Winter's Bookshelves

the_bookshelves @ 2006-07-01T19:05:00

2006-07-01T22:09:32Z

Just a note to everyone who cares: this journal will be deleted as soon as I get Internet access back at home. The reason I'm waiting until then is so that I can get all the stories off here to store them on my computer, but after that, this journal won't have a point. I'll just discuss my writing on my main journal. No sense in clogging up LJ, after all.

Why am I doing this? I don't write enough to warrant having a writing journal. In terms of visibility, more people read my other journals than this journal, and anything decent will end up posted to my website in the end anyway. There's no sense in having a journal I don't use that often.

So if anyone gives a damn, any writing crap will from here on be posted on eternalism, or stuck on my website once I get it all nice and happy-looking again.

Off to a decent start. (Month long entry for wc updates)

2006-06-02T20:14:00Z

June 2

Though the Romance Novel challenge was supposed to start yesterday, I didn't get a chance to start writing until this morning. However, I made up for lost time by writing 4253 words, thus completing a whole chapter, and going a little way into chapter 2.

It's my first day of writing, and already I'm over 10% done. I think I've just scared myself. If I went at this pace, I could finish the challenge in a little over a week.

I likely won't, though. But I can write over my weekends, and before work after Griffin's gone (my designated writing time), so I can at least get out 1000 a day, at least, if I put my mind to it.

Words written - 4253 (10.63% done)
Month gone - 2 days (6.67% gone)

June 7

Blah. I was off to a great start, and now I've fallen behind. Boo. Need to get my butt in gear and do more writing before work.

Words written - 7785 (19.46% done)
Month gone - 7 days (23.33% gone)

June 9

Still need to get my butt in gear! I'm still behind where I ougbht to be! Oh well. I do have two days off coming up, and though I have to do a fair bit of housework, I know I can put some time aside and get some decent writing done. Fortunately, I'm not too far behind, and writing a few thousands words a day between now and next Tuesday ought to put me right back on track. Maybe even get me a little bit ahead of the game!

Words written - 9170 (22.9% done)
Month gone - 9 days (30% gone)

the_bookshelves @ 2006-05-20T20:58:00

2006-05-21T00:11:46Z

This journal needs a serious makeover. Seriously. I'm tempted to delete a whole load of the pointless entries I made, lump a bunch of the wordcount entries into one (for whatever period I was wordcounting for), and just generally clean it up. I'm tired of looking at journals with pointless entries, especially when I'm the one that wrote said pointless entries. There's far too much, "I ought to write" here, and not nearly enough "I wrote."

I'm having a slight mental block when it comes to plotting stuff for the Gryphon Riders stuff. I have two plans for it. One, potentially a trilogy, of the first Rider, and how the Gryphons were at an early stage. No telepathy, above average animal intelligence, but not something that can easily communicate with their riders. Well trained flying horses, for all intents and purposes. Somewhere in this trilogy, Crestevar and his unnamed-as-of-yet Gryphon end up doing something so that the Gryphons end up smarter and able to mentally communicate with their Riders.

The second set of stories takes place hundreds of years after that, after the Gryphon Riders have established themselves as an organisation.

My problem is that I feel like I'm taking too much Lackey-liberty and turning the Gryphons into Companions, which I don't really want them to be. New Riders are chosen when a Gryphon deems them worthy. They talk telepathically, and usually only to their Riders or each other. You see where the similarities are?

At the same time as I'm worried about pulling a copycat, I don't want the Gryphons to just stay as animals in terms of intelligence. It's essential that they have some form of mental communication, especially with their Riders, or else things will get insanely tricky to manage. I could, theoretically, leave them with sub-human intelligence but still give them the ability to communicate, and leave it up to the muddled human to figure out what the Gryphon is trying to tell them, but that makes too much problem for the concept of the organization of Riders.

It's like I'm trying to turn this into my own personal Valdemar, Collegium and all. And while that's cool, it's been done, and I don't exactly want to do it again. If someone reads this, I want them to read it because they like my idea, not because they like someone else's idea and mine happens to be exactly like it.

I could make the Gryphons the same kind of creature as the cortha, but that feels a little too dishonest to the cortha I've created. *chuckles* Srikar doesn't like that plan, methinks.

