Hard to pick just one...

You represent... naivete.
So innocent and trusting... you can be very shy at
times, but it's only because you're not sure
how to act. You give off that "I need to
be protected vibe." Remember that not all
people are good. Being too trusting will get
you easily hurt.


What feeling do you represent?
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You represent... hope.
You're quite a daydreamer and can be a hopeless
romantic. You enjoy being creative and don't
mind being alone at times. You have goals, and
know what you want in life... even if they are
a little far fetched.


What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hard to pick just one...

You represent... naivete.
So innocent and trusting... you can be very shy at
times, but it's only because you're not sure
how to act. You give off that "I need to
be protected vibe." Remember that not all
people are good. Being too trusting will get
you easily hurt.


What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla


You represent... hope.
You're quite a daydreamer and can be a hopeless
romantic. You enjoy being creative and don't
mind being alone at times. You have goals, and
know what you want in life... even if they are
a little far fetched.


What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla

Cold

I am ice dark and blind
The sun is away
Where is my skin?
Please let me in.

These flowers have turned to stone.

A little bird sings
Glass breaks in the sky
Tearfall like snow
My lips are blue.

There will be no stars tonight.

********
I am fine. I still have my job and my home and my love. I just lost my hope. Excuse me while I stumble in the dark to find it.

Cold

I am ice dark and blind
The sun is away
Where is my skin?
Please let me in.

These flowers have turned to stone.

A little bird sings
Glass breaks in the sky
Tearfall like snow
My lips are blue.

There will be no stars tonight.

********
I am fine. I still have my job and my home and my love. I just lost my hope. Excuse me while I stumble in the dark to find it.

Oh, there's my hope... (chapter one, scene two)

Yeah, some days I feel like this, too:

July 16th, 2301.
He and his brother were eighteen today, and neither of them were supposed to be alive.
They had been on the run for over an hour, but the stuff of dreams ignored things like time and space. The air behind them tore in thirds, like fabric rendered by claws. Low, eerie howling danced in his ears. Inside he turned cold. They hadn't given up yet. They probably weren't going to.
The boys burst onto an empty street leading to a cemetery, then hit the entryway and vaulted over the black iron fence. The cemetery was silent except for the wind. It struck him how desolate such places could be as he hit the damp grass, checked to make sure his brother was following, kept going.
It was after midnight, and the moon was high. He could sense the shadows keeping pace with the two of them. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up.
The sky was the color of ink. Heat lightning flashed across the graves that lay all around them; flashed across the creatures forming from the shadows several yards behind them. Wide jaws gaped and teeth flashed. Limbs stretched out, flexing claws. He glanced behind him, cursed violently, and prayed to whatever small gods were watching that the creatures wouldn’t become substantial enough to inflict physical damage. Psychic wounds, he could deal with. Being ripped apart by very real claws was another matter. He didn't stop running until he saw the other end of the graveyard, and urged his brother on, both stopping short just outside the exit gates.
His brother bent forward with his hands on his knees, panting. His eyes were golden brown fire. His mind crackled. His entire body raged. Ian gulped in air, touching his brother’s arm with two fingers.
"Don’t, Tom. That just encourages them."
"What, me wanting to rip the fuck out of them?" Thomas glared, chest still heaving. "Damn it, Ian, stop being so placid! You're supposed to be dead, you know."
"Yeah, well, I'm not. You want to get out of here on two legs? Keep moving. Besides, it’s only been three days."
"Yeah. I got a car. You spent our birthday waiting in a graveyard. In fact, I think it was this one. How coincidental."
Tossing his hair back from his face, Ian glanced up, toward the cemetery, and saw the darkness gathering. He narrowed his eyes. Thomas took the hint. Ian whirled and took off again, long legs pumping, Thomas at his side. Ian looked at Tom and grinned. "I'm good at cheating death, Tommy."
"Call me that again and I'll make sure the demons even those odds, bro."
With a grin, Ian just grabbed his brother's wrist and ran faster. Behind them, already fading into the static air, the shadow creatures paused. Yellow eyes waited. Silver talons glinted. And then something larger, something darker, pressed itself against the veil between the Earth and the Realm. It reached out, feeding into and off prejudice and fear, so subtly not even the best telepaths could have sensed it.
Six years later, the shadows stopped waiting.

