And now, I write...

[letterblade]

I think I will be posting this fic in installments as I go. It's developing with fair speed, esp. considering how slow and painful writing is these days.

I am excessively proud of this paragraph (and change):

Watching his face is watching glass shatter in slow motion. Jack remembers filling a cheap glass mug out of a hot kettle once and watching one hairline crack come in, then another, the chip and tinkle in his ears, and even as he'd eased up pouring, with the first curls of color boiling off the teabag, the cracks ran up to the rim, spidered. The crash as it exploded. Scalding water down his leg, shards on Torchwood's table.

"Go ahead," Ianto says. "Touch me."

Oh, and also, finally saw Small Worlds. Huzzah random Jack pastbits, and I pity the poor fool who brings red roses on a date. I agree with some quibbles I've heard about fantasy elements being poorly integrated, and the OMGmonster! moments were annoying, but the mara reference made my day (the parts of it that did not involve writing, at least), along with the quoted poetry, which of course I know from Loreena McKennit.

That episode will make Five Leaves in Autumn (the Torchwood/Utena I'm contemplating) even more fun. I can just see Jack facepalming now--"Why did it have to be roses?"

Comments

[mllelaurel.livejournal.com]

Whoa. Good stuff. Excellent stuff. You have this way of writing that's descriptive, lush and psychologically insightful, all without ever so much as approaching the realm of purple prose.

Also: You must write that crossover. Must. Cause dude. Just. Dude.

[amanuensis1.livejournal.com]

Whoa, I REALLY wanna read that story!