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valis2I have accomplished much today.
Unloaded my car (truly a Herculean effort in itself, as it was packed with 400 lbs of merch, no exaggeration), sat down and readied checks for deposit, called in all the charges from my show over the weekend, did a little laundry, sorted through magazines and tossed the ones I am not going to read (went from three piles to one manageable pile), put away some bins full of stamps and ink.
Pulled out some of the stuff in the walk-in closet and packed all of my summer show stuff away. No more giant tent leaning next to the door. No more tent canopy sitting in the living room. Everything is put away except for the stuff I am using right now.
Wrote out bills. Put away another few odds and ends.
And now am working on an overdue chapter, for which I have devised a little fun twist. I agonized over it all weekend, but in the end a friend said it did work, though one aspect didn't. I agreed. Will be finishing in the next hour or so, I hope.
Still have to apply for a visa to Australia, and upload three more chapters to Sycophant Hex.
Speaking of Sychophant Hex...I just read an entry on LJ from someone who mentions that they get miffed if the author does not respond to their review. As up until now I was only on fa.org and ff.net, and as they do not have any possible ways of interacting other than author notes, I had no idea that I was supposed to respond until I saw this. Then when I looked at the reviews on SH, I realized that yes, there is a respond function! I will have to apologize to the kind reviewers with the next few chapters, because I had no idea I was supposed to respond.
Was looking through a folder of old, old stuff I wrote, and came across the Gary Stu I wrote when I was seventeen. Amazing, because I almost always wrote Mary Sues.
Gary Stu
In the dark corners of the mind where one is apt to wander lurks a single shade of night.
He stands alone, a cryptic figure, garmented in the black clothes of his trade; a single creation, one of many that live unhindered within the abyss of our thoughts.
His name was Aeir, and he was a Shadowmonger.
Death does not come to the Shadowmongers. Perhaps even that age-old manifestation is afraid of the fleeting creatures that search our souls; no one can say. They simply do not die.
One is even tempted to contemplate what God thinks of them---but that is assuming that one harbors a belief in God, and most peculiarly, if one believes in God, then the existance of the Shadowmongers themselves is at risk. But who can tell?
Aeir walked broodlingly through the mortal's mind. He stepped absentmindedly over a dark pile of fears, waded through a puddle of sorrow. He blinked suddenly. Ahead lay the Daydreams, through a bright silver arch. It glowed brightly, almost as bright as sunshine. He gasped in alarm. He was too close! The mortal would surely sense his presence! He turned and fled, searching for the cold, chill depths of Pain.
Charlie sat bolt upright in the middle of his Math class. His happy daydream had been smashed to pieces. A dark figure had stepped into it, looked at him in shock, and ran away.
He almost jumped out of his skin. His hands shook. Some one was in his mind!
Aeir sat down on a sofa, an unhappy memory of the mortal's, and bit his lip, thinking of the horrible reprimands that a Shadowmonger faced for bringing attention to himself. Even in a very slight case---like this one---there were penalties. If a Shadowmonger showed his full being---thus causing insanity in the mortal that housed him---he would be thrown on the dark plains of Mim, powerless and half-dead, to walk for eternity. Aeir shivered, thiknig of the draining of power that Andred would certainly sentence upon him.
"Aeir," commanded Zemmaniac, the great Judge of the Shadowmongers. "Come to our home realm, Aeir. You have a disturbed a mortal, and must pay the price."
"I hear," said Aeir, and whisked his black Shadowcloak about him, disappearing into the even darker mists of the Realm of the Shadowmonger.
Aeir was a very powerful one among his race. He was one of high nobility and commanded much respect. His rank had earned him the right to Walk freely among the minds of mortal men, watching their dreams, their thoughts, their secret fantasies. He had enjoyed it immensely at first, but now found it boring, and only Walked when he craved the silence that a mortal's mind could bring.
Heh. Plains of Mim. I'll laugh about that all day.
And what the hell kind of name is Zemmaniac? Oh, the pain of young writing.
Unloaded my car (truly a Herculean effort in itself, as it was packed with 400 lbs of merch, no exaggeration), sat down and readied checks for deposit, called in all the charges from my show over the weekend, did a little laundry, sorted through magazines and tossed the ones I am not going to read (went from three piles to one manageable pile), put away some bins full of stamps and ink.
