[Caelum's Scrapbook] Use Your Words.

[Caelum]

This scrapbook is going to be used for God only knows what. Random thoughts, pretty pictures, jottings of things I write when I don't feel like writing, et cetera et alia. Disclaimers: - There WILL be be foul language. If you are mortally offended by foul language and read this anyway, you have officially foregone your right to complain and may fuck off. - There may be whining. - There will be wining. That pretty much sums it up, I feel. A handful of things you might not know about me: - I have six legal names because my parents are crazy Irish Catholics, but mostly I go by Katie. I like it when you use my name versus the name of one of my characters. - I'm completely useless when I have deadlines flying at me. - I don't want to debate religion or politics with you, but I might talk about them within this scrapbook. - I take hostages.

[Caelum]

This is a tiny little story I wrote when I needed to get the gears moving. The idea for it came from an amusing exercise a few writer friends and I used to do wherein we would write short story featuring our characters in the real world interacting with us. Admittedly, every so often, I still get one of those in my inbox. I love it. Below is not the same thing, but came from that idea. The first person narrator, ironically, is the protagonist from my first novel. - - - “You’re dead, you know,” the painter said with the wall before him a fragment still of desire. It peeked out from strips of rolled-on white like her fingers stretching in gloves made fingerless by a merciless snip of kitchen shears. I watched as the color the home improvement store called pine needle disappeared a little more beneath a swipe of the painter’s tool and the water bill in my hand dropped the last inches to the counter. “What?” I heard myself say. The painter had been recommended and given a key by the bar tending grandmother who lived a floor up while I was some place else, any place else. An unwanted favor, the unexpected offer of a ride from the airport by a mere acquaintance, had brought me back too soon. The painter should have been done by now. The dining room should have been white and safe. It only almost was. I watched as he shifted to the toes of splattered western boots, stretching an arm higher to take away another slash of breathing green. He was not tall. “We all thought you were dead,” he explained. His voice was bottled, too quiet and clipped at its ends. “I mean, most of us still think you are.” “The hell are you talking about?” I spluttered and he was turning, his arm dropping with still a few feet left of her choices pulsing on my wall. “Look,” I shoved back from the counter, a weak laugh attempting to grow stronger in my mouth. “It’s Chris, isn’t it? I appreciate you doing this on short notice and all, but I’m not really in any mood for… For conversation.” He was young, I noticed abruptly, in college or maybe grad school. The brim of the tattered ball cap he wore left the upper half of his face in shadow, but all of him in the light was both young, I realized, and familiar. “Do I know you? I mean, have we met before, Chris?” Drops of white shivered to the plastic protecting my carpet as he laughed. “You’re that writer, aren’t you? The one who wrote the kid’s books?” He lifted a hard hand, long fingers twisting in an attempt at articulation. The chandelier light swooped through his fingers, stabbing at the empty space the table had left behind. “With the walkers or whatever you called it and the dead magic and the quarantine shit?” ”Ah, yeah. That’s me, Jeremiah Cross.” I tried a smile on for him. “Put like that, it doesn’t sound so much like a children’s book.” “No,” he agreed. He hunkered down, knees poking through the frays of his jeans, and with an elegant angle of an elbow and a slow, precise motion, rolled his brush into the pan of white. “You ever wander what happened to those kids?” “Not really,” I felt my mouth grow hard. “They decided they didn’t want to read my stories anymore.” “Not your fans,” he snorted under his breath, unraveling back to his feet. “I mean the kids in your books, in the series you just stopped.” “Adula and Crios, Shirkey and that lot?” Each name felt like a gnawed upon rosary bead I was spitting out. Heat sunk through my skin to my bones. It needed a drink to cool. “So, yeah. You know me.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut against the unfinished wall, the sweat stained painter with a noble carriage. “Hey, I’m sorry if we’ve me, that is, if I’ve forgotten meeting you before. It’s been a long day. Your pay’s in envelope in the foyer, yeah? I.. Thanks. For doing the job.” Keys rattled in my hand as it dropped on them and I made careful passage around the edge of plastic. “I can’t lock up when I’m done.” I stopped. “Right. Don’t worry -“ “You have to do that, Mr. Cross.” A final bird wing of white hid the last of her and the painter turned again, this time latching onto the bill of his hat and twisting it around. I knew better than to look, however, to see the face of the man the kid had become. I kept walking instead, the air coming in eating at my lungs. “We’ve been waiting for you to come back!” The door was yanked open, my winter coat hanging forgotten on its hook. Crios shouted something else, but the sound of the door slamming behind me disappeared it a little more, disappeared him a little more. The first step down tripped me, probably just to have a laugh; but I kept going. I should have known. I had hired one to paint over another.

