In the dark, particularly (since I can do this whenever at at will since I am always, always telling you a story about something passing out of the world), my speech gets romantic, wistful, and I'll realize suddenly, I've just mused on Jack's loneliness to her for five or ten minutes. And it's all lovely and beautiful, but she's not even in the fandom. But she says she likes all my stories or all my talking to her about stories, and it feels so nice, not just because she is gentle with me and my obsessions, but with fiction writing is all we have. There is no other mode of affection or consolation that can be engaged in with characters. And so when she doesn't mind these meanders I get on to, I think I am doing it right, and it feels like a kindness all the way around.
I don't normally talk about these things because somewhere someone is wanking, but I write stuff, and I'm odd, and Patty's out on the deck studying for her comps, and hey, why not. My life is lovely, and the weird stuff I carry around with me is part of why.
Oh hey, she's done. Off to dinner. Have some links and stuff: