1. Poison ivy on your neck
2. Poison ivy on your ear
3. Poison ivy on your face
4. Poison ivy on your eye
5. Possibly not even getting a full sick day because your boss might have to go coach baseball before the shift's over

Bleh.

The guy who did this also did the gorgeous credits for A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Volume 32 of imaginarybeasts is out (time travel!), and my contribution is Wade In the Water:

This is the nineteenth—or twentieth; he's losing count—time the fish has died, and all Jedediah feels as he stares at it is tired. Perhaps that's why the fish died: exhaustion. The floating body looks weary, slumped into the water, the fins hanging limp. They stir a little when Jed taps a finger against the glass, a brief and eerie semblance of life.

5:30—if he hurries, he should be able to get a replacement fish before Zeke arrives home from work; Zeke of the too-understanding looks and the “friendship fish"; Zeke, who will be getting married and moving out in five weeks, two days.

For a moment, Jed considers ending the charade, acknowledging the fish's death and his own failure to keep it alive (again), but he's lied about it for so long that he might as well keep going. So he sighs, gets the little net out, flushes George IXX (or XX) down the I'll-clean-it-tomorrow toilet, decides not to change the fish bowl water as there's too many plants and snails to deal with, and heads out for the pet shop.

It's raining, cold enough to seep into bones and bite at joints, so Jed shoves his hands into his coat pockets and turns down the nearest likely-looking alley. And then, almost out of sight of the street and when no one's looking, he goes sideways.

The most striking difference, as always, is the sudden complete silence, like being plunged into water or vacuum. No patter of rain, no car engines or honking horns, almost no footsteps or rustle of clothing or even the sound of his own heartbeat. He hums a little as he sets off into the frozen world, just to prove he can.

Christ is risen!

(What? It's still Easter week. And it is forever true.)

So, I really am writing, even if you're not seeing much of it at the moment. The problem is that I'm trying to writing a bunch of things simultaneously. Whoo. Here's what's going on at the moment:

The Blue Pig - my originalbigbang offering. Last year I wound up being incredibly down-to-the-wire, and didn't even really get a chance to make the corrections suggested by my incredibly long-suffering betas, so this year I'm trying to push it out early. Trying. ( Here's the bit I'm currently most pleased with )

Evangeline and the Forest God - for the next volume of imaginarybeasts. This is another case of not being please with how rushed my last (two) offering(s) wound up being. Originally I was going to do something else entirely, but then I reread Digger, something went ping in my head, and next thing I knew I was cobbling this together from a couple of things that've been sitting in my writing grab-bag for ages. It's still in the early stages, so I don't quite have a favorite bit yet, ( but this works well enough )

Falls the Night - AKA "the Sumner story". This is the first in what I hope will be a string of finally-finished magic!SGA stories--the ones where Sheppard has magic tattoo wings and Michael's a good guy, and so on. I've finally got the end for this one, so the problem is mostly filling in the middle, which is the part where Sumner's sort of going crazy from seeing too many futures simultaneously. Trying to figure out how to format that is driving me crazy. You've already seen my favorite bit from this, ( but I like this bit too )

And finally, Boojum - which was hatched several years ago in a failed attempt at the SGA gen ficathon thing. I think I've finally figured out what the problem is, and part of the solution is combine it with two other recalcitrant stories. (And to make the bad guy Chaya instead of a bunch of random OCs. So, sorry if you like Chaya. ( The story demanded it! )

Don't worry if there's a WIP I haven't mentioned that you're interested in--I'm going to finish everything I've started (or give it a proper funeral), but I'm trying to work on things in order of internal chronology/external deadlines.

To begin, dump unsorted clean laundry on flat surface between players. Begin picking up items at the same time. Player with most folded items at the end wins. To make game more difficult, appoint different point values per category of clothing (pair of socks = 1, pants = 3, shirts = 5, etc.), or add and subtract points for neatness. To make things even more exciting, include items that require ironing.

Once game begins, players may pick up only one item of clothing at a time, fold it, and then add it to their pile to be counted once all items have been folded. In cases where more than one item is to be folded together, e.g. socks, player must retain first item until match can be made. If a player inadvertently picks up multiple items, they must all be folded and then given to player on their left.

Game ends when all items are folded.

*

Gosh, it's harder to write up game rules than I expected--there's probably at least one goof that I missed. Feel free to share any variations or improvements--this is just something I came up with this morning while folding my own laundry (alone, alas!).

