The Big Desk

Title: Beautiful Monster: A Retelling.
Author: conclusivelead.
Rating: M (17+)
Warning: Slash (homoerotic undertones), gore, disturbing imagery, angst, incestual undertones.
Genre: Romance/Fantasy/Horror.
Summary: "The claws were long and tapered to a threatening point, but the gleam in the monstrous yellow eyes was very...seductively human." In a world where a chosen few are alters - green-eyed humans born with the ability to transform into a beast - prejudice runs rampant and violence rages. Finnegan Gaffer, green-eyed but human, experiences this prejudice first-hand despite not being an alter, living a lonely, secluded life in the country of Alyske. When war over alter slavery erupts in a neighboring country and Finn's father dies, he is forced to escape the murderous intent of his half-brother Phelan and the Alyskin government, seeking out a foreign alter guide to take him through the frozen wilderness of the north to the town in the mountains where his grandmother resides and, hopefully, where he will find sanctuary. But militant pursuers and the insane Phelan promise it will not be an easy trip, and Finnegan's guide, Tósha, is as much a mystery as anything.
Notes: I'm interested in receiving all kinds of feedback; I want to share my novel with others, so my posts are mostly an attempt to give other people something interesting or maybe even compelling to read. Let me know what you think, no matter your opinion. <3

Every day, Tósha insists that Finnegan tell stories. He is adamant about hearing something of before, of his life. “True stories,” he says, “are the ones that keep the mind active. If you’re remembering, your mind is awake. And if your mind is awake, the snow won’t put you to sleep.”

Go to the masterlist here.

It’s Friday again. How on earth did that happen?

First, if you want to read a damn fine piece of writing, you can look at the Selkie’s Grief Is A Color. The Selkie has a very fine eye for detail and observation. Also, one other announcement: Irene Goodman is auctioning off 25 critiques between December 1st and the 10th! Yes, 25! All proceeds will go directly to the Foundation Fighting Blindness and the Deafness Research Foundation. It’s a tremendous opportunity for any writer, and you get to do a good deed as well. I, like all the Deadline Dames, am a client of Irene’s agency, and I really can’t say enough good things about them.

Now, for the Friday writing post. Here’s another oldie but goodie, originally posted over at the now-defunct-but-sadly-missed Midnight Hour on April 4, 2008. Enjoy!

Skill vs. Talent

It certainly does appear to be an age-old question. Is writing a skill or a talent? Is it something you can learn–tab A into slot A, tab B into slot B, rinse and repeat–or is it a numinous thing, a touch of mad grace from the Muse that the precious few are gifted with?

Well, it’s not really either. The answer lies somewhere in between. If you have no fire, no spark, your work–no matter how well put-together–will be soulless. And all the Great Ideas and burning “I could do that” talent in the world won’t save a book if you don’t polish your craft and strive to write clearly and well.

We have this perception of the creative that’s analogous to lightning strikes. The Talent, the Inspiration, strikes the Helpless Gin-Soaked Writer, and the book that results is the burn. It springs forth whole from the forehead of the Helpless Gin-Soaked Chosen One, who must endure Years of Battle against Naysayers and Fools to get his opus/masterwork/Great American Novel published and recognized as staggering genius.

The vice-versa runs thus: the crowd is fickle and will pick trash for no discernable reason, so you have to just figure out the Magic Formula to make them pick your trash and retire to your house in the Hollywood Hills, laughing all the way.

The first is the schtick Byron used to get babes and wannabes use to avoid work. The second gives us huge piles of technical-manual crap with no characterization, power, or grace.

The real story is something like this: you can have varying levels of talent at this writing thing. But what is necessary is the discipline to grow that talent–and everything else necessary to a writer. If you, say, practice your guitar playing every day for ten years, you may not turn into a Segovia (who had to work his ass off too, dammit) but you WILL turn into the best damn guitar-player on your street, possibly in your town, and quite possibly within a couple hundred miles.

