What I Love

It's not worth doing if it isn't what you love.

So we remake ourselves anew in yet another image: I play with my own masks and faces in ways that surprise myself, in ways that were not expected and yet seem inevitable, only to discard them months later if they are not what I love (it's been a long journey). But like we said in "The Road," a gal has just got to keep walking if she ever expects to reach her destination.

I love the play of language and the fascination of study and the delight of writing, but I just discovered (the hard way, per usual) that I also like being myself. Open, raw, transparent—to a point, but a further point along than what I've been here.

This girl is a bit of an odd and quirky one: I use the royal "we;" I get excited about glottals and lateral liquid consonants; I live like I'm in a musical with a theme song for every theme; I keep my favorite books, movies, and music to myself unless I'm fangirling; I fangirl in phases and go orig in the alternates; physics, genetics, and the creative arts are equally my muses; I'm prone to cats but not to dogs; I'm a loner that needs feedback to create my best work; I can't see the forest for the trees; I haven't figured out how to write a forest.

For ye honored reader, I muck around in humor, science fiction, fantasy, fandom, meta, romantic fluff, romantic angst, and hardly a warning which one you're getting. I have yet to sustain a novel-length serial project, but the short stories are cranking out at a respectable rate. If you want a story, I can probably give it to you. I'm not famous; I'm the girl next door. I like my audience, and I aim to please. I read reviews; I rarely rant.

Think you might want to stick around for this dance over here?

See also A Beautiful Mess