Exquisite six-sided snowflakes drifted down like mayflies; we stood and shivered and ran gloved fingers through our wet hair. Our dark perfect-preserved footprints shone slickly against the dusting of easy lovely white. Under its thick icy coating, the car looked like a sleeping animal, something enormous and solid with improbably slender legs. J drew a heart on the windshield, cracked a little where whole sheets of snow had been dislodged by her thumb.

My father took photo after photo from the doorway, framed by curling tendrils of yellow light that faded into the singing night by slow degrees. I leaned flash-blind against the fender until I could feel the water even through my fat plastic-lined coat.

I am telling you this out of a kind of perverseness. I have not much to say about Thanksgiving itself, see. There was food, there were ill-advised marshmallows; we played a drawn-out bitter game of Scrabble and fought over it. J always wins, and she always plays terrible, terrifying words, sharp short no-longer-alien words with the stink of stolen things not yet rubbed off them by us. An unsatisfying celebration but also a warm one. Comfortable, if inadequate.

And now my scalp is everywhere stung with cold.

The ground is flat here: the bare front yards of the rented rooms smear right into the road, mud on old asphalt. Snow slathered over the red pine needles and the gray dust in egg-shaped patches like bearskin rugs, sides raised, thickened into almost-banks that glitter as if it is some enormous pale stone, half-buried under mud. The dog walks lightly over it, webbed toes spread. She is half husky, half who knows what, a slim slippery thing with fur that blends into the sable shadows of this place. I give her all the slack there is in the leash and sometimes, looking out of the corner of my eye, I cannot tell her from the thin spiky-headed saplings and dying tangles of weeds that rise out of the snow, their scaly stems circled by perfect, smooth-lipped holes that are and always have been my favorite kind of absence.

Her eyes are paler in this light, not the glistening dark brown that makes her look like one of the family but rather amber, clear and treacherous. She likes this place: I can see it in the way she moves, quick darting movements, and the way she does not move, standing poised, ludicrously thin legs straight, tufts of fur on her elbows standing out, narrow muzzle raised, shining reddish ears folded high on her skull. Her shifting shadow runs to blue. We walk, the two of us, with all our senses reaching out like unseasonal tentacles, rubbery and alien. Drunk on cold.

The lake, when we come to it, is as curious a mixture of the ugly and the breathtaking as every other sight in this place. Too much water to take in at once, mottled like steel and plastered, around the edges, with a marshy mess of plant matter apparently frozen into the almost perfectly transparent ice. Overhead, an uneven blue as pale as my unfortunate English teacher's eyes, brushed in places with ghostly cirrus thumb-prints. Back and forth we go beside the railing until a flock of geese, flying in a direction I can only suppose is south, startle us out of our two joined webs with the sharp scissoring sound of their wings and their half-hearted honks.

I recognize nothing on the way home, for all my accounting. There is a running man, with a friendly pink face that makes me think of vultures in profile, down to the slope of chin into throat. "Good morning," he says, and my dog snaps at his hand, her whole uncoiling body one long memory of the geese she could not reach, and he laughs. "Sorry, sorry," I say, laughing too, and he says, "Aw, don't worry about it," and, "I had to leave my dog at home;" he leaves me with his wooly cap bobbing back, wistfulness open in his flapping knees.

Yeah. I am doing it! But unlike last year, you are not going to see more of it than what is unscrupulously included below, not for a long, long time, at least. SO ENJOY! Or. Don't. I have included two beginnings that I tried before settling back on my original idea, because I am awesome like that, and I plan to add the other two that I came up with as well once I am Not At The Library.

( the one I am actually doing: starring China and Henry, amateur witches extraordinaire )


( the one with the traditional kind o' dragon )

( the one with the gravedigger )

So today I fell over in the shower.

Twice.

I have matching long tight stretches of numb skin! One on my left elbow, one on my right arm.

I am also probably going to be in pain, come the golden morrow.

*conks out*

WAS IT AMAZING OR WHAT. Easily my favorite Discworld book since Going Postal, which is why I feel the need to pick it apart into delicious, footnote-spiced shreds. Which is a nice transition, actually, so let's go with that! The footnote-spiced. Not the shreds. Although shreds are somewhat relevant. Maybe.