If you practice your writing every day, refine your craft, sharpen your language and read omnivorously, you may not turn into a Chekhov or a Dickens. (Who had to work THEIR asses off, too, let it be said.) But chances are you will start turning out decent, readable product, which has a far better chance of being published than the Werke of My Soule That Do Not Neede Grammare For.

Hand in hand with that discipline must be enjoyment. Don’t do this unless you enjoy it, for Christ’s sake. A writer writes clearly and well, using grammar and language as best as s/he is able to, constantly refining their craft for the eventual reader, so the telepathy between author and reader works with a minimum of distortion.

A writer gets up every goddamn morning and goes back to the laptop or the typewriter or the notebook because s/he enjoys it. It gives her a huge secret thrill to tell a story. Because there is something cool to do, something cool to say.

What other people call “talent” I usually think of as “joy in the making of something.” Look at, say, Eric Clapton or BB King. They’re not just up on stage whaling away until they can go home. No sir. When they pick up that guitar they are having fun. Their eyes light up. Christ, look at Mick Jagger. He still loves what he’s doing, and it’s not just because of the groupies.

Yeah, I know someone will say rock’n’roll ain’t writing. But it’s close enough for me–and really, writing is such a solitary thing that I can’t tell you what any other author looks like in the heat of creation. I can tell you that I’m having a ball, though. I look forward to writing every blessed day.

Someone can be immensely talented at writing–and can fritter away that talent by refusing to hone their discipline. Someone can be incredibly disciplined, but feel no heart-in-mouth joy in what they make. Those are two endpoints on a continuum, and it’s near the middle where the writer must balance. You’ve got to cultivate every scrap of talent you possess with discipline; and you must leaven the discipline with the joy and wonder of this marvelous thing you are doing, creating worlds. Juggling lives. Making little marks on a page into a living, breathing story.

The proper question, I think, isn’t whether it’s skill or talent. The proper question is, how do I balance what talent I have with the skill I can acquire? It takes hard work. It takes discipline. And if you don’t love what you’re doing you might as well deliver pizzas or practice law or take up with the Peace Corps or something, anything other than this.

Because it can eat you alive if you don’t love it.

But that’s another blog post.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

I am very, very, very bad about sometimes buying books not for the story, but for the cover. I really admire new, innovative, and beautiful cover design because I can tell how hard it is to be any of those things with a sea of other books already out and a limited budget. So when a cover DOES manage to be new/innovative/beautiful...I must own it. Examples:



I WAS TOLD THERE'D BE CAKE by Sloane Crosley
I've mentioned this cover on the blog before-- and I still haven't finished the book. It's really good, don't get me wrong, but since it's essays you can kind of pick it up and return months later-- but I digress. This cover felt like something out of the 1950s in the most fabulously vintage way. So I bought it with only the slightest of slight ideas what it was about.



THE LUXE series by Anna Godbersen
I not only bought this one, I bought the first three in the series, all for the covers. I might even buy the fourth one, but I totally have not been able to get through THE LUXE yet (I don't think it's my style) so I feel silly buying the fourth...but it has that pretty purple dress on it...



MADAPPLE by Christina Meldrum
Okay okay, THIS ONE I actually wanted to read the book itself. But more than anything, I just wanted the cover. It is creepy and eerie and pretty and great. And I still haven't read the book.



WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON by John Green and David Levithan
My friend scottique found this accidentally and showed it to me-- I'm guessing it's a rejected cover for the book. Which is a shame, because I think it's fabulous. Look at that bunny monster thing in the background! Who wouldn't love that?
(Shameless promo moment-- remember that you can win an ARC of WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON, by subscribing to my youtube channel!)

Anyhow-- is this just me? Anyone else snag a book just for the picture on the front?

