Writing Things.

So, I've done yet another edit of my epic tale of virtual education in the near past, which is untitled, unpublished, and, for all statistical purposes, unread by anyone (other than my magnificent sibs, my mom, and a couple of nice people at the school I used to go to). I get ridiculously into that story when I'm working on it. I'm pleased with it, to be honest.

I also have submitted some stories and poems to various venues, though, in case anyone needs reminding, my poem "Clotho's Favor" is still up over at Eternal Haunted Summer.

In other (epic) news, I've got a retelling of... erm... that weird fairy tale with the six brothers who were turned into swans and the sister who made them shirts and saved them. This one. Here's an English translation of the Grimm brothers' version. Apparently, there are more of these, which is news to me. But it's one of my favorite fairy tales and has been for a long time -- though, in typical fairy tale fashion, it's the things that aren't explored in the original that stick with me. Most significantly, what are the implications of having a brother whose arm is a swan's wing? What does that do to the person who was supposed to help him? (And before anyone asks, no, I haven't read Daughter of the Forest. Yet.)

Anyway, my poem takes the form of a post-hoc letter from the sixth son, the one left with a swan's wing, to his sister, now married to the king, with her thoughts interposed. The timeline in mine is somewhat different than the Grimms' version, but I claim artistic license on that. The brother's letter is in free verse, while the sister's thoughts are set in unrhymed iambic tetrameter. (I suck at scansion, and it was the best I could do.) I'm hoping to finish it soon; my wonderful baby sister has given me some good suggestions on elements that need to be included. Then my little saga will toddle off down the submissions pipeline, and we'll see how he does.

In other news, I'm reading La Vie Mode d'Emploi by Georges Perec, and had a lovely afternoon at this place. I love book festivals and literary festivals; I can smell my own. (And since this is France and deodorant is always optional and generally ineffective, I mean that literally.) Also, I am knitting more stuff, and crocheting things, too. Pictures to follow, perhaps?