Of course, there's the other problem with the Gryphon Riders. I'd also love to write the Feylands stuff, which, in the present time, also has intelligent telepathic animals. It's like everything I write will have the same concept shoved into it. How much can I write before it looks like I'm writing with a beaten dead horse?

Ugh. I have too many potential projects swimming through my mind. Gryphon Riders. Feylands. Blood and Thunder. The shit with Rhyn and Faewyn that needs a serious going-over. And realistically, I can't focus on any of those until my craft projects are done, or else I'll spend all my free time writing. Not a bad thing in itself, but when I've promised crafts to various people, they need to come first.

Maybe I'll get lucky and have a flash of inspiration as I go to sleep tonight, or something.

the_bookshelves @ 2006-05-13T21:26:00

2006-05-14T00:26:46Z

Go me. I have the makings of a book. Not just a story. Not even just a lot of stories. A non-fiction helpful book that people may actually be interested in.

So what's there to do about this? Well, uh, write it, of course. *gets fingers in gear and goes to it*

Edit - 2872 words of me randomly babbling on about recycled yarn. Huzzah! I wish I could write like this all the time.

I have more research to do, on fibres, patterns, and instructions. Hopefully I can keep going full steam ahead with this project, publish it on lulu.com, and make merry bushels of cash . . . I mean, uh, get the word out. Yeah, that's it,

the_bookshelves @ 2006-04-23T16:24:00

2006-04-23T19:30:07Z

It's not a good sign when I try to log into this journal by using my work password. O_o Sorry, Self, but the password to this journal isn't "wyndham". It probably never will be, either.

Bah. I have the writing bug. The problem is I also have the knitting bug. So I can't tell what I'd rather be doing today at work. Fnerg.

Well, really, I probably ought to be writing. The more I write now, the bigger and better an update I'll have for my website when I get Internet access in the apartment.

However, I'm torn between working more on the alternate reality Little House fic, or that knitting ghost story.

Yeah. Can't ever tell me my interests aren't diverse. :/

the_bookshelves @ 2006-03-31T17:28:00

2006-03-31T21:33:31Z

I've figured out the best way to make money and still write.

Write romance novels.

The plot can be practically the same for each one, they don't require much thought, and some people just can't seem to get enough of them. I mean, there's a market for that stuff, even though they're all the frigging same!

Biggest problem with this plan? I'm not sure I could live with myself if I did it.

the_bookshelves @ 2006-03-04T00:31:00

2006-03-04T04:56:37Z

2294 words written tonight, in between my lunch and going home. Not bad, when one considers that I was also taking calls during that time, too.

A few more nights like that and I'll be on my way to banging out a semi-decent novel. Possibly at NaNo rate!

Oh yay!

2006-03-04T00:59:10Z

Inspirations for that unnamed story about Cameron and Steven and all those other folks whose story really ought to have a name by now.

Okay, so Katie left Steven for Mark, and they ran off together. Literally. There somes a part where Katie runs back to Steven for a one-night stand before she blurts out that her life is too confusing, it's not you it's me, and leaves for good. Well, mostly for good. She does come back a while later with some interesting information on a piece of paper.

HIV-positive.

See, after she left Steven for Mark, she also cheated on Mark, then dumped him, then ran back to Steven for comfort. She was infected during that little bit of cheating, and ended up passing the infection on to Steven.

Who, I must say, is not pleased to hear this. Either in the story or from my mind.

How I came up with this? Seemed fitting. Maybe it's due to listening to Will I, from the Rent soundtrack, on repeat. But someone in my head keeps bringing out a cold deadened feeling in me when that song comes on, and I finally traced it back to Steven.

This story was originally supposed to centre on the psychic element of all the people in that house, who were brought together by some old guy, for a purpose that was never made clear to me. Now it seems to be focussing in on their lives, and the psychic and supernatural element just seems to be in the background. Still there, of course, but it's not the main part of the story anymore. Seems more subdued, which fits the tone of the people more. They've lived with these abilities all their lives, after all, so really, they would have mostly adjusted, and learned to deal with them accordingly, and not make huge gigantic deals of it all.

However, this begs the question of how they got together in the first place. My theory? Complete coincidence. Cameron always struck me as kind of upper-class, so perhaps the house is owned by his parents, and he decided to live in it. There's enough room in the house to rent out rooms, so he does, which pleases his parents, and thus Michael arrives. The Steven and Katie. Then Mark. And then we have the whole initial group together.