Pulled out some of the stuff in the walk-in closet and packed all of my summer show stuff away. No more giant tent leaning next to the door. No more tent canopy sitting in the living room. Everything is put away except for the stuff I am using right now.
Wrote out bills. Put away another few odds and ends.
And now am working on an overdue chapter, for which I have devised a little fun twist. I agonized over it all weekend, but in the end a friend said it did work, though one aspect didn't. I agreed. Will be finishing in the next hour or so, I hope.
Still have to apply for a visa to Australia, and upload three more chapters to Sycophant Hex.
Speaking of Sychophant Hex...I just read an entry on LJ from someone who mentions that they get miffed if the author does not respond to their review. As up until now I was only on fa.org and ff.net, and as they do not have any possible ways of interacting other than author notes, I had no idea that I was supposed to respond until I saw this. Then when I looked at the reviews on SH, I realized that yes, there is a respond function! I will have to apologize to the kind reviewers with the next few chapters, because I had no idea I was supposed to respond.
Was looking through a folder of old, old stuff I wrote, and came across the Gary Stu I wrote when I was seventeen. Amazing, because I almost always wrote Mary Sues.
Gary Stu
In the dark corners of the mind where one is apt to wander lurks a single shade of night.
He stands alone, a cryptic figure, garmented in the black clothes of his trade; a single creation, one of many that live unhindered within the abyss of our thoughts.
His name was Aeir, and he was a Shadowmonger.
Death does not come to the Shadowmongers. Perhaps even that age-old manifestation is afraid of the fleeting creatures that search our souls; no one can say. They simply do not die.
One is even tempted to contemplate what God thinks of them---but that is assuming that one harbors a belief in God, and most peculiarly, if one believes in God, then the existance of the Shadowmongers themselves is at risk. But who can tell?
Aeir walked broodlingly through the mortal's mind. He stepped absentmindedly over a dark pile of fears, waded through a puddle of sorrow. He blinked suddenly. Ahead lay the Daydreams, through a bright silver arch. It glowed brightly, almost as bright as sunshine. He gasped in alarm. He was too close! The mortal would surely sense his presence! He turned and fled, searching for the cold, chill depths of Pain.
Charlie sat bolt upright in the middle of his Math class. His happy daydream had been smashed to pieces. A dark figure had stepped into it, looked at him in shock, and ran away.
He almost jumped out of his skin. His hands shook. Some one was in his mind!
Aeir sat down on a sofa, an unhappy memory of the mortal's, and bit his lip, thinking of the horrible reprimands that a Shadowmonger faced for bringing attention to himself. Even in a very slight case---like this one---there were penalties. If a Shadowmonger showed his full being---thus causing insanity in the mortal that housed him---he would be thrown on the dark plains of Mim, powerless and half-dead, to walk for eternity. Aeir shivered, thiknig of the draining of power that Andred would certainly sentence upon him.
"Aeir," commanded Zemmaniac, the great Judge of the Shadowmongers. "Come to our home realm, Aeir. You have a disturbed a mortal, and must pay the price."
"I hear," said Aeir, and whisked his black Shadowcloak about him, disappearing into the even darker mists of the Realm of the Shadowmonger.
Aeir was a very powerful one among his race. He was one of high nobility and commanded much respect. His rank had earned him the right to Walk freely among the minds of mortal men, watching their dreams, their thoughts, their secret fantasies. He had enjoyed it immensely at first, but now found it boring, and only Walked when he craved the silence that a mortal's mind could bring.
Heh. Plains of Mim. I'll laugh about that all day.
And what the hell kind of name is Zemmaniac? Oh, the pain of young writing.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 11:37 am (UTC)I hate fics that have authors notes at the end that are mutual masturbation:
Ditzy - yes, that was sexy, lol!
Thicko - glad you liked the bondage bit, hot wasn't it!
Etc. Ad nauseam. If I ever get published, I am going to be a bitchy recluse a la Pynchon and Salinger. I mean, I really appreciate getting reviews and all that, but I do not have time to answer them all. I reply to each and every personal email, at length, if needed. That's enough.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 11:04 pm (UTC)