Title: Bill's, A Neighborhood Bar

Author: Louisiana-Lady1937

Genre: General

Rating: PG

Warnings: sexual situations (not yet)

Critique: quick look

Summary: An open-ended effort to relieve myself of the need to write
Authors note: Pulled this out of my blog, it did not really belong there. I still need to continue the pleasure of creating new chapters for “Bill’s a neighborhood bar” from time to time so this is an open-ended continuing work in progress. I am more in touch with reality than to assume for even a moment any of this could be construed as writings deserving of being published, or an effort deserving the adding of ‘author’ to my bin of adjectives I browse through, dust off and present to the moment. I did not do any cleanup on these chapters, all the flaws, loose ends and examples of miserable writing skills are as they came when retrieved from my blog. I did assign chapter numbers where they were missing from the blog entry and deleted tags and repeats of titles.
(Intentions of mine when I started this writing adventure)
Here is the answer I came up with as how to write about places, people, and events taking place over the span of my life that if left to stand-alone did not satisfy my need to be verbose in my writing. Here I combine facts, real people, places, and events with fiction and “knockoff” versions of reality.
Note: 12/04/09 as it is turning out this is almost pure fiction, fed with only vague shadows of any realities I may have passed through during the course of my life. I wanted to be someone else in this effort. I am all women, yet chose a man as the key player, as men seem to move about more freely in the world, as I see it anyway. I chose the neighborhood bar as a base and springboard for developing “JJ.”
I have no idea how long this series will be.

Bill's, A Neighborhood Bar
Chapter 1

Bill:
It did not take me long after I moved into town to find a good bar and a good bartender that ran it. Bill was his name; I never did find out his last name, nor did he find out mine, as the years past and we became friends.
The first time I ever walked into the bar and before I even knew he was both the owner and bartender, I saw him at the jukebox having a quiet but hard toned conversation with another man. One guy was holding a 45- rpm record and the other guy was pointing back and forth from the record to the jukebox with one hand while rubbing one side of his face with the other. I walked on by and as I moved, further into the place, my eyes adjusted to the dark. Straight ahead of me at the back was a sign that said Gents and I headed towards it. I made room for a drink or two and while I was rinsing my hands off made an assumption that he kept a clean place as the restroom was immaculate, a hard task to accomplish in a small neighborhood bar; the rest of the place was really too dark to tell for sure. I sat down at the end of the bar facing the door and quietly waited. Finally, the guy holding the record put it in an empty slot in the jukebox, shrugged his shoulders, closed the jukebox door, picked up a clipboard, and shoved it at the other man to sign. Once this task was completed, he cast the other man a dirty look and left. I was about to leave as well when the finger pointing, face rubbing man went behind the bar and approached me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry I had to make him understand if that record leaves this place so does the jukebox that held it.” “Must be a special record “I said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a quarter with a red stripe painted on it and held out his hand for me to take it. “Find out for yourself, it # 23 and what will you have? As I took the quarter and got up from the barstool, I said “Always Crown Royal with tall water back.” Song # 23 turned out to be Jo Stafford singing ‘You Belong to me’. Down the line, I learned why Bill loved that song. In the upcoming years, I came to know every word of the song as well as I knew my own name.
I slide the quarter into the slot on the front of the jukebox and watched as the lights came on. As I found #23, I realized the plastic buttons were more worn than the others were. A dead give away it got a lot of play. I started back and got a better look at Bill as he finished my drink and placed it on the counter. Black rubber soled shoes, light brown wrinkled pants, a black belt, and a loose fitting powder blue shirt over his thick heavy bull like upper frame made up his outfit. A bar towel slung over one shoulder was as close to a bar keeps uniform as he ever got. He had a full head of silver hair and silver eyebrows over brown deep-set eyes. A prominent nose and full lips fit well with a large full chinned face. As he turned back towards me the left side of his face became fully visible. A long deep saber shaped scar ran from the corner of his ear almost to the edge of chin; that was what he had been rubbing while he was at the jukebox earlier. My curiosity could wait I knew I would learn about the scar sometime later. About 20 minutes later I finished my drink, said see you later, and left. I was setting down roots in a new neighborhood.

writershangout is a new site for daily writing prompts. Please check it out!