It just happens to be coincidence that three of them have some level of psychic ability.

I thought that Mark was there because of a twin of his, though now I'm not so sure. He could just be the delicious plot point that makes Steven's story come alive. No point in giving him a forced story that isn't really needed.

Okay, so, Steven and Katie probably moved into the house because the rent was cheap, and it was somewhere they could both live together without it seeming too commitment-oriented (big mistake number 1, I suppose). Michael and Mark wanted to go to the nearby university. Cameron too, most likely. So that explains all of them. Huzzah!

Funny . . . The original main character was supposed to be Michael, but now I'm finding myself more attached to Steven. Wierd how that happens sometimes.

I'm a crazy person.

2006-03-03T01:52:14Z

I have an idea for an alternate timeline fic.

This in itself isn't so unusual, except for the 'fandom' that I chose. Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House on the Prairie" series.

Yeah, you did read that right.

See, I've done my research. The books differ a fair bit from the actual timeline of Wilder's life, though I'm sticking to bookverse, to make it all easier in terms of researching dates and stuff. Now, this fic is tentatively titled "Turning Points," for the reason that there's a clear point in the story of Wilder's life that, if a different decision had been made by someone in her family, her life would have gone in a completely different direction than it did.

So I began, a little while ago, to list all the important things that happened after the specific incident in question, and tried to theorize how things may have worked differently using the alternate timeline. The result is amazing. At least, I think it is.

Do I feel weird doing real-person fanfic? Absolutely. I feel kinda like I'm poking my nose in where it doesn't belong. However, it isn't like I'm write real-person smut, and the people I'm writing about have been dead for years, and this is all just speculative anyway. Still, it feels a little odd.

I really have done my homework on this, too. Looking into various dates, origins of towns in certain areas (including some names of real people there at the time, to add to authenticity), laws, and so on and so forth. Here's hoping I can write something that can live up to the books themselves!

I do have to cross bookverse and reality in a few cases, though, just to make the story a little more interesting. (Well, interesting to me, at any rate.)

So I think I'll start a-writing Turning Points while I'm at work, just for fun. Lord knows I don't have anything better to do while I'm here.

Look at me, ma, I'm updating!

2006-02-22T23:13:36Z

So I have plans to write. Got a couple of ideas, even. The knitting horror story. Gryphon Riders. Finishing Angel's frigging Hell! Some odd little underworld kind of story that won't leave my brain. The untitled stuff with Cameron and Co. The story that takes place in the future even though it appears that man has gone technologically and socially backwards. Lots of little ideas that keep coming to me and peeping, "Write me. Write me!"

So isn't it typical that as soon as I go to write something, I lose whatever steam I had?

Ugh. Need to get motivated. I have a plan. It's a good plan, even. Basically, I grab a dictionary, flip open pages at random, and pick ten words. Per day. And I have to write something that incorporates those 10 words. It's a sound plan. I could base a community off this idea, if I so chose!

But as for tonight? Damn, I want to write. But I don't know what's worth writing.

Maybe I'll start the historical parts of the knitting story . . .

It's February.

2006-02-02T18:50:48Z

It's February, and that means I can finally start that new writing project I've had in mind. I've been putting it of until February so that I can see just how much I can work on it while I'm at work (which is really the only time I can get any good writing done).

This story combines a few of my great loves. Ghost stories. Knitting. Obscure and potentially made-up secluded civilizations in easter Asia.

Yeah. Props to the person who can figure out how I'm planning to combine these things. It's like, two can go together easily, but . . . knitting?

Yes. I'm damn well incorporating knitting into a ghost story. And I'll do it well. So there.

With that in mind, my shift is about to start. I'd better log in and get writing. :p

Random ficlet, to prove that yes, I am still writing things.

2006-01-25T21:54:18Z

She woke up not in her bed, but in a dark place. The air was neither cool nor warm, neither heavy nor thin. She appeared to be standing on thin air, but beneath her feet was what felt like solid ground. This must be a dream. Only dreams made that kind of sense.

Experimentally, she took a step forward, and the darkness moved with her. It was like she was walking along a road, a road that she couldn't see, and thus had no idea where it led, or where it had come from.

She walked, and eventually, something else appeared in the darkness. It was a cat, small, and tawny in colour. It stood perfectly still on the dark road ahead of her, and it just watched and waited until she appraoched.

