Heart attack or broken neck, she wasn't sure which it would have been

[idiosyncreant]

This is a little banner for my Etsy shop gossamersong, now boasting
7 items, from a "technicolor kittens" Umbridge skein to the Spirited
Away Haku yarn and my Very Pink tribute to the Nutcracker.

Yes, I am striving to make the shop a Guess-The-Fandom Extravanganza!
why do you ask?

(I am inordinately proud of how those three central photos go together.
I am less proud, but at least relieved to be actually working on this again.)



Speaking of work, I submitted 3 poems and a story (two for the first time)
to various places today.

I am less industriously writing a completely new scene for Carnie's Con,
in which Poisson has Molly burgle back a letter. Her only condition is to
not have to go in through a coal-hatch. (Do you know about coal hatches?)

Comments

[fabricalchemist.livejournal.com]

You know, I think you do; by Poisson's first line, he had a very distinct voice, I had to stop and think about who it was. Molly does too, but it's obviously not quite as dramatic as his.

I guess it's kind of like that "what does my house smell like" thing -- you're so acclimated that you will never know (unless you vacation awhile) the amalgamation of your house-smell, but everyone else instantly knows it, good or bad. Or is it just me that wonders these things?

[idiosyncreant.livejournal.com]

No, I know exactly what you're talking about. Once in Japan my best friend and I walked into my house, which was full of the smell of fresh bread. She said it smelled just like me, which was a surprise, to say the least!

I am pretty sensitive to the olefactory memory of places, because sometimes I'll have one just hit me, introduced by something else, but I'm half-smelling the place I'm remembering. It's one of those things you can't really reproduce in fiction, which can be frustrating.

I loved writing my wolf shape-shifter POV because I concentrated on smells as her primary sense, even before she knows why her nose is so important. ^-^