What I mean to say is, there was an abundance of footnotes, and I enjoyed every one. Unseen Academicals amused me far more than, say, Making Money, or Nation; Pterry's wit is, natch, eternal, but it does at times wear a little thin. This was not one of those times. ( Cut for spoilers. )

... I bring the first complete story I ever wrote, dislodged from under piles of books in the chaos of moving houses: TWIN TALES, the tale of -- wait for it -- twins imbued with a sense of magic SO GREAT that a sinister Hispanic (?!) woman known only as Madame would do anything for the chance to teach them to control it: anything in this case meaning 'killing their mother, devastating their village home, and enslaving the villagers'. She gets her chance, and then proceeds to blow it completely by taking them on a quest to see the monster she hired to do the dirty work for no apparent reason other than that they wanted to. The monster explains matters to them, and they reject her utterly, shockingly enough, and go to complete their training with a handy local philosophermagician-king. The thrilling journey concludes five years later, when they, now accomplished sorceresses, stumble across her in a forest and demand an explanation, which she gives as follows: Your mother was dumb and would have been a total failure at raising you anyway. Once they have it, all three go off hand in hand, happily reunited sociopaths that they are.

AND NOW THE EVEN BETTER PART:

( CHOICE EXCERPTS! )

This was not written nearly  long enough ago for my tastes. I console myself that -- er, well -- my grammar was quite good, particularly in regards to dialogue, with a few exceptions? Haha? And I had a steep learning curve?

It's even better with illustrations. I'll have to see about uploading them sometime.

Yes.

(Thus ends my excursion into existence. I'm writing an epically long blog post about Australia and another about the writing camp shit and another about SCHOOL HAVING STARTED ARGH, but, really, I wanted to share this with you all. That's how much I like you!)
 

I mean, Australia.

For two weeks.

There will be kangaroo-harassment, and no visible effect on my rate of posting in this journal. (I FAIL AT BLAGGING I KNOW. I'll be back, eventually. I will!)

That is all.

THE INTERVIEW MEME

Questions from lunabee34 . If you want to be interviewed, let me know and I'll ask you some questions. (As in, like, DIFFERENT questions! :'D)
( YAY! )

Well, that was more incoherent and flaily than I expected. But when am I ever as composed as I expect to be? I have so much to say about the writing workshop. I just need to write it all down, which I will do, as soon as I actually LEAVE the writing workshop. XD

You'll have read this summary already. Posting this mostly for myself. Or whatever.

Fuck if I know how to fix time zones, but now's as good a time as any to learn.

In other news: 'sup? I will resurrect when camp is over. Really I will. I miss being egotistical onscreen.

Title: Native Species' Territory Calls, Which When Anthropomorphized Resemble The Sound of Music
Author: gogollescent
Rating: ahahahaha I don't even know. What's the rating for RAPING YOUR CHILDHOOD?
Pairing: None yet. Later? Don't go there.
Summary/Prompt: Captain James T. von Kirk needs a governess for his seven children. Plz note: will only be funny if you have seen the Sound of Music and remember it well. Actually it might not be funny even then. But anyway. Yeah, basically, Star Trek meets the Sound of Music. This is the first act of probably at least five. *facepalm*
Note/Warnings: I'm an idiot. Did I mention the childhood-rape? Yeah. That.

( ACT TWO: ACCLIMATIZATION )

More on Star Trek later. For now:

Title: Native Species' Territory Calls, Which When Anthropomorphized Resemble The Sound of Music
Author: gogollescent
Rating: ahahahaha I don't even know. What's the rating for RAPING YOUR CHILDHOOD?
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, for now.
Summary/Prompt: Captain James T. von Kirk needs a governess for his seven children. Plz note: will only be funny if you have seen the Sound of Music and remember it well. Actually it might not be funny even then. But anyway. Yeah, basically, Star Trek meets the Sound of Music. This is the first act of probably at least five. *facepalm*
Note/Warnings: I'm an idiot. Did I mention the childhood-rape? Yeah. That.

( ACT ONE: THE ARRIVAL )

I thought you all would appreciate this little relaxation-from-studying exercise.

( This was written for two prompts. )

The first? An all_unwritten prompt: "Tell us something about your pet."

The second? "Imagine you're a girl who absolutely loathes a certain boy (the reasoning is up to you). His name is Collin (picture below for reference). This boy happens to be in your room, however he's an inch tall and stupidly laying on one of your flip flops / sandals. You decide you want to kill him by stepping on him slowly and painfully with your bare foot, considering he has claustrophobia, along with a phobia of feet. If you're feeling extra cruel, you could even use him as the insole to your sandal as you walk around on him. The possibilities are endless at his size. Feel free to torture him beforehand if you'd like, since you know his phobias.