"Hello," the cat said politely.

"Hello," she replied, not wondering at all why a cat was talking. It seemed perfectly logical at the time.

"Who are you?" the cat asked.

She thought a moment before answering. "I don't know," she answered. "I suppose I'm a person."

"We're all people in some form or another," replied the cat. "That doesn't tell me anything."

"You seem to know a lot," she said.

"I'm a cat," the cat replied. "That's what cats do."

"What do I do, then?"

The cat licked its paw briefly before answering, "That's part of who you are."

"So I can't know what I do without knowing who I am?"

"Doesn't that make sense?" asked the cat. "After all, you have to start somewhere. Why would you know what you do if you don't even know who you are. Or, to put it more correctly, who you is."

They were silent. The cat started to groom itself, smoothing down hairs that had been displaced. The girl looked down at herself, and the first thing she noticed were her hands. "These aren't my hands!" she exclaimed! The fingers were longer and slimmer than she remembered, but there was more than that. Some difference she couldn't quite understand.

The cat looked back up at her. "Whose hands are they, then?"

"They can't be mine! My hands don't look like that!"

"How do you feel?" the cat asked.

Again, the girl thought a moment before answering. "I suppose I feel normal," she replied. "I feel like myself."

"Then those are your hands," the cat told her, and resumed grooming itself.

"But why do I remember them being different?" she asked.

"They can't have been," the cat answered. "They've always been your hands. Who else's hands would they be?" A pause. "Maybe you're just seeing them differently."

"If I'm seeing them diffently," she mused, "them maybe I'm seeing myself differently."

"Maybe," the cat replied. "But why would you see yourself as something you never were?"

"Maybe I wanted to become something I wasn't?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"I guess I'm talking to myself," the girl replied.

"No point in doing that," said the cat, "when I'm still standing here. It's rude to talk to yourself when you can talk to someone else."

"Were you always a cat?" she asked.

"Yes. Weren't you always you?"

"I'm not sure anymore," the girl said, with almost a whimpering sound in her voice.

"Who else would you be?"

"A lie?" she guessed.

"Maybe," the cat said. "Lies look an awful lot like the truth sometimes. Are you going to keep being a lie?"

"No!" she said. "Why would I be a lie when now I know the truth?"

"Do you know the truth?" the cat asked. "You know you were a lie, but you still don't know what your truth is."

She suddenly felt a lot like the cat when she asnwered, "Does it matter? So long as I'm me, I am the truth."

If cats could smile, this one would have. "I thought so," it said, and then was swallowed by the darkness.

Damned if I know where the twisty wordiness came from. Apparently, riding the bus brings funny thoughts into my brain.

My brain is crazy.

2006-01-25T16:21:14Z

I mean, I can understand writing what you know, but why oh why does my brain suddenly give me a ghost story that centres around knitting?

I'm serious. Now, maybe I've just been watching Griffin play Fatal Frame too much, but I get the twisted feeling this story could work. Dream-shifting, knitting one's soul into a garment, past and present stories intermingling . . .

Yeah . . . I've completely lost it, haven't I?

New Year's resolutions, starting as of today.

2005-12-23T12:34:05Z

Starting this coming January, I'm going to make an effort to do some writing every day. This won't be too hard, given that I'm now working in a place that offers Internet access, so I'll have no reason to not bang out a thousand words or so over my breaks. Short of being so tired that I fall asleep at my desk, or something.

Also, when I get home, I'm going to look for more user icons. I have the ability to use 6, so I may as well do so.

I will finish E Pluribus Unum, though I suspect that the only person who cares about me finishing that doesn't even know this journal exists. :p

I'm going to go back and delete some of the old and pointless entries of this journal, too. Stuff that I said I'd do but never got around to. I know it may be a heavy veiling of the truth, but I'm tired of making myself look bad by making plans and then not going through with them.

I will make an honest effort to rewrite the story with Rhyn and Faewyn. In my head, it feels cluttered and rushed. Almost DHB-like. (Drunken Hobo-Beard, for those who may have forgotten.)

Why am I making these resolutions? Because I'm a writer. Deep down, I'm a writer. I write, therefor I am. I have stories to tell, and I'll be damned if those stories have to stay in my head for another year just because I'm being lazy. It isn't fair to the character-muses that sit patiently in the back of my mind, waiting for their half-hour when I put fingers to keyboard and bang out something rough. Yes, I value my muses that much. If it weren't for them, I'd have no stories to tell.

