OMG OMG OMG

Crow Toes likes my story like a super lot and they want to have it in a future issue, but the next few are full, so I'll have possibly one forthcoming.

OMG i'm gonna be in print! OMG OMG OMG.

squeeeeeeaaaaaal.

What my new Beagle obsession has lead to:

Character drawings of Death and Lady Neville from Peter S. Beagle's short story "Come, Lady Death." However, the style of dress is definately more Edwardain... I blame Edward Gorey.

Things which I enjoy immensly:

1. The sound an orchestra makes when all its parts are tuning independently. It's always different and always the same each time you hear it. Somehow it's never obtrusive, which it ought to be when you think about it.

2. The smell of extinguished candles. Much more so than the smell of them burning.

3. This quote by Peter Beagle: " I very much doubt that I'll ever write a proper spy novel, but in a way most of my people are spies, or feel that they are: not government secret agents, but spies without homes, without memories, spies abandoned here with no instructions except to survive, to wing it and to look human. Some of us even manage to become human in the process."

4. Making things.

Once upon a time, back when I was stupid, I was at a rave with a friend and a bunch of people she knew. I used to go to those. Have a different name for a night, flirt and then go home alone because I could never follow through. I wore these bright green sparkely wings on more than one occasion, but the last time I wore them it was at this great big halloween bash. I danced with my friends even though I didn't like techno that much (still don't), then went outside to smoke when the air got too stifled with hot sweaty bodies and boys who were showing off. Yeah, smoking was the break for fresh air. It was a backwards time and I already said I was stupid.

So I got outside and of course every square inch of the smoking zone was taken up by just as many people as I left behind, but I could still feel the air overhead and I happened to be taller than the folks in my party. It was a break. And I smoked a ciggarette, and then half of a friend's, and we went back inside to dance some more.

At the end of the night I took off my wings to get in the car and saw a neat little burn hole the size of a ciggarette in my wings, burned clear though the gauze. Somebody out there in all that fuss decided to burn a hole in my wings. I repaired them the next day so you can barely see, but if you know where to look it's plain as day. And I never wore them again. Frikken jerks aren't going to burn up the rest of my wings just because they've got a mean bee up their bonnet.

I only just thought of it now because I've got my shoes on with the little round charr mark on the toe.