corrupting the mind of the younger generation is the loftiest form of cowardice. ~Holbrook Jackson]

~*~

09.12.02 - 5:13 p.m.

arrivaderla, FF.net

I've noticed lately that I seem to have an obsession with Rogue's neck.

I mention it quite frequently.

I think I just like the phrases associated with it: "the slim, white column of her neck" or "the graceful line of her throat" etc.

Huh.

I have a thing about being kissed on the neck. It makes my knees weak. That could also be what I'm thinking when I write about it...

Ahem.

::veers away from TMI territory::

So FF.net is not accepting NC-17 fic anymore, and is apparently starting to delete NC-17 fic in certain areas (and probably everywhere eventually).

I understand their point - they're high profile and underage sex is a hot button issue, and well, their asses are on the line.

So tonight I guess I'll be vacating their premises, just 'cause. I don't really need them; I've got my own site, which I'm paying for, and the avoidance of FF.net was one reason I did that.

Since I haven't been there in months, and haven't uploaded anything since last January, I really have no reason to complain. I got lots of really nice reviews, a funny flame or two, and now I'll just say, 'arriverderla.'

And to you, I say, 'Ciao, belle. Vado a casa.'*

~victoria

*Yeah, I can't remember how to do other tenses. Sue me. It's been 10 years.



link

[current mood: tired]
[current music: Emotional Rescue - Stones]
[random quote: what you say about his company is what you say about society...]

~*~

09.12.02 - 11:54 a.m.

Stay, mach 1

Spent most of this morning getting my PC looked at. It's been incredibly slow lately. So the IT guy sat and waited for the half hour it takes to boot up and then he smacked the hard drive around a little (I kid you not - he opened the case, disconnected the drive and spanked it), but that didn't help.

After we finally connected to the network, he took a look at my C drive, and decided that the lack of space there was the problem, so we moved everything (i.e., the data files) onto the D drive (which I didn't even know existed until today), and now I'm in the process of streamlining even more by zipping the old stuff and copying some of it off onto diskettes (unfortunately, I don't have a zip drive or a CD-R).

We'll see if this helps at all. I'm angling for a new PC.

In addition to this electronic clean up, the guys are dumpsterizing. I think I mentioned this on Tuesday, about the storage rooms we're cleaning out to free up space, since all the cubes around me are now filled with actual employees.

MW and DY get so excited when they can throw things out. G and FT are packrats, so I think they flinch every time this happens, but even they can see the necessity of clearing out the supplies closet in front of my cubicle. It's like an obstacle course in there, and now that the fax machine is moving in there, we need space for it.

So, lots of throwing stuff out and moving stuff around.

Also, found a pretty print I like, which is going to be hung on the wall in from of YNG and me. It's blue and purply and very soothing.

***

Yesterday was very ... odd.

I avoided most of the memorials, though my parents (I did go out there, spur of the moment, Tuesday night) watched most of them.

I, instead, reread Goblet of Fire and typed up the story I'm going to post here now.

It's the third and final story in the Cross Purposes Trilogy (the first two are Just My Imagination and Waiting In Vain).

~*~

Stay

She found him easily enough. She didn't have to ask twice about the Wolverine. Everyone she met in Calgary had a story to tell.

They were only too happy to point her toward the old warehouse that had been converted into a bar for the Stampede, a place for illegal cage fighting to take place after hours.

She waited in her motel room until midnight, then took a cab to the outskirts of town. The warehouses all looked the same in the dark -- dirty and dangerous. She was almost ready to give up when she spotted a group of rough-looking men in cowboy hats heading down an alley. She heard music and crowd noise, and sighed in relief. She wasn't looking forward to this confrontation. Or she was, but she was afraid that it wouldn't turn out the way she hoped, and then she'd have traveled three thousand just to get rejected.

It was a lowering thought, and her mood was not improved by the stares and catcalls directed her way upon her entrance into the makeshift bar.

She slid onto one of the barstools and accepted the bottle of Molson the bartender put in front of her without asking.

"You got a bet, honey?" he asked, giving her the once-over.

"A hundred on Wolverine," she said, and slid the money across the bar.

He nodded. "All the ladies like him."

Rogue said nothing, had already turned toward the cage.

"A little uppity, ain't you?"

