October 25th, 2013


My insecurities, let me show you them...

My younger sister completely blew off my birthday, and I finally got an email response to my expression of hurt feelings, which was basically about how she doesn't consider birthdays a big deal and how I was wrong to not know this about her and that she was thinking of me on that day (and yet did not email or call, since she doesn't do cards). That really almost makes the hurt feelings worse.

Add onto that the number of Wincon people I've friended recently who have not friended me back (people I spoke to and enjoyed), and I feel kind of randomly boring and unlovable. Birthdays tend to bring this out in me anyway, but with the 50th, I think it's worse.

On to less self-pitying things: I wrote a short draft of a story for writerverse last night, which I probably will not force down into a drabble but may expand a little (to somewhere far less than 200 words, let's not get crazy). That'll buy me another two weeks of leeway. I will also seriously try to get a White Collar story done for run_the_con before this round ends (since I utterly failed at the 24-hour challenges. Stupid work!)

Note to self: pay no attention to the shiny world-ending prompt over at comment_fic today.

In final randomness, I spotted this over at Amazon.com, which we'll be getting for our daughter. Even if she hates it, and nobody else in the house has a phone it will fit on, just LOOK at it. It's 3 dollars! How can we not buy it? Miiiinions! \o/

All right, back to work. Note the new icon!


Original Fiction: "Songs Like Ghosts"

Title: Songs Like Ghosts
Fandom: Original Fiction
Author: HalfshellVenus
Rating: G
Summary: Roads not taken.
Author's Notes: For writers_choice and writerverse, and the prompt of "Radio."


Driving along the highway, past some could've-been place we used to know, the tinny sounds of sad songs rise up like ghosts in the heat inside the car. It's a Saturday afternoon, and it could be any one of a hundred. They never really change.

We never did make it out of here, out of this life that had nothing left to keep us. We didn't dream big enough to get loose of the sense that moving ahead was akin to betrayal, like leaving farmland in the middle of a drought when better years might be waiting ahead.

"Jenny," Dwayne says, "it's not too late. We could leave tomorrow."

But these are the regrets I know. Mama dying or my sisters growing up without me?

If that ever happened, those regrets might just swallow me whole.

------ fin ------