Oh, there's my hope... (chapter one, scene two)

Yeah, some days I feel like this, too:

July 16th, 2301.
He and his brother were eighteen today, and neither of them were supposed to be alive.
They had been on the run for over an hour, but the stuff of dreams ignored things like time and space. The air behind them tore in thirds, like fabric rendered by claws. Low, eerie howling danced in his ears. Inside he turned cold. They hadn't given up yet. They probably weren't going to.
The boys burst onto an empty street leading to a cemetery, then hit the entryway and vaulted over the black iron fence. The cemetery was silent except for the wind. It struck him how desolate such places could be as he hit the damp grass, checked to make sure his brother was following, kept going.
It was after midnight, and the moon was high. He could sense the shadows keeping pace with the two of them. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up.
The sky was the color of ink. Heat lightning flashed across the graves that lay all around them; flashed across the creatures forming from the shadows several yards behind them. Wide jaws gaped and teeth flashed. Limbs stretched out, flexing claws. He glanced behind him, cursed violently, and prayed to whatever small gods were watching that the creatures wouldn’t become substantial enough to inflict physical damage. Psychic wounds, he could deal with. Being ripped apart by very real claws was another matter. He didn't stop running until he saw the other end of the graveyard, and urged his brother on, both stopping short just outside the exit gates.
His brother bent forward with his hands on his knees, panting. His eyes were golden brown fire. His mind crackled. His entire body raged. Ian gulped in air, touching his brother’s arm with two fingers.
"Don’t, Tom. That just encourages them."
"What, me wanting to rip the fuck out of them?" Thomas glared, chest still heaving. "Damn it, Ian, stop being so placid! You're supposed to be dead, you know."
"Yeah, well, I'm not. You want to get out of here on two legs? Keep moving. Besides, it’s only been three days."
"Yeah. I got a car. You spent our birthday waiting in a graveyard. In fact, I think it was this one. How coincidental."
Tossing his hair back from his face, Ian glanced up, toward the cemetery, and saw the darkness gathering. He narrowed his eyes. Thomas took the hint. Ian whirled and took off again, long legs pumping, Thomas at his side. Ian looked at Tom and grinned. "I'm good at cheating death, Tommy."
"Call me that again and I'll make sure the demons even those odds, bro."
With a grin, Ian just grabbed his brother's wrist and ran faster. Behind them, already fading into the static air, the shadow creatures paused. Yellow eyes waited. Silver talons glinted. And then something larger, something darker, pressed itself against the veil between the Earth and the Realm. It reached out, feeding into and off prejudice and fear, so subtly not even the best telepaths could have sensed it.
Six years later, the shadows stopped waiting.

Closed

This is what it feels like: The whole upper layer of the earth, and maybe the collective psyche of humanity, has been peeled away, leaving an open, sore, raw wound that's sluggishly starting to bleed. The atmosphere itches and burns and cries with pain and it's too large to cover; no ointment or bandages to soothe. There's something huge and dark pressing in, trying to suffocate. I could feel it this morning when I woke up struggling to breathe. My dreams had been severe. I can smell a storm coming--not a physical one, but a storm nonetheless. I can feel so much static fear; it smells like ozone and anxiety. My heart is pounding steadily but forcefully, like an animal throwing itself against a locked door, wondering if it needs to be on the other side to help and heal and protect. I feel like the sun hasn't risen in days, metaphorically. It makes me think back to Emilie's dreams, the inevitable storm that she also has been predicting in her DJ.
Strange, too: So much seems to correlate with where my book is headed. Maybe I'm reflecting what my subconscious is warning.

(By the way, if anyone thinks this sounds annoyingly melodramatic and I need to get a life and cheer up and quit whining, I demurely raise my middle finger to you. I can write whatever I damn well please. By the time I go home, I may bloody well be feeling much better. This is my catharsis. Thank you.)

Closed

This is what it feels like: The whole upper layer of the earth, and maybe the collective psyche of humanity, has been peeled away, leaving an open, sore, raw wound that's sluggishly starting to bleed. The atmosphere itches and burns and cries with pain and it's too large to cover; no ointment or bandages to soothe. There's something huge and dark pressing in, trying to suffocate. I could feel it this morning when I woke up struggling to breathe. My dreams had been severe. I can smell a storm coming--not a physical one, but a storm nonetheless. I can feel so much static fear; it smells like ozone and anxiety. My heart is pounding steadily but forcefully, like an animal throwing itself against a locked door, wondering if it needs to be on the other side to help and heal and protect. I feel like the sun hasn't risen in days, metaphorically. It makes me think back to Emilie's dreams, the inevitable storm that she also has been predicting in her DJ.
Strange, too: So much seems to correlate with where my book is headed. Maybe I'm reflecting what my subconscious is warning.