She kept her eyes on the cage, and her hood up, even though it was July.

"No." Her hand tightened around the neck of the bottle. The bartender receded from her consciousness as Logan climbed into the ring.

She caught her breath, remembering the first time she'd seem him, shirtless, prowling the cage like he owned it. He might as well have. He never lost.

She shivered, anticipation tinged with fear. She'd crossed the continent to see him, to find out what, if anything, he felt for her, and she wasn't sure what his answer would be. She'd believed for so long that he'd been in love with Jean, that she herself had only been an obligation. Everyone thought she was crazy for breaking up with Remy and chasing after the ghost of an adolescent dream; she'd spent the five hour flight wondering the same thing.

But she had to know.

So she sat, clutching her beer, and waited.

***

Logan wasn't psychic, but his skin prickled with something more than anticipation of the upcoming fight as he paced the cage. He shook his head as if to clear it as the emcee led the challenger into the ring. The guy was short, and almost as wide as he was tall. A beer gut hung over the belt of his jeans, and the sickly sweet stench of pot and beer wafted off him.

Logan sighed internally. It was going to be difficult to make this one look like a real fight, and the take would probably be minimal. Not that it mattered. He'd made a shitload of money over the weekend. He wouldn't have to fight again for a while.

Absently absorbing punches from his opponent, he contemplated heading back to Alkali Lake to see if he could pick up the trail of his past. He nearly convinced himself that he'd missing something the first time around when he saw her.

The hood of her cloak had fallen back to reveal the two white streaks in her hair, stark and luminous in the smoky depths of the bar. She drank from a bottle, head tipped back, emphasizing the sleek line of her long, white neck.

He ended the farce of a fight with two punches, laying the guy out on the floor with an uppercut to the jaw. The crowd roared and money changed hands across the bar.

He stalked out of the cage, eyes locked on Rogue, who straightened suddenly, as if aware she'd been spotted. He ignored the fight fans offering congratulations and drinks, and the women offering lewd come ons.

Rogue's presence here could mean only one thing, and he wasn't going to blink and discover it had been a hallucination. She smiled hesitantly when he reached her, and he could smell her anxiety.

He took the beer from her loose grip and finished it in one long swallow, and then his hand closed around her gloved wrist. He could feel the warmth of her flesh and the delicacy of her bones. She was real and she was here, and he wasn't letting her out of his sight.

"Come on."

He led her through the bar, the crowd parting naturally to let them through. The catcalls and comments died a quick death when Logan growled and bared his teeth. The room where they ended up had functioned as an office when the warehouse had been a warehouse, and not an illicit bar.

Rogue perched on the edge of the rickety old desk while Logan pulled his shirt and jacket on.

Finally, he said, "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"I don't know. What do you think it means?"

He let loose a low growl and she smiled. "You tell me," he said.

She got to her feet and tossed her head. "I didn't travel three thousand miles to play games, Logan."

"This is no game."

She took a deep breath. "If you want me, I'll stay. If you don't, I'll head back to New York in the morning."

He could hear her heart racing, belying the calm with which she'd spoken, and the steady way she met his eyes. He reached out a hand and stopped just short of her lips, his fingers so close to her skin that her warm breath brushed over his knuckles.

"Stay," he said, his voice hoarse. Just in case she hadn't heard the first time, he said again, "Stay."

She smiled, then, and it lit the dingy room. She exhaled in relief. "Okay."

They walked out into the night hand in hand. He felt the need to touch her constantly, to reassure himself she wasn't a figment of his imagination, that she was really there, and she wanted to be with him.

When they reached her motel room, they made love -- fiercely the first time; he wanted the feel her pressed against him, bury himself deep inside her to prove to himself she was real. The second time was slow and tender -- loving -- and he was secure in the knowledge that she loved him, as much as he loved her.

When they were done, he held her close, content to breathe her in.

"I can't believe this is real," she murmured as she drifted off to sleep. "I waited so long for this."

"Me, too," he whispered, kissing her temple carefully. "Me too."

fin

~*~

Unbeta'd, though it's in their hands now. As always, comments and suggestions are welcome.

~victoria



link



[current mood: accomplished]
[current music: Never Let You Go - third eye blind]
[random quote: That girl is like a sunburn I would like to save, she's like a sunburn]

~*~

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