Okay. First: Hi Elizabeth? Satin Slippers seems like a zillion years ago. I just figured out that Karl had made me another site solely for my fiction. (Who knew?) Apparently I have this site, a site for my fiction, and a site where I can potentially publish the "Secret C," stuff that I had on a covert blog a long time ago. (Y'all don't wanna read it; it's all Levitical abomination, messy sodomy and stuff.)
So here's the fiction site: http://www.moronosphere.com/circe/words/archives.html
I guess I could blogroll it.
I haven't written anything since... What? 05? And you know what that means. It means that I automatically hate everything I wrote way back then and even though I haven't written any fiction in three years I am convinced that if I were writing now it would be much better than the stuff I used to write.
I know.
Hang on. Lemme go read the last thing I wrote, the Techno Pagan one. Let me see if there's, like, some hidden message in it, something that will explain why I never wrote anything after it. Let me see if it sucks as much as I'm convinced it's going to...
***
Omg, omg, omg... GRAMMAR ISSUES. It's killing me. I'm only about a third of the way into it and the GRAMMAR ISSUES are slaying me!!!
***
Crap! Kill me! The errors continue! I'm going to unblogroll my own fiction!!!
***
Oh. Oh my. I just remembered who I was pretty much thinking about when I wrote this story...
***
Wow! Check it out; I predicted my own celibacy.
***
"It's carnality that fuels our genius. To feed our intellect, we must first feed our flesh. Aestheticism without desecration in an abomination, an atrocity, and a breach of both your contracts."
Well okay. That's a pretty good line. I don't totally suck. (Not anymore.)
***
Heh. Okay. I sure do like me some adjectives, don't I?
The grammar issues are still killing me. I need to go back and fix them. Fix everything. Fix, like, every grammatical error I ever made. In my life. Or, well, at least in my blog and fiction.
It would take me a while...
So I found my fiction. After frantically emailing Karl, convinced that all my fiction was lost in the digital wilderness. Now I can re-read it and try to figure out what's wrong with me.
Because this isn't what this entry is supposed to be about.
I know!
Again!
And it's funny that Elizabeth from Satin Slippers should show up and ask about my fiction because just the other day I went back in my unpublished blog archives (yes, I know...), and dug up an old unfinished, quasi-poorly-written semi-fictional story.
See, it was a story based on, you know, fact. And it was all violent and disturbing and I wanted to re-read it to try to figure out what I'd set out to accomplish by writing it. Because of this stuff I've been thinking about. The stuff I wrote about the other day.
And I would post it here (because tmi is not a concept with which I am apparently familiar), except, well, while I think parts of it are very well-written, it has some structure issues and well, you know me, I'd rather sacrifice the entire thing than have someone be all, 'Wow. Circe really doesn't write all that well, does she?'
***
Anyway, this is way too fragmented. Probably because I normally don't blog at 10:38 at night. 'Cause I'm all diurnal and stuff.
Let me just update a little bit on my criminal driveway freaking issue.
No. Never mind. I don't want to get myself started. Because you all know that I'm paranoid, I have a chip on my shoulder, and I think (possibly correctly), that my whole entire town is out to freaking get me. (I really, seriously think they are.)
I called that old guy who did my septic and graveled my driveway last year. 'Cause remember? I always liked him and stuff. I mean, I almost, as they kids say, like-liked him.
And he was as happy as pie to hear from me. (How happy is pie, exactly?) (Pretty happy?) And he's going to come out and
So.
I just hope it doesn't freaking cost too much. Because the fridge and the small chest freezer set me back fifteen-hundred and I wanted to hang onto as much money as possible from that seven thousand for as long as freaking possible.
But I think I'll go to sleep now...
So here's the fiction site: http://www.moronosphere.com/circe/words/archives.html
I guess I could blogroll it.
I haven't written anything since... What? 05? And you know what that means. It means that I automatically hate everything I wrote way back then and even though I haven't written any fiction in three years I am convinced that if I were writing now it would be much better than the stuff I used to write.
I know.
Hang on. Lemme go read the last thing I wrote, the Techno Pagan one. Let me see if there's, like, some hidden message in it, something that will explain why I never wrote anything after it. Let me see if it sucks as much as I'm convinced it's going to...
***
Omg, omg, omg... GRAMMAR ISSUES. It's killing me. I'm only about a third of the way into it and the GRAMMAR ISSUES are slaying me!!!
***
Crap! Kill me! The errors continue! I'm going to unblogroll my own fiction!!!
***
Oh. Oh my. I just remembered who I was pretty much thinking about when I wrote this story...
***
Wow! Check it out; I predicted my own celibacy.
***
"It's carnality that fuels our genius. To feed our intellect, we must first feed our flesh. Aestheticism without desecration in an abomination, an atrocity, and a breach of both your contracts."
Well okay. That's a pretty good line. I don't totally suck. (Not anymore.)
***
Heh. Okay. I sure do like me some adjectives, don't I?
The grammar issues are still killing me. I need to go back and fix them. Fix everything. Fix, like, every grammatical error I ever made. In my life. Or, well, at least in my blog and fiction.
It would take me a while...
So I found my fiction. After frantically emailing Karl, convinced that all my fiction was lost in the digital wilderness. Now I can re-read it and try to figure out what's wrong with me.
Because this isn't what this entry is supposed to be about.
I know!
Again!
And it's funny that Elizabeth from Satin Slippers should show up and ask about my fiction because just the other day I went back in my unpublished blog archives (yes, I know...), and dug up an old unfinished, quasi-poorly-written semi-fictional story.
See, it was a story based on, you know, fact. And it was all violent and disturbing and I wanted to re-read it to try to figure out what I'd set out to accomplish by writing it. Because of this stuff I've been thinking about. The stuff I wrote about the other day.
And I would post it here (because tmi is not a concept with which I am apparently familiar), except, well, while I think parts of it are very well-written, it has some structure issues and well, you know me, I'd rather sacrifice the entire thing than have someone be all, 'Wow. Circe really doesn't write all that well, does she?'
***
Anyway, this is way too fragmented. Probably because I normally don't blog at 10:38 at night. 'Cause I'm all diurnal and stuff.
Let me just update a little bit on my criminal driveway freaking issue.
No. Never mind. I don't want to get myself started. Because you all know that I'm paranoid, I have a chip on my shoulder, and I think (possibly correctly), that my whole entire town is out to freaking get me. (I really, seriously think they are.)
I called that old guy who did my septic and graveled my driveway last year. 'Cause remember? I always liked him and stuff. I mean, I almost, as they kids say, like-liked him.
And he was as happy as pie to hear from me. (How happy is pie, exactly?) (Pretty happy?) And he's going to come out and
So.
I just hope it doesn't freaking cost too much. Because the fridge and the small chest freezer set me back fifteen-hundred and I wanted to hang onto as much money as possible from that seven thousand for as long as freaking possible.
But I think I'll go to sleep now...
Wow, names from the past. If I had any time to spare I'd try to resurrect Satin Slippers, see if we could get it back up and going, at least minimally. There was so much GREAT work there that's now mostly lost to the 'net.
Alas, who has fucking time.
Anyway, if anyone else from SS is reading here, come on out of the woodwork. Miss you all.
They used to have some pretty good stories on Satin Slippers.
And if you don't mind, please delete my identical comment on the post below. Duh. I'm new to this here internet thing.