(By the way, if anyone thinks this sounds annoyingly melodramatic and I need to get a life and cheer up and quit whining, I demurely raise my middle finger to you. I can write whatever I damn well please. By the time I go home, I may bloody well be feeling much better. This is my catharsis. Thank you.)

Pretty pic

You are the Dark Mother. Beautiful, dark,
protecting, you are the grace of the night. You
keep safe the newly turned and guide them
through their first dark days.


What Fictional Vampire Archtype are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Pretty pic

You are the Dark Mother. Beautiful, dark,
protecting, you are the grace of the night. You
keep safe the newly turned and guide them
through their first dark days.


What Fictional Vampire Archtype are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Soothing

Well, this is kind of disturbing, but nice... I rerecorded the outgoing message on our new phone, y'know, "Hi, you've reached Adam and Joanna, please leave a message after the beep, thank you" and when I played it back I realized something: I really have started to sound exactly like my mother. Since high school, every time I answered the phone at home, Mom's friend's always thought I was her; it was getting to the point where I once answered with, "Hi, this is Linda's daughter." And I never ever saw it. I guess as the years have gone by my voice has just naturally adapted to its genetic makeup--I sound just like my mother with a touch of my father's soft tones. Dad always sounded like...how can I put this...dark chocolate. Smooth and pleasant, but you always knew there was something deeper, stronger, below the surface. He is pure Sicilian, after all. I've never heard him raise his voice. He never needs to. But there's always this beautiful light in him. It's like he represents hope. Mom is Russian Jewish and Romanian-Hungarian with a dash of German. She's a little woman but she can yell when she needs to. I hear that in me too. She is extremely charismatic, always shining. Charlotte once described my mother and father as a faery and an angel, respectively, as far as psychic affiliations went. It makes a lot of sense, since they got me for a kid! So I suppose I should be happy I sound like Mom. I used to hate hearing my voice recorded. Adam fell in love with my voice before anything else, so I guess it's not bad.

Oh-- anyone with muscle or joint pain should find a jar of something called Medic-Moist. I got a free sample with an order I'd placed for something, and it's fantastic. It has emu oil, aloe, tea tree and MSM.It's also got menthol, though, in case anyone can't handle menthol. I just used it on my hands, wrists, knees, and backs of my thighs, and it feels great. Cooling and soothing, and kind of numbing in a good way, probably the benzocaine. I found it here: http://www.cachebeauty.com/emu.htm

I wish there was a mental version...

Soothing

Well, this is kind of disturbing, but nice... I rerecorded the outgoing message on our new phone, y'know, "Hi, you've reached Adam and Joanna, please leave a message after the beep, thank you" and when I played it back I realized something: I really have started to sound exactly like my mother. Since high school, every time I answered the phone at home, Mom's friend's always thought I was her; it was getting to the point where I once answered with, "Hi, this is Linda's daughter." And I never ever saw it. I guess as the years have gone by my voice has just naturally adapted to its genetic makeup--I sound just like my mother with a touch of my father's soft tones. Dad always sounded like...how can I put this...dark chocolate. Smooth and pleasant, but you always knew there was something deeper, stronger, below the surface. He is pure Sicilian, after all. I've never heard him raise his voice. He never needs to. But there's always this beautiful light in him. It's like he represents hope. Mom is Russian Jewish and Romanian-Hungarian with a dash of German. She's a little woman but she can yell when she needs to. I hear that in me too. She is extremely charismatic, always shining. Charlotte once described my mother and father as a faery and an angel, respectively, as far as psychic affiliations went. It makes a lot of sense, since they got me for a kid! So I suppose I should be happy I sound like Mom. I used to hate hearing my voice recorded. Adam fell in love with my voice before anything else, so I guess it's not bad.

Oh-- anyone with muscle or joint pain should find a jar of something called Medic-Moist. I got a free sample with an order I'd placed for something, and it's fantastic. It has emu oil, aloe, tea tree and MSM.It's also got menthol, though, in case anyone can't handle menthol. I just used it on my hands, wrists, knees, and backs of my thighs, and it feels great. Cooling and soothing, and kind of numbing in a good way, probably the benzocaine. I found it here: http://www.cachebeauty.com/emu.htm

I wish there was a mental version...