I will write in words of fire.
I will write them on your skin.
I will write about desire.
Write beginnings, write of sin.
You’re the book I love the best,
your skin only holds my truth,
you will be a palimpsest
lines of age rewriting youth.
You will not burn upon the pyre.
Or be buried on the shelf.
You’re my letter to desire:
And you’ll never read yourself.
I will trace each word and comma
As the final dusk descends,
You’re my tale of dreams and drama,
Let us find out how it ends.
— Neil Gaiman
No NaNoWriMo for me this year. I have gotten started with the editing of last year's masterpiece, though. Only a tiny bit, but still. And as often happens in my projects, the ambitions have gotten entirely out of hand. It's going to be three books, and I'm bloody well gonna say 'fuck you' to moderation and cram in every epic concept that has popped into my head regarding this story. It is my first really long one, so I'm gonna allow it to go absolutely bananas. I have no idea if I will succeed in tying it all together successfully, seeing as I don't even know the ending yet and have half a million loose threads and plotholes, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let that stop me. Attempting to do slightly impossible things is one of my favourite hobbies, after all. I'm inspired as hell, at least. It's such a great feeling. But mostly I'm in love. Which means ridiculously easily distracted, so don't expect any productivity on my part anytime soon. Eheh.
Love and writing,