~~i really, really wonder about myself sometimes. - fic - het - death - ginny.

i dunno -where- this comes from, really. ahahaha, if there's anyone i like torturing in my fics, it is ginny, but not really. i mean, that's not really what this is about. -why-, you ask, did i write -this-, instead of doing any number of more useful and/or pleasurable things?? obviously, my perversity extends further than i previously imagined.

so. um. yeah.
strangely, i kind of like it.
but not enough to get it beta-read and to think much more about it. no, thank you.
i promise this is the last one. gah. -really-. no more het. even slashy het. like, ever. *shudder*

( er... `At the End of Desire' - a ginny/harry/draco type thing. er. nc-17. yes, i -am- becoming frightening, why? )

P.S. -- i am thankful because:

- i never have to write hp het again, having gotten it out of my system-- and yes, this means no draco/hermione for -you-, ahahaha.
- i'm still (sort of) sane.
- wah~! you people are so cool.
- the planet hasn't blown up yet.
- winter will end eventually.
- there is slash.
- draco is cuddly.
- i'm insane.
- i never get tired of babbling, really.
- did i mention, y'all are -really cool-? because, yes.

P.P.S. - romie's `love ridden' makes me laugh hysterically. not entirely in a bad way. but really now.

``Draco doesn't want to be my friend; he wants to be my lover."

*shakes love-ridden!harry's hand* my god. that boy's a genius :D

~~speechless is a good thing. though you can't tell, because i'm babbling.

i think the goal of reading, much as i write about it and think about it and ponder its highways and byways, is really, to me, for it to leave me speechless. not even so much overcome emotionally, though that's in there too. just-- unable to talk for the sudden new space inside me, somehow painfully open and vulnerable and -alive-.

that is the source of reading as a semi-mystical experience, when it goes beyond words, when it is so real that it transcends its own medium and lives inside you, as primary and vivid as any emotion you might otherwise have. very few pieces of writing achieve this. it is a whole new level-- it is the -ultimate- level of reader involvement, of the full transmission of intent, of the -creation- of the story inside you, the birth of meaning.

all the stories i remember most readily, most immediately, have had this effect on me, one i cannot, in the end, completely ascribe to the grace of the style or the fittingness of the jokes. it's a magic. it's the magic of storytelling. it is what i worship and wish to practice for the rest of my life. the only magic i have at my disposal, in potential even.

so. i'm reading cassie claire's `a season in hell'. and it's almost laughable for me to review it. i can no more do so (right now, anyway), than i could've reviewed `a brief interval' or aja's 9-11 fic or penguin's `falling', at first reading.
EDIT - er. that is to say.

it's simply that good.
ahem :D i did write an actual semi-detailed review. yes, aren't i a smart cookie ><;;

anyway.
alright. let's try this again. *meeps*
obviously i suck at making any sense. but that's alright, other people make sense, i can just sort of-- sit here, and read. it's all good.

the goal, as i see it, is to be so sold by something, so -there-, that you can't-- separate very easily. you can't see it from the outside, because you are just lost in the story, and initially, at least, it just gets a purely emotional reaction. everything seems to sound -right- and to -fit- and to feel -real-.

nothing jangles, and nothing breaks the flow, and it just all comes together and breathes. so um.
    yah. i'm a t00b.
    i meant, it's laughable to dissect it and say, ok, well that sentence worked really well, and this particular one didn't, and i really like the imagery with this, or that, and this bit was funny-- ok, i can do that, it just seems to miss the point, somehow, to be grinch-like. i mean, those people who instead of just -enjoying- things, feel they need to -analyze- them, and i'm not really one of those people. when something is just-- really enjoyable and beautiful, i'd rather just-- let it hit me. let it wash over me. analysis and thinking and stuff create a -distance- between you and the work, that's what i meant.

and sometimes distance isn't really possible, at least initially. or desireable. *clings to fic*
    right. so i guess i liked it, then. ><;;
( er... yah. )