LiveJournal: The First Decade

Just in time for holiday shopping, we're thrilled to announce the release of our ten-year anniversary anthology. Published by Blurb.com, the book showcases a decade of extraordinary talent drawn from LiveJournal users around the world. This must-read compilation features stories, memes, photos, comics, editorials, graphic content, and more, including:

1. Excerpts from Oh No They Didn't (a/k/a ohnotheydidnt), the largest community on LiveJournal, covering celebrity gossip, entertainment news, and pop culture
2. A look at post-Katrina New Orleans from the journal of Poppy Z. Brite
3. Gripping narratives, including a poignant reverie on a blind date
4. Photography that spans the globe, ranging from old-fashioned Polaroids to underwater photography
5. Mouthwatering dishes from food_porn

What began as a late-night inspiration back in Brad Fitzpatrick's college dorm in 1999 has grown to encompass nearly 25 million users worldwide, with journals and communities covering every conceivable hobby, passion, and topic. To get your copy, please visit the Blurb Bookstore. For updates and entries from book contributors, please join lj_turns10.

Tweaks and enhancements

• You can now ban a user from all of your communities and journals at once. To access this feature, hover over the person's userpic and choose Ban user everywhere from the drop-down menu.
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Give a little to help a lot!

In honor of National AIDS Awareness month, we've added a new charitable vgift. For each red ribbon you purchase for $2.99, we'll donate 100 percent of gross proceeds to IAVI.org (the International AIDS Vaccine Initiative) to support the development and global distribution of an affordable HIV vaccine (we'll cover credit card fees). You can read more about IAVI at lj_cares. While we're on the subject, we raised $740 from our November fundraiser for Love Without Boundaries, which supports emergency healthcare and adoption of Chinese orphans. We thank you for helping us help others.

Photos of the week

We're back with more incredible pictures from our super-talented LiveJournal photographers. Congratulations to ilya_gorokhov, who is the winner of our very first lj_photophile poll.

We hope you'll continue to post, vote, and comment! A gentle request: Please post only one photo at a time and limit size to 350x350 (so images display properly on friends pages). And now, without further ado, get ready to cast your ballot and view more awesome user content after the jump!

( Read more... )

Curtains

Thanks, again, for joining us. Stay safe and snug out there!

Alexia Tarabotti has a few things going wrong in her life: she’s a 26-year old spinster in Victorian England, is half Italian (with the skin, hair, and temperament to match), and she has no soul. Resigned to the first two, Alexia is resourceful: she helps BUR (Bureau of Unnatural Registry--a division of Her Majesty’s Civil Service) with supernatural phenomenon and they help her keep her preternatural (soulless) state a secret. Being a preternatural isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Carriger’s 19th century world is re-imagined with werewolves and vampires peppering society in the same way one might consider religion or politics: an emotional, opinionated topic of discussion and in some cases, an intrusion on morality. Alexia’s state is quite rare--preternaturals have the ability to revert vampires or werewolves to their human forms, temporarily rendering them “normal” and revoking their supernatural gifts with just a touch of the hand. And so, she’s valuable--very valuable.

She’s so valuable, she’s had not one, but two assassination and kidnapping attempts. It’s not easy hiding her soulless-ness from a nosy family with two very silly, highly ambitious sisters, but now Alexia’s in trouble. She turns to a cadre of friends and familiars (a Scottish Werewolf and a rather dandyish Vampire) to help discover who’s after her, what they want, and why suddenly lone vampires and werewolves are going missing.

( Read the rest! )

I feel like I’m out of the chrysalis, sunning my wings. New hair, new shoes, fitting into clothes I haven’t fit into in at least a decade…I’m not quite ready to fly yet, but I’m getting used to the bright colors and the sunshine. Admiring those wings, and stretching them. We’ll see if they carry me in a little bit. Right now it’s enough that they’re there.

I was supposed to take the past week and a half as a celebration of just how far I’ve come. Instead, it feels like I accelerated the change to warp speed. I’m really looking forward to after the turn of the year, when everything should calm down into a reasonable routine.

So, the celebrating…not so much. But the feeling good, and feeling like I can handle things? Yes. And opening up the zero draft I’m revising and finding out that, gee, it doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would?

Oh yeah. That’s awesome.