"One day I shall burst my bud of calm and blossom forth into hysteria."
--Christopher Fry, The Lady's Not For Burning

In other news, I've been (finally!) typing up the huge pile of story bits that's been accumulating on my desk for a rather long while, and am discovering things that are actually pretty good and seem to be going somewhere. So one of these days I might start inundating you with fiction....

If I don't get distracted by the garden, that is.

Well, just sent off my (slightly late) story for the next issue of imaginarybeasts, which feels fabulous, even though I'm also at the stage of thinking it's utter crap. But it's crap that has a beginning, middle and end! And that's all I really care about at the moment. The nifty thing is that I already know what I'm doing for the remaining issues this year, so I can start work on the next one ... well, I already have. So I should be able to meet the official deadlines in the future. Hoorah!

Maybe this means I can direct some attention back towards working through my enormous backlog of unfinished fanfiction....

Thanks to the last couple of weeks and all the stuff that's been happening to people I know (and to me, a little, but nothing worth mention), I think I can finally understand the people who listen to Harold Camping and his ilk. Before, I've mostly been taken aback and somewhat indignant with the presumption and arrogance of those making the predictions about the end of the world, but now I feel mostly sympathy for those who believe them.

Life, after all, is pretty horrid sometimes. People you love die, people you have to work with are petty and bullheaded and don't listen to reason, family and friends make themselves miserable through bad choice after bad choice (or are made miserable thanks to bad luck or injustice). The government does too much or not enough. Trees get chopped down just because they're mildly inconvenient. (That's been happening a lot right around where I live and it hurts). And the same happens those born in the wrong place at the wrong time (and that should hurt more than the trees, but it doesn't because I don't have to walk by it every day, and sometimes I truly despise myself). The church, which should be a place of solace, of comfort, a sanctuary from the world, turns out to be as full of pettiness and bullheadedness as anywhere else.

The Lord coming, making all things new, right--justice and peace and love finally done truly, lastingly--who wouldn't want these things?

But we haven't been given a time, have in fact been told we won't know, can't know, until it actually happens. So all we can do is watch and wait and pray.


Come, Lord, and tarry not.

Here's a snippet of the story I'm trying very hard to get done this week, after failing to do so last week. Part of the problem is that I'm not quite sure what the ending is yet, so I just keep adding bits, and also I need to pull the middle part to pieces, as I'm trying to do something specific with the formatting and it currently doesn't quite work. But as this is my favorite scene (also the scene that prompted me to write the rest of it) and is also somewhat self-standing (er, that sounds wrong but I think it's what I meant to say so I'm going to leave as is), I thought I might as well share it as a Valentine's Day treat. Despite the subject matter.

*

( in which sumner and sheppard have a conversation. )

also: still not dead yet. and am working on a bunch of fics--maybe i'll have something post-worth next week?

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

Sometimes I just want to draw flowers.

Well, I would have embedded a hymn/carol for St. John's day, as there are apparently a whole bunch, but I couldn't find any on Youtube. Oh well.

In other news, back in June, Therese requested a hundred words on Holmes, Watson, & Tea. Here's what finally came of it. That's another one off the list, only a dozen or so to go....

I'm trying to finish a whole batch of old requested ficlets over the next two weeks or so. Here's the first: Meet Me At the Station, a bit of Corbel & Squinch for kensieg.

Christ is born today!

For some reason, I have the feeling this isn't going to end well.

My Lord,
Steep and the slow the path you've placed us on,
The ground dim and uncertain,
Our only light the curl of pink along the horizon
Heralding the far-off dawn.
Keep us in the way--let not our feet stumble,
Wander from where you would have us go,
Our hearts fill with deep despair,
Our eyes close in sleep or woe.
Bring us at the last to your radiant throne,
That we might rejoice in the sight of you
And bring glory to your glorious name,
And not weep to see the rising sun.

Pardon the extraneous bit at the beginning and the credits and all--this was the only good recording I could find of this setting, and it's well worth the minor annoyances.

Bread is still pretty much my favorite food. Right up there with Dutch apple pie.

Yum.

Poll #1803739
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 9

favorite kind of bread? (yes, checking all options is allowed)

I'm so very ready for it to be Christmas vacation. Soooooo ready.

I suppose it could be an indoor pool....