It’s been a while. For a lot of things.
No amount of excuses would be worth wasting your time or mine.
Instead, let’s celebrate the reverie and continue the dream.
The site is mostly back, although I haven’t finished debugging some of the lingering minor issues that came up with migration.
Short of the long: old VPS host was great for many years, but had to take some time for itself.
We parted well, and the old-new host has taken over the reigns (funny story, ask me some time).
For what matters you can see the stuff, so all’s well.
Things you might want to know:
– Bards’ thrice. I swear I haven’t forgotten about it, although by all means never accuse me of being able to hold to a deadline.
I’m an irresponsible writer, and you’re welcome to mail me the most horrible of things that aren’t either: a) infectious, or b) explosive.
Bards’ the third has an entirely drafted outline, but it needs much love and attention to be something people should hear.
I aim to start with the pretty parts around the New Year, and we’ll go from there.
I’ve also released Dustland Requiem for free through all eBook formats
(although Amazon hasn’t yet reduced the price).
If you’d like a free kindle copy, let me know.
– Emarosa. It stopped at part six (of eight fleshed out sections, five more drafted).
This is because the story started going into a very different direction than intended, and while that’s normally a treat, there’s a much larger arc in the works that it needs to fit into.
It’s gone from a short story to a full project, but will be deferred until the Bards’ triquel is complete.
Moving on, I’m changing the blog format a bit:
– No more posting poetry masquerading as anything other than the freewrite of a passing muse.
– Stuff worth writing, but not posting in its own section (see “passing muse” comment) will go here, into the main blog, instead.
You deserve updates that actually say something, and if you’re not in the mood for something lengthy, come back whenever you are. It’ll be here.
Unrelated note: yesterday/today (I’m sketchy on the exact date) is my 10 year work anniversary. Is that awesome, scary, completely irrelevant? I have no idea.
“Nothing to Say”
I have nothing to say.
Nothing at all.
Even in the writing there’s but wasted space.
But isn’t unused space all the more wasted?
My first memory is playing on a train set much larger than me.
Unaccompanied, not unlike baggage, in a echo-y basement.
No thought of feeling bad, or lonely, or anything at all–it was the default.
Kindred to the spider born creeping along the cracks of a home unwanting.
Were that memory to wane, would I be any less “me” than I’ve ever been?
Where is the defining line?