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[personal profile] ljgeoff
I'm starting on a new Alkyone story.

I dunno, maybe I'm tired. I do have a headache. Luke is at a birthday party -- his first sleep over, and his absence makes me feel jumpy. My hormones are probably screwy (again).

But I just feel like, you know, what's the point? M'kay, I can write some, that is, some of it is pretty ok. I posted the last bit on Baen's Bar, and got one crit that said "yum!" and one that said "huh?" But I mean, really, why the hell do I wanna bang my head against this?

"The smell ... the smell of books, Donna ..."

That's it, right there. I want a piece of that, to be that; I want to be that 'there is nothing else that fits so perfectly in my palm' feel, that rich, dry taste on the tongue, and the smell, gods, the smell. I want to be there as the eyes and fingers trace along the spines, be there as the first pages are turned, at the first sigh, first chuckle, first tear.

[livejournal.com profile] kphoebe is right, I would indeed sell my soul for it, and dance, soulless, in joy of being there, in books.

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May 2026

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