Welcome to Gaia! ::

Mood: thoughtful.
Listening to: something Brazilian.
Reading: Siddhartha.
Eating: peach cobbler.
Drinking: Earl Grey.

(Did you know that an adult human would require thirty-meter-long wings to fly? Imagine how many feathers Daedalus would have had to collect, leaning over the windowsill, his calloused ink-stained engineer's hands clutching at air and soft down. Imagine how much wax he would have had to siphon from his candles, a drip of hot melted fat at a time, that his king and his jailer would suspect nothing. Imagine how many slivers of wood he had to shave from his expensive furniture and fit into that tremendous frame.

All that effort wasted, half his work floating broken in the sea. I wonder: how many of the tears he would have had to shed as he flew across the waters were for his son?)

So! NaNoWriMo, friends and... guildmates. Haha. Not that I would call fifty thousand words in thirty days a sun - what a dull sort of star - but even so, I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this. I overshot by just ten words, according to their clever little robot counters. And then I let it rest for - almost a month, now.

I reread it yesterday, and I suspect attaining my pie in the sky I met the ocean headfirst anyway, though to be fair my wings didn't melt until I dismantled them and hung them over the fireplace.

Because damn, but that's poor showings for a month's labor. A half-finished novel with little enough to recommend it in the way of good writing and breathing characters. I don't blame it on the pace, because I didn't write it quickly. I devoted too much time to it instead, trying for other sorts of heights and stars in terms of quality as much as quantity, and I failed therefore on my own merits. I have no machinery to blame, no inconstant oils to resent for this subtler fall.

Ah well. I haven't given up on it quite, and there is another one I'm working on, after all. Somewhere also, a glass sword.... And a melodramatic quest for comparative religion. xd

.....I'm rewriting a story that I wrote in 8th grade. About three years and two days ago now. it's epic...but no one will read it.....

Hey, Waffs, be grateful--I have longevity problems, too, only just teh opposite of yours >< I'm too long. And no one has time to read things that long....

no time...this again. ********.

What oblique answers you all give.

Waffles, I'm sorry to say I didn't finish mine either. Halfway through is still better than my previous efforts, though. *sigh*

Oh, I can't edit my posts either...but apparently that wasn't double-posted.

GAH! -stabbity rip stab stab-

Haha...I had to read Siddhartha for a class.

Books are so much less enjoyable, sometimes, when read for a class. Deadlines should not be placed upon book reading. Especially when the student procrastinates and must read the whole book in a 6-hour period while being distracted by her roomate and wingmates. XD

The only book I suspect suffered in my eyes from having been read for a class is Jane Eyre, which I don't like at all but which I would probably be more indifferent to were it not for the loving attentions of my English teacher.