I hit this point every time I revise a zero draft. The book isn’t as bad and ugly and messy and nasty as I thought. We might actually have something here…got to fix that, and fix this…oh, this will work better like that, which will make that have to work like this… Next comes the Book That Will Not Die, after I get an edit letter or two…

…but I can let that happen when it happens. In the meantime, I can admire my wings. They’re tissue-thin, of course.

But if I hadn’t struggled out of the chrysalis, I wouldn’t be feeling the sun on them now.

Over and out.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

Hey, all. I need a few opinions/pointers on a character I've been trying to develop for a while now. I don't want to start writing a character that is totally cliche or a stupid mary-sue. I need to know if the character is unique, and/or if I need to add more to the sheet under the cut. I ask that if you give a suggestion, you give a few pointers as well. :) Cheers!

( Under the Cut... )

Title: He Stood at the Foot of the Tree
Author: Michael Brodnicki. Me.
Disclaimer: Religious themes, suicide.
Synopsis: A man looks at himself for his last few seconds of life, looking back on what he had done and said throughout his years. He comes face to face with the greatest sin man had ever committed.
Length: Fairly short.

( It is ours to forgive. )

hey this is my first post, I've been working on this story for some time and I don't trust it in the hands of those who would lie to me about its worth. so here is a snipit. I place it here, though my grammar is offensive I am posting it anyway. I'm drowning read the first chapter on my page if you care at all to help me surface.........



As much as I try. My sweaty palms grip the steering wheel making it slick. As much as I wish it, absolutely want to leave behind everything I've ever known, to just cross the boarder in to Utah then Arizona, hell where ever the I-89 will take me I can't. The large green sign peers down at me. “You Are Now Leaving Idaho” it reads.
All I should have to do is step on the gas, like the rumbling engine is begging me, instead I throw the old black explorer in to park. The stalk speakers pulse and I grind my teeth fighting the tears and working to restrain the nausea. With a turn of the key the explorer falls silent. I sit sweating in the 90 degree weather. The door moans as I open it. Worn and dirty sneakers slush the loose gravel, the mountains echo my frustration as it rips it's way from my throat. The sun licks my sticky skin like a child with a sucker. He can't get enough of how I taste.
I look to the boarder and see nothing, no landscape, no road. Blank. Glancing in the direction from where I came, I can see for miles. A mother taking her child to the bathroom her dress yellow and edged in cream lace. A tall man looks her over before taking a sip from his soda and returns his eyes to his phone. This rest stop I passed some thirty miles back.. A swift breeze in an older mans thinning hair teases as there is none where I'm standing. I look in front of me again into the abyss. My freedom is nonexistent I can't do anything to change it I can only pine and lust after a dream that most take for granted.

Unable to take any more of the unsettling sight that serves as a reminder; I am a prisoner. I climb back into the explorer which starts only by the grace of god, I flip a bitch, leaving the unknown in the dust that trails me.

#84: The Corpse in the Waxworks - John Dickson Carr:

A manservant led us into a dim hall, very spacious, panelled in black walnut. It was not shabby, but it needed an airing; it smelled of old wood, of dusty hangings, of brass-polish and waxed floors. Again I caught that scent of clothes and hair, as at the waxworks; but these, I could not help feeling, were the clothes and hair of dead people; and the walls, dark red satin above their panels, exhailed an indefinite reek of decay. We were ushered into a library at the back of the house.

At a mahogany table, on which burnt a shaded lamp, sat Colonel de Martel. At the rear of the room, above tall bookcases, there were diamond-paned windows of blue and white glass. You could see the silver rain thickening, and pale flickers of light were on the face of the woman who sat motionless, her hands clasped, in the shadow of the bookshelves. About them both was an atmosphere of stiff waiting, of tears that would never be shed, and of doom.

( Yes, doom. Squeaky, squeaky doom. )

Copy and paste the first few sentences of the first real entry (no quizzes, memes, etc.) for each month of 2009. (I'm not using PhotoFriday posts, either.)

January: "I'm Still Here!"

