(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
Overseer delighted in the ultraviolet radiance of the grassy steppe, like the silver diamonds sparkle upon all the seas of blue he had ever seen with then human eyes.
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis
He turned and their wet eyed gaze met. He strode forcefully and she met him in the middle. He lifted her up, and almost threw her to the bed, but first kicked the door shut to the latch. They could not control their longing urge and made love as if their lives depended upon it; it was possible that the door had opened once, but no one had broken their privacy. Now, they lay together, Fog and Frost sheathed across them both in readiness of her use in a last stand.
Seems like my photo fresh out of the shower was not a big hit with you folks; noted.
While I write (fiction in this instance), I tend to listen to #WitchHouse music, and I think the reason is that I don't have to contend with others' lyrics. Today, I briefly switched over to Pandora, and kept looking up lyrics, which then led me to other lyrics, which opened a trove by a particular artist -- songs I'd never heard and then those begged questions which...deep rabbit hole, which meant less writing. So, that's why I listen to #WitchHouse while I write.
My notes are becoming their own files in EditPad, my txteditor of choice, and allows me to quickly search back through earlier portions of the story to confirm facts in dimmer recollection.
I've also had to dig up years old gaming material of mine to get at details which are relevant to this tale; Google Drive saved my lard the other day when I was looking for another language outline, Skiion, I think originally for PCI's Arcanus setting, 2004ish? Found a .psd copy of the only extant portion; missing were the flippers for their sea wolves and cavalry horses, and other ephemera.
My day-job hours are like someone else's hobby-hours; weird.
Rumour has it I've got an internet gaming session this week; we'll see. One of the other player has been ill; hopefully he's feeling better.
Saw a brief history of a 19th century painting, Dante and Virgil; almost approaching Cabanel's Fallen Angel.
Yesterday, although the rain and wind here had stopped, I heard Tornado Sirens wailing in the distance, sounded like the North West, across the river. I went outside and listened and looked, and wondered who was being affected, if someone in particular was in danger, and how ... truly awful that would be; yes, I was thinking of someone dear to me and not about strangers, and that's on me; lay the blame I own.
B/X Black Razor has contacted me again after a dry spell, and he's back at making an Old School-accessible URUTSK product. We had an exchange regarding two Ethnicities/Cultures and I'm even more excited to see the final text, let alone the finished work with art.
My writing project, my very specific brand of Sci-Fantasy, is approaching word count levels which have me excited to cross my prior limit found in, Eleventh Hour of the Soul (still on Mike Moorcock's site, btw), although the setting is far, far different -- much more, Traveller, than falling angels.
I'll spare all'y'all my lyrics this time, but my hope, wish, and prayer is that you are well, that you stay safe, and, that you feel loved.
Back to writing before I go in to work.