the flavours of childhood
I was looking at my last year fic in review post and the one thing I really wanted for 2011 was to be better at responding to feedback in a timely fashion, and I completely failed at that, but I am going to try to get it all answered by the end of the year (um, it's less that I have tremendous amounts and more that I let them all build up until it is a lot of comments cumulatively; I get squirrelly and avoidant for some reason, and then I feel like it has been too long, and then I feel like it shouldn't matter, because one thing I've always tried to do is respond to every feedback comment I get, so if you get a thank you comment from me sometime over the next week for a story I posted back in March or something, um, thank you? I really do mean it. I just get anxious about responding to comments sometimes and completely fail to do so).
***
Since I need to finish the Darcy/Clint story sometime before Yuletide opens so people will actually read it, I of course have started, like, four other stories that seem to want to be written more. *hands* Brain, why do you do this to me? I need to finish this thing soon, because I do not want it to be like "The Weather Inside," which I started as a yuletide treat and then posted in October. Also, I'm afraid of what angelgazing and
devildoll will do to me if I don't get it done. They know where I live!
Also, I will probably try to get a December recs update done this week before yuletide, so it doesn't get lost in the flood of yuletide recs. That way people who aren't scrambling to write treats or pinch hits have things to read before the archive opens.
And, oh yeah, I should probably do some work. I have a short week - I'm taking Thursday and Friday off (we get Monday as our observed holiday) - so I should clear some things off my desk.
***
Have a poem:
Desserts
and afterwards
travelling home
on the northbound train
my body is wired
to the flavours
of childhood:
aniseed
and mint
and something sharp
or incompletely sweetened
like the stalk
of rhubarb we would cut from old
allotments
dipped
in stolen sugar
reddled at the lips
and trying to imagine nights like this:
a butterkist warmth on my tongue
and the craquelure
of egg-yolk
and cream of the well
on the maze of your skin.
~John Burnside
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/409637.html.
people have commented there.
***
Since I need to finish the Darcy/Clint story sometime before Yuletide opens so people will actually read it, I of course have started, like, four other stories that seem to want to be written more. *hands* Brain, why do you do this to me? I need to finish this thing soon, because I do not want it to be like "The Weather Inside," which I started as a yuletide treat and then posted in October. Also, I'm afraid of what angelgazing and
devildoll will do to me if I don't get it done. They know where I live!
Also, I will probably try to get a December recs update done this week before yuletide, so it doesn't get lost in the flood of yuletide recs. That way people who aren't scrambling to write treats or pinch hits have things to read before the archive opens.
And, oh yeah, I should probably do some work. I have a short week - I'm taking Thursday and Friday off (we get Monday as our observed holiday) - so I should clear some things off my desk.
***
Have a poem:
Desserts
and afterwards
travelling home
on the northbound train
my body is wired
to the flavours
of childhood:
aniseed
and mint
and something sharp
or incompletely sweetened
like the stalk
of rhubarb we would cut from old
allotments
dipped
in stolen sugar
reddled at the lips
and trying to imagine nights like this:
a butterkist warmth on my tongue
and the craquelure
of egg-yolk
and cream of the well
on the maze of your skin.
~John Burnside
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/409637.html.
people have commented there.