Gosh, I haven't posted anything since last year! I guess that's what comes of a) having one's sisters in town, and b) coaching, as usual, at the Appellate Defender's Trial Advocacy program. Cathy, Stacey and I did a fair bit of running around.

February: "Weekend"

My best-laid plans of sleeping late this weekend went agley on Friday. I was having lunch with one of the guys at the offce. He'd been sick lately (pneumonia), and, being a guy, came back to work too soon, relapsed, and still was feeling a bit punk.

March: "Horton Foote"

Exactly one year ago, I wrote: But another old man is still going strong. Last night I went to the Goodman theatre for "A Conversation with Horton Foote", and cake and champagne in honor of his 92nd birthday (coming up next week). I hope I'm in such good shape when I'm ninety-two!

April: "I'm off!"

I'm off to Cleveland for a few days. I may or may not hop onto my sister's computer to say, "Hi". In any case, I'll see you all when I get back!

May: "A sad loss"

Every criminal defense lawyer who gets the chance goes to the National Criminal Defense College in Macon, Georgia. As a baby adolescent public defender, I was lucky enough to be sent there by my office. And lucky enough to have, as one of my instructors, Bill Moffitt.

June: "A memorial service, some jazz, and odds and ends"

On Sunday, I went to the memorial service for Leon Despres (I wrote about his passing here. It was held at KAM Isaiah Israel, which I had forgotten was designed by Despres' father-in-law, the well-known Chicago architect, Alfred S. Alschuler.

July: "Two giants pass"

Yesterday, I woke, as usual, to WFMT's Morning Program. Shortly after the regular newscast and a bit of music, the host, Carl Grapentine, announced that they had just been told of the death of Norm Pellegrini. Who, you ask, is Norm Pellegrini?

August: "I'm off!"

Tomorrow I head to Boston. I'm going to see the Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese exhibit at the MFA (among other things), attend a conference with a bunch of lawyers, and hang out with some Bookcrossers.

September: "Art & Music"


In January, 1904, the Chicago Public Library's first branch library opened. The T.B. Blackstone branch was built from funds donated by his widow for that purpose, and was designed by Solon Beman. (This was something of a family tradition, as Blackstone himself had had a library built in Branford, Connecticut, in his father's memory. In that case, too, Beman was the architect.)

October: "Celebrity Farmers' Market"

I wandered over to 61st St. Farmers' Market today, because I wanted to see the chef demo (seared flank steak with a Dijon/caper/white wine sauce). There was a vaguely familiar-looking young woman watching the demo, and I realized that it was Stephanie Izard, winner of the fourth season of Top Chef. Later, a former United States Senator showed up (she lives in the neighborhood).

November: "Various kinds of music"

Friday night at the opera, first. None of the various people I go with could make it. Jamie was teaching at a seminar in Springfield, and wouldn't get back in time. Beth & Duncan's son was in a soccer tournament.

December: "Close Encounters"

Last night, I went to hear Chuck Thurow, one of the curators, talk about the Hyde Park Art Center exhibit, "Close Encounters", a collaborative project involving artists from the U.S. and New Zealand. I'd have likely gone anyway, but the fact that I've made Kiwi friends here and on BookCrossing gave the project an immediacy and interest for me that it might not otherwise have had.

(Criminy! A lot of deaths recorded.)

I'm working on a mash-up of projects right now, and I have no idea where it's going. It's something of a cross between Margaret Atwood, Markus Zukas, and Barbara Kingsolver. Simple, poetic beauty. Here's a preview:

They tell us that trees and men have fallen, beaten by the weight of the wind. From the west come stories of houses that shattered into terrific splinters of wood, lakes that spilled their wrath over whole villages. Its fury rains down upon on us, hard and merciless. There is no respite. For forty days we hear people whisper quiet words like vengeance and fate; the intellectuals merely scoff and chalk it up to global warming. But we don’t know. How can we know?

It's not much to read, but what do you think?