I'll also make an honest effort to get back into certain fandoms, and write for them. Fandoms I like, then, obviously. Yes, that does mean Pokemon, for at least the overall world is fascinating to me. I may be the only person in existance who'll write Plague Tales AU slashfic, but dangit, I refuse to let that stop me. I have a Harry Potter fic dancing through my brain, so I will try to write that. FFX has the potential for tons of fics, and I will take advantage of that.

There is plenty of inspiration out there. I don't even have to look hard to find it. But from now on, I'll make a better attempt to not let it all slip through my fingers.

I will make a name for myself, and that name will be "Writer."

(I will also make a better layout for this journal. It's rather . . . boring.)

Not another one.

2005-12-22T22:30:16Z

So, out of nowhere, a sweet little priest-muse named Coriad appeared in my head, and started telling me tales of his religion. Fascinating pieces, really. Here's one that I plan to turn into a tapestry one day, as soon as I get the supplies together.

Many years ago, in the Temple of Saint Barthel, lived a priest whose name was Rosmadh. Rosmadh was a diligent and pious priest, who had devoted himself to prayer and the work of the Lord God Ela since childhood. He had grown from a pretty boy to a beautiful man, and yet he took no pride in his appearance. His thoughts and heart were given over to worship.

One day, the Winged Creature Aiselis took it upon himself to go and thank Rosmadh for his diligence and devotion to the Lord God Ela. He descended from the Heavenly Realm, and appeared before Rosmadh, who had just lifted his eyes from prayer. Aiselis was about to speak, to thank Rosmadh, but as soon as he caught sight of the priest, he was struck dumb by the man's beauty.

Aiselis finally blessed Rosmadh for his devotion, and decided at that moment to stay with the man. He had falled in love with Rosmadh in an instant. Rosmadh had felt the same feeling stir within him at the moment he heard Aiselis speak. The two become close. The Lord God Ela saw their love and blessed it, for it was pure and chaste love.

But Aiselis soon wanted more than purity. He felt desire, a desire to do more with Rosmadh than spend their days in worship of the Lord God Ela. Many moon came and left, and by the time the Moon of Passion rose, so too did Aiselis' desire. Aiselis and Rosmadh partook of earthly pleasures that night, under the light of the Moon of Passion.

But for the sin of lust, Aiselis would not go unpunished. No sooner did he rise from their bed than his wings fell off, and he was no longer a Winged Creature. His heart broke so profoundly that he fell to death.

When Rosmadh awoke and saw what had become of his beloved, his heart broke also. He could not bear to live without Aiselis by his side. But humans are further from their true hearts than the Winged are, and so he did not die straightaway. Rather, he took the Aiselis' fallen wings, and carried them up to the highest tower in the temple. There, he strapped the wings to his back, and threw himself off the wall, plummeting to his death so that he might be reunited with Aiselis.

~ As told by Coriad, priest in the temple of Saint Barthel.

Oh, and I especially like the story that Coriad told about how Saint Barthel called a curse down upon all women, so that they bleed once a month. There are two different versions of that myth, Coriad says, and perhaps at some point, I'll tell them both.

(Note - The story of Rosmadh and Aiselis appears here as it was written in one of the holy tomes that Coriad has access to. If I were telling the story in my own words, it wouldn't be so . . . unemotional and detached. Just so's ya know.)

the_bookshelves @ 2005-12-16T21:05:00

2005-12-17T01:05:46Z

I think I've found some good inspirational music for writing. Vertical Horizon puts me in the mood to write, and it even gives me a vague feeling of what I ought to write.

I think this is good music for writing these folks. Finally, something good I can do with them!

If only I didn't have so much stuff to do already. Maybe once Christmas is over, I can start working on them. It's always easier when music brings to mind the characters.

The lyrics of an angel without wings can hardly fly (Angel Without Wings) strikes me as particularly moving.

*listens to the current song* Oh lordy . . . Oh boy, this just turned incredibly angsty. I think I need to write a snippet right now, before I forget.

the_bookshelves @ 2005-11-12T20:17:00

2005-11-13T00:19:35Z

Pandora.com.

Good music for writing stuff. Basically, you input an artist or song that you like, and this project will play that, plus search for more songs or artists that share similar qualities that you may like to listen to.

