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So, I wrote a couple of pieces of short fiction. One was a writing exercise for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alasdair1076 (which has had several weeks of writing group critique and polishing); the other is a '30 minute drunken flashfic' (exactly what it says on the tin). Neither of these is fanfic. Hurrah! And they're both over at my the_proofreader account. If you're interested. Apart from that, I'm in Cornwall at WriteCamp '09 with friends, attempting to get my head back into my own fiction, and occasionally succeeding. It's nice to remember that I don't suck at this, that I have actually sold stories to paying markets, and of all the things I can do, I do this best.
Of course, it'd be nice to be able to sleep properly, too. But hey, can't have everything. If the worst comes to the very worst, I'm going to grab duvets and pillows and puppy pile with anyone too polite not to get out of my way.
On days like these, my 'not quite an entire person on my own' is showing (aka being a twin, aka having been in long-term relationships from the age of 16, aka being very close to Aspergic, aka having a brain that really, really doesn't need drugs in order to give me funky out-of-body experiences).
It occurs to me, after all these years, that I don't like beds. I've never liked beds. I like piles of cushions and blankets and duvets. I love hammocks. I hate beds with a passion, but they're easier to snuggle in.
I missravenlas. I'll sleep properly when I get home.
alasdair1076 (which has had several weeks of writing group critique and polishing); the other is a '30 minute drunken flashfic' (exactly what it says on the tin). Neither of these is fanfic. Hurrah! And they're both over at my the_proofreader account. If you're interested. Apart from that, I'm in Cornwall at WriteCamp '09 with friends, attempting to get my head back into my own fiction, and occasionally succeeding. It's nice to remember that I don't suck at this, that I have actually sold stories to paying markets, and of all the things I can do, I do this best.Of course, it'd be nice to be able to sleep properly, too. But hey, can't have everything. If the worst comes to the very worst, I'm going to grab duvets and pillows and puppy pile with anyone too polite not to get out of my way.
On days like these, my 'not quite an entire person on my own' is showing (aka being a twin, aka having been in long-term relationships from the age of 16, aka being very close to Aspergic, aka having a brain that really, really doesn't need drugs in order to give me funky out-of-body experiences).
It occurs to me, after all these years, that I don't like beds. I've never liked beds. I like piles of cushions and blankets and duvets. I love hammocks. I hate beds with a passion, but they're easier to snuggle in.
I miss
ravenlas. I'll sleep properly when I get home.
