February 13th, 2013


it's smouldering or freezing; it's never all that easy to decide

Last night I phoned my mother and then got stealth-handed over to talk to my father. He asked me what I was up to, and I mentioned that I was considering entering some of the industry-funded science writing competitions that keep turning up in my mailbox at work.

Him: Oh, that's a good idea. It's about time you actually started using your writing talents.
Me: Uh, you know I'm actually spending a lot of my time using my 'talents' already.
Him: You know what I mean. Your online stuff's just time-wasting.
Me: ...

You know what? I know I angst a lot about writing silly things, and especially about constantly annoying people who are not actually following me because of fandom, but I am not wasting my time. Value isn't only attached to direct monetary gain.

I love writing. More than that; I love writing for people, both specifically and generally. I write cliches and I write id-fic and I know that I'm not writing pro-fiction, or anything particularly important, but when I get comments on my stories saying that I've managed to make other people happy with them, that is quite honestly one of the best things in the world to me. I write because I love the people I write for.

I don't think that could ever be a waste of time.

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[fic: white collar] The Taste of Lacre (Fallen London 'verse)

Title: The Taste of Lacre
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Peter, El, June; Gen
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1000
Warnings: None
Notes: sholio wrote a lovely, lovely story set when the Neath-snow (the lacre) was falling. Then I wrote this in response. The lacre is linked to all the pieces of lore I find most fascinating, and which are the most eerily creepy.

Summary: Don't breathe the lacre in for too long.


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