[Caelum]

Today I'm using my pictures. This beautiful thing happened to me today. Roses might be considered overdone by some, but I secretly adore them and my husband knows it. He won at married life today despite being out of town on business. That takes skill. Alright, back to writing.

[Caelum]

That is all.

[Caelum]

I am super excited about guest storytelling. I was vaguely aware of the option before Gossamer's announcement of the new medal for it, but I somehow failed to realize its potential until then. Not only does it allow players to contribute more vastly to the greater plot of the game, but it could have the happy result of taking some of the incredible work load off of our official moderators as well. With Tabernac's help, I've gained approval from the Powers That Be to permanently guest mod an NPC in Denval. I'm looking forward to it as I adore the character and hope everyone else does too. He should be entertaining as an occasionally snarky Priest of Rak'keli gone to the ends of the earth to fight the good fight. His history before arriving in Denval is, I feel, appropriately mysterious. I have so much in my head to write and so little time. Below is a list to assist in my mental organization. - Lie Down With Lions Caelum Self Mod Training + intro. of Cian Noc 2 more installments of the thread to go. Possibly just one, but that will depend on what the characters do to me when I start the next one. - Oh Happy Day Caelum + Sama'el in the Sea of Grass en route for Endrykas. Totally my turn to post. - Endrykas Summer Plot Caelum + lots of others All sorts of stuff to put into this. - Challenge Caelum + Jaelyn = Syliras Totally my turn to post. - As of yet Untitled flashback for Dor Kalinor flashback w/ Poison I need to write out the thread start. It is in my head, but not coming out of my fingers. There are others, plenty others, but the communication with other players has yet to reach decision point. Oh, I found this thing below and liked it. It reminds me of several of my friends.

[Caelum]

There were ashes all over my front porch this morning and the smoke from the swamp fires keeps rolling through the islands so thickly that if not for the distinct smell it could easily be mistaken for fog. The combination of that with the one hundred degree plus swelter of a Georgia July has effectively transfigured my city into hell. Did I mention that I’m also sunburned? Mint julep in an ice bath. Stat. To make matters worse, I’m expected to attend a historic baseball game Sunday. (By historic I mean to say that teams were put together by Fort Pulaski and Old Fort Jackson as to play a game according to historic, original baseball rules for a fundraiser.) Typically, I would be all about this, but now I’m worried I might melt. Maybe I’ll wear my bathing suit, cart around a cooler on wheels and be eccentric. You know, just like everybody else in this town. /endrant

[Caelum]

The devil is coming out Georgia on Thursday. I'll be heading up to NYC for the weekend and probably be taken hostage by Dusk. I'll return late Sunday night and am highly unlikely to post anything worthwhile in the meantime. I may respond to PMs however. If anyone needs anything from me before I leave, let me know fast. Otherwise, hold your horses and pray I don't burn down a city. Or, you know, if I do, that I don't get caught. - katie.

[Caelum]

The City of Blinding Lights treated me wonderfully. My hostesses treated me even better. The end result is that I had a great time despite the killer heat and distinct lack of central air. Dusk, suffering along with me and taking pity on my AC pampered self, went so far as to purchase a third unit while I was there. That probably saved all of our lives. Now I am back home and back to work. There is an utterly ridiculous number of posts I need to respond to and at least a handful more I've promised to start. These numbers are rivaled only by the number of PMs to rifle through. Unfortunately, I also have a few pressing things going on outside of game and a thing of my own for which I am inspired to write. It may take me awhile to get to everything Mizahar related; but take luck, my friends, I will get to you and yours eventually. It just probably won't be as quickly as you might have hoped. Cheers, k.

[Caelum]

It is only Tuesday and I’ve already had a few crap days this week. However, a friend sent me a thing this morning that cheered me up considerably and I genuinely believe that each and every single last one of you ought do it. It’s hilarious and flattering and thought provoking and it requires maybe a minute of your time. If you do it, post your results here so I can see them! I Write Like You paste a few paragraphs of something you’ve written and hit the Analyze button. The site tells you what famous writer it thinks you write like. It told me J.K. Rowling. I thought that was both hysterical and overly flattering. Have at it, kids.

[Tarot]

You were lucky. I got Dan Brown for my latest threads: every single post I made in them (yes, I was depressed enough to try them all).

*runs off to add a few plotholes and flat characters to the threads*