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Painting to the right of me... fanfic to the left of me...
(Go here for a link to a reading of "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Tennyson himself, recorded on Edison wax cylinder back in 1890. When I played it on our computer, Emmie, who had been sound asleep in one of the studio chairs, suddenly sat up and stared at the computer intently with her head bobbing up and down, licking her lips every so often. This leads me to believe that she is either (a) the reincarnation of the great poet himself reacting to the distant sound of his own voice, or (b) just weird.)
It's been a very busy couple of days.
The finished version of "Wishes", now titled "Sleepless" (in a classic example of Names That Should Have Been Obvious From The Start), is available here. Comments are sweeter than chocolate.
Off to work again, taking breaks every couple of hours to pound out the prose that's pouring into my brain from wherever creative writing comes from. Perhaps my own personal Muse. Perhaps the same dimension that swallows lost socks.
Yes, I am getting a little bit punch-drunk. Is it that obvious?
(Go here for a link to a reading of "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Tennyson himself, recorded on Edison wax cylinder back in 1890. When I played it on our computer, Emmie, who had been sound asleep in one of the studio chairs, suddenly sat up and stared at the computer intently with her head bobbing up and down, licking her lips every so often. This leads me to believe that she is either (a) the reincarnation of the great poet himself reacting to the distant sound of his own voice, or (b) just weird.)
It's been a very busy couple of days.
The finished version of "Wishes", now titled "Sleepless" (in a classic example of Names That Should Have Been Obvious From The Start), is available here. Comments are sweeter than chocolate.
Off to work again, taking breaks every couple of hours to pound out the prose that's pouring into my brain from wherever creative writing comes from. Perhaps my own personal Muse. Perhaps the same dimension that swallows lost socks.
Yes, I am getting a little bit punch-drunk. Is it that obvious?
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