Given that my own computer is dead and I have no real playlist, this is a great thing to get me in certain moods, or just provide good background noise that's easy on my ears. I highly recommend it.

Doesn't seem to have some of the more obscure things that I like, though, like Within Temptation, the Mediaeval Baebes, or Red Delicious. Boo. But I am enjoying what I find.

Public Nano Update 3.

2005-11-05T16:11:28Z

Wow. I just wrote some serious smut! Possibly the best smut I actually think I've written, with the exception of the orgasm bit. Chalk that up to not having much experience with male orgasm, I guess, but really, that's the only part I'm really unhappy with.

Over 8k words now. Getting up there. One more story like that today, and I ought to be where I'm supposed to be for this time of the month. If I get to that point, I'll be 20% of the way there.

Yeah, doing a book of short stories is infinitely easier than doing one long story. Especially when my mind and attention span have been all over the place recently.

You know, for my next story, I'll probably do the rather controversial Erin/Jakob story, where the two are siblings. That one got amusing to play out.

Yeah yeah, not only do I write gay smut, I write incestuous smut. Occasionally gay incestuous smut.

You may burn me at the stake now.

Public NaNo Update 2.

2005-11-04T17:35:28Z

72 words shy of 6k. Alas, I probably won't be able to get any decent writing done today, but I will at least try to get some brainstorming done for future NaNo stories. That'll help things considerably.

I've come up with a new term for crappy stories, too, ones that feel forced, rough, and unfinished. Drunken Hobo-Beard Stories. Why? Because when it's being written, or reread, it brings to mind the feeling that a drunken hobo rubbed his beard across paper, and out came words. These kinds of stories may require special lice shampoo to be turned into something decent come rewrite time.

I get the feeling that this year's NaNo will bring a great deal of DHBS.

Public NaNo post 1.

2005-11-03T21:08:16Z

So, I at least have over 2000 words. Not bad, but not good, either.

Fortunately for me, I have about 4 hours tonight where I have no plans other than to write my little butt off. Hopefully this will get my wordcount up some.

Figures, though, that as soon as I decide, "Hey, I'll write a bunch of similarly-themed short stories for NaNo, thus escaping the usual trap I lay for myself," my brain goes blank. Yuh-huh, I am devoid of short stories.

Well, not really. But none are springing instantly to mind right now, which means I may have to poke around in my brain for a bit, trying to dig out some old scenarios to turn into text.

Huzzah for NaNo!

2005-11-01T14:11:17Z

Since my own computer is kaput for the foreseeable future, I have to make do with everyone else's. Boo. This does suck, on a large level. However, it may mean that I post here more. Even if the entries are under Friends lock, or even private, until I perhaps display them on my website or something, this journal is something I can access from just about all computers, and will make doing NaNo easier.

Some of the short stories I'll be writing may be posted publically, just to whet your appetites for boylovin'. :>

And now, on with the NaNoShow!

the_bookshelves @ 2005-10-27T11:26:00

2005-10-27T18:29:27Z

So I've decided to participate in NaNo after all, though I have no idea if I'll even get it all done. Still, can't hurt to try.

My biggest problem in years past has been that I'll go full-steam for a while, and then lose motivation, leaving me with half-finished stories that just don't seem to go anywhere, or feel forced when they do. This year, that problem is solved by the fact that I'm going to do a collection of short stories, involving the Incarnations, with a bit of Mix 'n Match in there to keep it interesting. That way, when my mind starts to wander, it'll be okay to start new snippets, new stories, new ideas. It'll all be going into the same place, after all.

the_bookshelves @ 2005-10-15T18:49:00

2005-10-15T21:49:07Z

My fingers, they want to write. My brain, it wants me to write.

My eyes, they burn from lack of sleep.

I'm afraid to take a shower or bath for fear of passing out in the sweet sweet warmth.

I think I'll try to take a nap. Maybe I'll get some crazy-ass dreams that'll give me good writing inspiration.

the_bookshelves @ 2005-10-15T15:53:00

2005-10-15T18:53:31Z

A good part of my brain seems to be devoted, at this moment, to a little angstfic involving River and Kiefer. Set in an alternate timeline than we usually play, this is written by Kiefer, detailing his thoughts on the first autumn after the death of River. (How and why River died, we do not know. I guess that bit's not important. Or something.) This was prompted by a scenario played the other day, with a line from River that struck Kiefer as particularly moving.