Being as descriptive and creative as possible, write this scene in 1st person, like a narrative or even a diary. (If you can't stand 1st person, 3rd person works as well.)"

You can even incorporate your own ideas into this, if you'd like. Make it a bit more interesting!

As this scenario is pretty vague, a good way to make it really good is an emphasis on description and imagery."

two of you lot have birthdays today and another of you has one tomorrow

THIS IS UNREASONABLY JUNGIAN

if any of you want fic, comment and I will get back to you forthwith*.

*in five years**
**Discworldean***
***And by 'Discworldean' I mean proper 800-day years, kthx 

MEME!(!!!!)

Comment to this entry and I will pick a character you know. Then you answer the same questions I have posted.

aramis_chan gave me Samuel Vimes. Shock, I know.

1. Do you like this character?

Yes. Very much. Because he's hilarious even when he's being angsty/angry/defiant/resigned to his fate as a Lone Straight Man (i.e., all the time). And because he's v. v. different from me while kind of similar to my father. (Shut up, it's perfectly legitimate to seek out father figures in fiction!) Except not as intelligent and therefore more relateable...to. Yes.

2. What name/names do you call this character?

Vimes, usually. Lately "the ex-Commander", when I'm feeling cruel.

3. What image-color do you associate with this character?

copperbadge 's default icon - so a brassy color, I suppose.

Or that light woody shade you get in old eggshells, har har.

4. What image-song do you associate with this character?

Uh.

Haha.

YES. I, LIKE THE REST OF MY GENERATION, AM COMPLETELY UP-TO-DATE ON CURRENT MUSIC, ETC., ETC. I KNOW MANY LYRICS FROM WHICH I CAN PICK AND CHOOSE AT LEISURE. I'M JUST ELECTING NOT TO RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THIS QUESTION DOES NOT PLEASE ME.

Haha.

5. What blood-type do you think this character is?

AB, because of this fic: sam-storyteller.livejournal.com/70605.html#cutid1.

6. Of all of the titles that this character appears in, which characters do you like to put this character with?

Well, his wife, I quite like putting him with his wife, in, you know, healthy moderation. And I have once-- once, mind-- been guilty of putting him with his boss, because there's nothing quite like guilty slash. And I have contemplated genderbent!Carrot/Vimes, because I am sick and unsquickable. Let's see. Oh, yes, how could I forget-- I make no promises, but there may be some Vimes/Angua in my upcoming AU.

I don't have a particular favorite, really. I just like 'im. If I get to make him fail miserably at romance, this is an added bonus.

7. What would you want to say to this character?

Er. Nothing except 'It wasn't me what done it'. Possibly.

8. Which do you want to do with this character: Shake hands, hug or kiss?

I'm going to go for the fourth option, viz. 'run away', because let's face it; in real life Vimes would be, in the words of Moist von Lipwig, "just scary."

1. I have a sore-thing on my thumb where I gnawed the cuticle a leetle too much.

2. I went to bed at one o' clock this morning.

3. The yearly project for AP biology is officially done.

4. BY THE WAY HOLY SHITTING YES I GOT ACCEPTED INTO THAT WRITERS' STUDIO I WAS TALKING ABOUT OH YEAH BABY UNFINISHED SHORT STORIES ABOUT WOMEN KIDNAPPING THEIR NEPHEWS FOR THE WIN

5. I have not been taking my medications regularly. Please forgive the occasional lapse of IOWA HERE I COME reasoning and cognitive functions.

6. I love you all from afar. And it's spring break at last, so, in the immortal words of Havelock Vetinari, BRING IT.

7. Stress has induced one worthwhile, long, involved, and fascinating dream which I will relate shortly, when I recover.

Chat log from Sun Mar 22 4:03 PM

me:  HI MOM. HOW ARE YOU?

( And proud. )

In other news, someone broke into my piano teacher's car and all I could think about was the spiderweb pattern on the fragments of dark, green-edged broken glass left in the corners of the empty window. And my father's car... stopped going halfway to home. We got towed.

It's been an odd two days and a most appropriate Friday the Thirteenth. I don't really know.