the midnight ramblings of a sleep-addled child
Seven hundred and fifty words on that Somerville fic*, and now I'm horribly depressed. Not in the clinical sense, merely in the way that one might feel if a great hand had pushed one's face into the ground for a long time. Pressed. Flattened. Saddened, even.
Oh, I want to write fancies. I want to be like L M Montgomery and revel like she did in the gorgeousness of her surroundings; I've lived and breathed in picturesque scenes enough. I want to write whimsies and delight and I want to pass that to others. Delight - that's the word. I want to make beautiful things and live among them.
"Yes; but if dryads are foolish they must take the consequences, just as if they were real people," said Paul gravely. "Do you know what I think about the new moon, teacher? I think it is a little golden boat full of dreams."
"And when it tips on a cloud some of them spill out and fall into your sleep."
"Exactly, teacher. Oh, you do know. And I think the violets are little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out holes for the stars to shine through. And the buttercups are made out of old sunshine; and I think the sweet peas will be butterflies when they go to heaven."
What comes out in original fiction is dystopian, fear-filled stories. What comes out is long stories about forgiveness and sadness and inevitability of fate, and human contact and interaction. Human! The glamour of the doomed. Ick.
It's not even that I had an excuse. I had a happier, sheltered childhood than anyone might have deserved, other than the part about my eyes, I suppose. But all my fancies were of adventures and epic fantasy and it's not put me in good stead.
At any rate, I'm going to work on the Phanuel/Rogier fic instead. Because that one is at least going to have a happy resolution. Mrfjgh. Tomorrow will be sunshiny and I will feel better.
*Percy Somerville, a character in the Kushiel series, is [spoilers for Chosen]executed for treason after being imprisoned over the winter. His son abjures him and takes his wife's family as his house. The doomed factor is really quite dispiriting.
Oh, I want to write fancies. I want to be like L M Montgomery and revel like she did in the gorgeousness of her surroundings; I've lived and breathed in picturesque scenes enough. I want to write whimsies and delight and I want to pass that to others. Delight - that's the word. I want to make beautiful things and live among them.
"Yes; but if dryads are foolish they must take the consequences, just as if they were real people," said Paul gravely. "Do you know what I think about the new moon, teacher? I think it is a little golden boat full of dreams."
"And when it tips on a cloud some of them spill out and fall into your sleep."
"Exactly, teacher. Oh, you do know. And I think the violets are little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out holes for the stars to shine through. And the buttercups are made out of old sunshine; and I think the sweet peas will be butterflies when they go to heaven."
What comes out in original fiction is dystopian, fear-filled stories. What comes out is long stories about forgiveness and sadness and inevitability of fate, and human contact and interaction. Human! The glamour of the doomed. Ick.
It's not even that I had an excuse. I had a happier, sheltered childhood than anyone might have deserved, other than the part about my eyes, I suppose. But all my fancies were of adventures and epic fantasy and it's not put me in good stead.
At any rate, I'm going to work on the Phanuel/Rogier fic instead. Because that one is at least going to have a happy resolution. Mrfjgh. Tomorrow will be sunshiny and I will feel better.
*Percy Somerville, a character in the Kushiel series, is [spoilers for Chosen]executed for treason after being imprisoned over the winter. His son abjures him and takes his wife's family as his house. The doomed factor is really quite dispiriting.