In one of the books I read as a child, I came across a disturbing revelation. If a man lives for a full century, he will only see the leaves change colour 100 times. He will remember even less than that, and ignore still more.

How many times did we stop and look at those leaves changing their colours? Was it 10? 20? More, or less? I can't remember if we did it at all. All I remember is you, staring up at you, perhaps as you looked upon those leaves.

I find myself looking at the leaves turning now, wondering how similar you both are. As badly poetic as it is, you both came from something strong, something that, in the summer, one thinks can last forever. Now, the leaves lie on the ground, weakened, changed. Some yellow from this tree. Some red from this. But all mottled with brown and black, eaten away by some insect or disease, wet and limp from the rains that don't seem to cease.

I try my hardest not to think of you this way. I try to remember you as you were in life; strong, silent, ever-present. But more and more my mind returns to those pathetic leaves on the ground.

This time of year is hard for me. We're at the time when the days and nights cool, where it's so comfortable to sit with your lover by the fire, reading, listening to music, enjoying each others' presence without having to say a word. Soon will come the time where we once gave each other gifts. The predictable sweaters, books, and music CDs that I knew were coming every year, and yet always treasured as if they were unexpected gifts from God.

I don't know what I'll do this year. I have no one to buy for. My Christmasses were always spent with you, and since you aren't here anymore . . .

More and more I find myself waking up at night, cold despite the blankets, because you aren't there beside me. I pace around the house, desperate for something to do that will exhaust me so that I can go back to sleep, but nothing seems enough. The books on the shelf seem dull, writing seems pointless, unless I'm writing these things to you. I've returned to my old habits of losing my mind when I'm not with you.

I remember the day of my uncle's funeral. Later that night, as we lay together in bed, you promised me that you would always come back to me. Every time you went out the door it would mean that you'd come back through it. I believed you. I believed you more than you may have believed yourself, because of what I know and what I have written. I don't believe that my book came from the over-active imagination of a child, but rather that the thoughts and dreams telling that story were memories, handed down to me from some distant people in some distant time.

Some day, River, I see you coming back through this door, looking for me. I may not be Kiefer anymore. This building may not be standing. You may not even know why you are here, but I believe you will be here, and right now, that is the only thing saving me from sending myself into the long sleep to join you. I will wait, no matter how hard or painful it is. No matter how long it takes, I will stand guard by the front door, waiting for you to keep your promise and come back to me.

Yeah . . . Poor Kiefer's had that stuff running through his mind all day. Most of yesterday, too. I figured I owed it to him to let him get it out somehow, in a place where River can read it.

I imagine lots of snuggles once he does.

the_bookshelves @ 2005-10-11T13:28:00

2005-10-11T16:28:43Z

So, in my mind, I have a few more ideas for the Gryphon Riders stuff that I want/need to write. The problem is that I'm not sure where to start.

I originally had it planned that the Gryphons would possess some limited telepathy, the ability to communicate with their Riders. Not complex thoughts as we humans have, but rather brief snatches of imagery, emotion, the occasional word or two that they manage to pick up. For all intents and purposes, the gryphons would be like animals. Very smart telepathic animals, of course, but still animals.

Then I realised that some things just wouldn't work unless they had more than that to communicate. They needed more complex thought patterns, more along the lines that humans possess.

So two story arcs have formed. One with the gryphons have limited communication, the other without.

Now, I can very easily tie these things together. That's no trouble at all. I've already smoothed that out in my mind. My trouble is which arc do I address first?

I can start chronologically, having the story of Crestevar and his gryphon being told first, where gryphons have limited communication, but events change that. Or, I could have the first writing take place later, where the gryphons are further advanced, and then go back to Crestevar's story later, the proper telling of the legend.

Writing chronologically would be easiest, really, since I won't be limited, in a sense, by what I know the future will hold. However, writing things in 'current' times and addressing past issues later can also be interesting, for both reader and writer.

Hmmm, what to do, what to do?

I've already started some of Crestevar's story anyway, but I'm afraid that if I don't get the other story out soon, it'll end up stuck in the back of my head, the ideas will fade (even if I take notes), and the story will never get written at all.

*sigh* At least this gives me something to think about as I walk the dog today. That's often where my best story ideas come from, lately.