Ebb and flow

I've had a rough week; many of you know that. For all of you who gave me encouragement and support: thank you. I felt unable to deal with the stress of doing emergency roadside assistance with only 3 weeks of training and my truly crash course in Oregon geography, much less the other states for which I'd have been taking calls. There were other issues as well; investments in a trip that perhaps I shouldn't have made, but I'm coming to terms with the new reality of it and the person I won't get to see, and getting all of my financial ducks in order. I've also applied to a slew of administrative positions, at universities and elsewhere. I worked on the Ithiel-fic and the second part is much improved; I'll be consulting with the lovely freestylerocker as to how to do this since the other integral part is her art. I hope we'll post it at some point in the next month. In the meantime, it's back to callumjames' long-neglected fic, and/or continuing on with the early-era Sulh-centric fic I've started.

Part of me ponders making this a fic-only LJ, but I really don't want that. I've been on LJ for many years, and I keep up with so many of you via this format, oftentimes supplemented with phone calls and letters. I also have felt that my LJ was a haven to post some of my deepest (or self-deprecating, or joyous, or frustrated, or loving) thoughts, and over the years, many people on my flist have told me that s/he resonated to what I'd said about my real life, my inner landscape, the me beyond my writing. I've used this metaphor more times than I'd wished over the past three years, and it comes from the book of Job in the Hebrew Bible, about facing the gates of great darkness. I don't believe that I suffer from depression, though I may well have some anxiety issues— it's the inner tape loops of psychological self-abuse and wondering in many ways where they came from that has grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me down. So I've become focused, yet again, on the need to consciously create some new neurological pathways, and working on them with the same obsessive passionate fervor that I've pursued other things in my life, but writing most recently. One of these days I'll again unleash my inner fervent Dwarf rather than the inner Vulcan. Oh, and there's that whole elusive balance concept, but nothing like that comes quickly.

To lighten this up, since I was out and about in Portland today [again, I should remind myself that it's not just anyone who could pack up her life in ten days and move across country and be determined to succeed, despite the tripping and falling I've made along the way] while I was in the parking lot at Fred Meyer I saw two somewhat-Goth men, all pale skin, skin-tight black jeans and short-sleeved black t-shirts glued onto their thin frames, obligatory black hair. Oh, and some tattoos. Drinking colorful smoothie-looking drinks and chatting animatedly about something. They were compelling and gorgeous to me; I couldn't keep my eyes off of them as I parked my shopping trolley in a designated area.

Drabbles, continued

I'm probably crazy, but if there are five of you out there wanting drabbles, note so here. I'll write Wraeththu, HP, Tolkien and Swordspoint. I'm between fics, and had loads of fun writing drabbles last week.

Off-list, I received a request from persephone100 for a Wraeththu-centric drabble: I'd like to see your take on the ultimate reunion of Cal and Pell when Cal first gets to Imannion. Either one's POV. You know that scene when Cal comes to Pell's room after their very long separation.

This scene is so visceral from Cal's POV and what he says, canonically, so I went with Pell's POV. This follows directly from Pell's comments at the end of chapter thirty of The Fulfillments of Fate and Desire, and Cal's so astute observation afterward:

"Pick the glass from my skin first, Cal. I may be immortal, but not impervious to pain. Here I am; yours. I always have been. Want to come home now?"

There were no shooting stars, no huge explosions. We didn't even know if we were truly in love as we'd once thought; only time would tell us that.

please forgive the reference to Evanescence in the title, but I do love that song.

Rating: PG (nothing explicit)

( My Immortal )

Dwarf-centric drabble; just enjoying it

My dear koshweasley asked for a drabble set at the Prancing Pony, and I [not unsurprisingly] found myself drawn to the Dwarvish element of this; just wanted to put it out since I don't doubt there's nowhere for me to find a place for this, Dwarvish-centric and short. But if you like my stuff, and might have a wee interest in the more hirsuite of JRRT's folks… this might work for you. No foul if you don't. I just resonate more to Dwarvish culture than Elvish, or more nearly, Rohirric.

Below from "At the Sign of the Prancing Pony," LotR: Fellowship of the Ring
"On the benches were various folk: men of Bree, a collection of local hobbits (sitting chattering together), a few more dwarves, and other vague figures difficult to make out away in the shadows and corners."

* * * * *

"Dark news, there is," Glavin said, puffing importantly on his pipe, fingers intertwined in his goldsmith's plait. "And these new Shire-hobbits will tell the true tale." His olive eyes lit up, the flecks in his pupil like metal newly smeltered.

Only his companion from the Lonely Mountain picked up on this, of course, a lesser-known silversmith, newly out of her apprenticeship. Behind her beard, she scowled. Men of Bree, rural hobbits; they knew nothing of their culture, of what her people prepared for, diligent and secret. Crows had informed them in the past; they'd told a new tale:

TO ARMS.