Jun. 12th, 2008

karanguni: (HOUSE kills)
HI FLIST. Because today is the day that I spam with everything but the [livejournal.com profile] springkink things that I'm supposed to be writing, I give you this post full of meta-Final Fantasy VII drivel! 8D 8D

First up is The Morning News' guide to men's fashion. I personally consider their articles on suits and dress shirts the bible verse on how a Turk would buy his clothes. In fact, in my mind, these articles were written by a very, very snide Turk with a very, very good idea on exactly how sharp he's meant look for the job. Read them. They're hilarious. They're informative, too. But mostly hilarious.

Next comes my attempt at writing porn. I fail at porn, but I fail worse at resisting the siren call of new challenge communities, so here, have a porn_battle Tseng/Rufus drabble.

Then [livejournal.com profile] logistika_nyx and I were discussing the process of plotting and outlining fic, because obviously that is what sane people do in their free time, and out of it came the idea to do a behind-the-scenes kinda thing. And so this run-through of Empery for the Extremely Bored was born. 8D

You can click the cut to read it, or (for greater fun and benefit) you could check it out at [livejournal.com profile] logistika_nyx's pimpin' new community, [livejournal.com profile] bunny_bit_me. You've got to be a member, but it's a wonderful concrit place where you can read the twisted inner workings meta of a handful of really good and cool authors.

Oh god, writing behind-the-scenes stuff is so pretentious and and and big headed and I apologise totally if it sounds presumptuous to you guys. D: D: D: I are a tiny, scared author in a big world filled with authors and readers who are better than me.

Empery: a director's commentary (or, this is how the rabid squirrel really swings!) )

Still workin' on those prompts, too. FORGIVE ME, FOR I WRITE SLOW LIKE A WOMBAT*.

* uh, even though I have no idea how fast wombats actually go

 

A universe of unmapped grief and love
And new master light is beyond
The pleiades and plow and southern stars.

O soaring
Icarus of outworld, burn bright
The traceries of known skymarks,
Slide the highway planets behind
Your clear waxed wings.

Go conquer the everywhere left
Beyond your sad confinement
In a predicted bonehouse,
Witch thrown riddle of flesh
And water.

O soar until nothing
remains but great glittering holes
In the black godspun shirt over your head.

- John Fairfax