Last night, I went to hear Chuck Thurow, one of the curators, talk about the Hyde Park Art Center exhibit, "Close Encounters", a collaborative project involving artists from the U.S. and New Zealand. I'd have likely gone anyway, but the fact that I've made Kiwi friends here and on BookCrossing gave the project an immediacy and interest for me that it might not otherwise have had. Unfortunately, I left my camera at home, so no pics, but the exhibit is up until late January, so I can go back and do that. This post from the Center's website describes the show in more detail. Chuck said that parts of it are going to New Zealand in 2010-2011, (not sure exactly where), so I'll be sure to let you all know about that and if any of you folks there can go, what a connection!

Tonight I went to the local library to return a couple of books, and as I was going in, I heard someone call my name. It was the president of the Friends of the Library; I had forgotten there was a meeting tonight. I decided to go, and when the branch manager announced a book exchange in January, I said, "Do you know about BookCrossing?" She didn't, but she does now! The FOL has a blog, which the president is trying to beef up, so I told her that I would be happy to contribute reviews, since I'm writing them anyway on my blog.

I just got done going through an initial edit of my novel. I've been posting it a chapter at a time over on my WordPress blog. Now that it's all there, I figured I'd pimp it out a bit to get some feedback and whatnot.

The basic plot revolves around a girl who works for a Russian crime organization as an assassin and the various crazy things that happen to her. There's vampires, werewolves and other monstrous baddies for her to contend with along the way. The best way to describe it would be action-horror.

Anyway, if it sounds like something you'd be into reading, here's the link to the first chapter: http://chaoticwritings.wordpress.com/2009/10/03/nadyas-nights-road-to-vengeance-chapter-one/

Thanks!

Well, I've gone and disturbed myself again.

This is a bit of writing that, well, happens to involve a goldfish sucking off a pretzel. It is NC 17, as you may expect. It also was not something I managed to reread closely, so this may be horrible. In areas other than subject manner, that is. So: warnings consist of neuter/m oral sex and snack food in sexual contexts, yada yada. Cross posted to fictionwriters, because I need to torment other people with this, verywrongslash because it's that kind of thing, and my personal journal. Very definitely not worksafe unless you have a rather strange boss.

( Read more... )

Title: It Started with a Misunderstanding
Summary: In which my lame cheating pop star ex boyfriend trys to win me back, I plot his demise, and get to breathe the same air as the world's most famous performer. And I think he knows who I am. Eat your heart out, Ryeo-wook.
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/16
Warning: Minor second pairing is slashy.
Notes: This story is just shameless romance and drama, an excuse for me to get my rocks off on my addiction to Asian entertainment and smexy boys. I feel like it's just too silly for this community! Is there another comm where this would be better suited? Either way, thanks for reading. Feel free to leave feedback. While this is purely for fun, it never hurts to better one's writing.
Lame fake lj cut!:

“I’m going to make your life a living hell,” I said aloud, causing the young lady sharing the elevator with me to discreetly stand as far away from me as possible.

Copyright: All mine!

Title: Elhanan

Rating: T

Summary: The past will always haunt you, no matter how far you run.

Author's Note: The spelling of "Elayo" was changed to "Ilyao".

Beta: the lovely stella_owned

Warning: Work-in-Progress

Sequel to A Witch in Winter. All parts can be found HERE.

( Story 2: Poisoned Pawn (Part 4) )

**EDIT Thu Dec 3 23:24:15 UTC 2009 **

Hey Everyone, we are about to run the last alter job that we need to on our database servers. This will effect userpics / scrapbook / vgift images for the next few hours. Have no fear, your images aren't lost, there is just a really intensive process running on the servers which store the information for mogilefs. Thank you for your understanding and all the LJ love...

Hey LJers,

I just wanted to let you all know that we are going to be performing some mogilefs maintenance over the next few days. We will be upgrading our current version to latest stable as well as changing some db config information to better handle the amount of files we are currently hosting. This shouldn't cause a big impact on site stability, but you may see some minor delays with userpic / scrapbook images appearing or other requests associated with our mogilefs. We would love to not have that happen, but unfortunately with some of the steps we need to take we have to cause a delay with images. I figured this was a better solution than taking down all of LiveJournal because well lets face it, we all need our daily LJ fix ;)

Thanks,