plant my feet
Last year I wrote two ficlets.
- killing time (popslash, JC/Kevin, 735 words)
- matinee (due South, RayK/Fraser, 390 words)
With such a short list, I'm going to skip the evaluations and ambitions and put this quotation here instead. It's from the end of my favorite Ursula LeGuin story, "Half Past Four", which appears in the collection Unlocking the Air.
And how Stephen had told stories when he was this child's age! From morning till night there had been some tale going, till it drove her crazy sometimes...
Where did all that go? What happened to it? The funny little boy making everything in the world into his story, he never would have understood any story about a telephone company executive recently married for the third time whose only child by his first marriage was sitting now in the white chair watching her only child by no marriage rock back and forth restlessly and endlessly, droning his music of one nasal syllable...
The child stood still, the cracker lying on his palm. He looked at it again. "Hop," he said.
"That's right! It went Hop! right to Toddie!" Ella said. Tears came into her eyes. She walked the next cracker across the tray. "This one is a pig. It can go Hop! too, Toddie. Do you want it to go Hop?"
"Hop!" the child said.
It was better than no story at all.
"Hop!" said the great-grandmother.
In other news, my ten-year LJ-versary passed towards the end of last month. I observed it as befits my overall journaling behavior over the last few years, which is to say in hiding and hibernation and a little bit of swearing at fuckers who mount attacks to make the site unavailable right when I finally try to log on (not that I'm the hardest hit by that, by a long shot, of course). Anyway, here's to your very good health and the next ten years, my dear flist!
- killing time (popslash, JC/Kevin, 735 words)
- matinee (due South, RayK/Fraser, 390 words)
With such a short list, I'm going to skip the evaluations and ambitions and put this quotation here instead. It's from the end of my favorite Ursula LeGuin story, "Half Past Four", which appears in the collection Unlocking the Air.
And how Stephen had told stories when he was this child's age! From morning till night there had been some tale going, till it drove her crazy sometimes...
Where did all that go? What happened to it? The funny little boy making everything in the world into his story, he never would have understood any story about a telephone company executive recently married for the third time whose only child by his first marriage was sitting now in the white chair watching her only child by no marriage rock back and forth restlessly and endlessly, droning his music of one nasal syllable...
The child stood still, the cracker lying on his palm. He looked at it again. "Hop," he said.
"That's right! It went Hop! right to Toddie!" Ella said. Tears came into her eyes. She walked the next cracker across the tray. "This one is a pig. It can go Hop! too, Toddie. Do you want it to go Hop?"
"Hop!" the child said.
It was better than no story at all.
"Hop!" said the great-grandmother.
In other news, my ten-year LJ-versary passed towards the end of last month. I observed it as befits my overall journaling behavior over the last few years, which is to say in hiding and hibernation and a little bit of swearing at fuckers who mount attacks to make the site unavailable right when I finally try to log on (not that I'm the hardest hit by that, by a long shot, of course). Anyway, here's to your very good health and the next ten years, my dear flist!