Sep. 2nd, 2021
Writing Meme: Questions 5 & 6
Sep. 2nd, 2021 04:43 pmBorrowed from
sixbeforelunch.
5. What character that you're writing do you most identify with?
I think it is still BBC Sherlock's John. I am not writing a BBC Sherlock genderswap fic right now, but I began ficcing by writing nothing but fem!lock, and it's safe to call fem!John a self-insert. But even male John is usually me. I can't find myself in Jeeves or Bertie, Nicky or Joe, or Jimin or Suga. I am not writing Vera Claythorne's And then there were none at the moment, but I also identify with her.
6. What character do you have the most fun writing?
BBC Sherlock's Mycroft Holmes (whether genderswapped or not) is very fun to write because of the banter. So much fun.
( The entire list )
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5. What character that you're writing do you most identify with?
I think it is still BBC Sherlock's John. I am not writing a BBC Sherlock genderswap fic right now, but I began ficcing by writing nothing but fem!lock, and it's safe to call fem!John a self-insert. But even male John is usually me. I can't find myself in Jeeves or Bertie, Nicky or Joe, or Jimin or Suga. I am not writing Vera Claythorne's And then there were none at the moment, but I also identify with her.
6. What character do you have the most fun writing?
BBC Sherlock's Mycroft Holmes (whether genderswapped or not) is very fun to write because of the banter. So much fun.
( The entire list )
Poet's Corner: two by Jorge Luis Borges
Sep. 2nd, 2021 10:17 pmTwo poems by Jorge Luis Borges from the Poems of the Night collection by Penguin Classics. There are four more I like from this collection. I will scan them and post tomorrow.
Saint John's Eve by Jorge Luis Borges [trans. Christopher Maurer]
The setting sun, with implacable splendor,
parted the distances on its blade.
And night is here, tender as a willow.
Whorls of burlesque bonfires
Splutter into red:
wood offered in sacrifice
bleeds into the high flames:
living flag, blind mischief.
The darkness is as gentle as someplace far away.
Today the streets remember
that they were fields one day.
And through the holy night,
Solitude says its rosary of far flung stars.
( Break of Day )
Saint John's Eve by Jorge Luis Borges [trans. Christopher Maurer]
The setting sun, with implacable splendor,
parted the distances on its blade.
And night is here, tender as a willow.
Whorls of burlesque bonfires
Splutter into red:
wood offered in sacrifice
bleeds into the high flames:
living flag, blind mischief.
The darkness is as gentle as someplace far away.
Today the streets remember
that they were fields one day.
And through the holy night,
Solitude says its rosary of far flung stars.
( Break of Day )