It's not quite a greatest hits collection, not even close really, but maybe you'll find something to enjoy

First off, computer problems again.  I won't know how bad they are until a new charger arrives on Thursday.  (Trying to troubleshoot with the battery worn down beyond all comprehension doesn't work well.)

Second, I did actually get something written, and I'll share it soon, but if you can't wait have a link to Fimfiction.  That's the first chapter, which is the new thing, you might want to read the prologue first, though.  The name of the story, by the way, is Anon-a-Missed.

Third, in this time when I can't write, I've been looking through old stuff.  Some of it I rather like.  Maybe others will too.

I was surprised to find that Grokking the Divine actually holds up pretty well.  It was something I wrote quickly because I didn't like something I'd read.  I haven't thought of it much since then.  It wasn't forgotten, but in some ways it might as well have been.

I read it at Fimficiton, and as I read I fixed some typographical errors and such.  So, until I edit the one here, it's actually better there.  (Story page, actual story)

I discovered that my primary The Horse and His Boy rewrite actually covers the entirety of canon-Chapter 1, which I'd completely forgotten.  (Content notes for slavery, child abuse, lack of self worth, and things like that.)  Here are the relevant posts:

• (First Introduction) - Introduction - What Shasta Believed - A Stranger Came - Setting a Price - Reflecting on being sold - The Horse can talk - We're Leaving

The first introduction isn't analogous to any part of the original book.  That's why I put it in parentheses.  The rest of it, though, is a straight ride through my version of Lewis' first chapter from beginning to end.

What got me rereading my HHB stuff was a scene from much later in the same story.  I looked up the times I'd used the word scorpion here at Stealing Commas (for reasons that make sense in context) and came across this fragment: Invoking Tash after the battle, which I'm still proud of.

I've rediscovered some turns of phrase that I rather enjoy (though they may be too cute for others.)  Actually they tend to be longer than phrase.  Extended metaphors that are, I guess, turns of paragraphs.  I then forgot all but two of them.  (Or maybe there were only two to begin with.)

The first is from the prologue of a story I already mentioned, Anon-a-Missed:

Her will to go through with that plan, though, had not merely been ground down. It had been sacked, hoisted, de-sacked, dropped through the hopper onto millstones, thoroughly ground down, resacked, sent through the whole process again (being routed to different millstones via automatic processes, of course), and finally exported for sale as ultra fine grain.

(If memory serves, I looked up the actual process of grinding down grain in order to write that.)

This is from Actually, guitars can go with bows OR Finding a friend in the band room:

“Well . . .” Sunset began as her posture changed.  Most notably she reached an a arm behind her back and grabbed onto her opposite elbow, but truly everything about how she was holding herself suddenly screamed, Bashful!

Or, at the very least, Sunset's posture meekly opened the door, cautiously stuck its head into the room while hiding most of its form behind the door frame, whispered:
        Um... I'm bashful, if anyone . . . you know, is interested in that information
paused a moment, added:
        Sorry for bothering you
shrunk back a bit at any attention, real or imagined, it had gathered, quickly finished with:
        Bye-now
and sprinted away as fast as its figurative legs would take it.

Because posture like that doesn't really scream anything.

Not quite the same thing, but this is from the already linked to Invoking Tash thingy:

The sense of a smile, one at having an idea that pleased oneself, was conveyed to all who could see Tash's face, though Tash obviously did not smile. A beak cannot create a smile. Yet all those who could see his face felt as though Tash had smiled.

At that point I ended up binge reading Edith and Ben, which is why this post wasn't made yesterday (or was it the day before?)  Have some excerpts:

Prologue:

When you're lying bleeding on the ground, realizing that the thing flowing from your body isn't so much blood as it is the hope that you'll live to see another day, and trying desperately to control your heartbeat out of the silly belief that maybe, just maybe, if it weren't beating so hard and pushing the blood out of you so fast you'd live long enough to be rescued --because it might not be a realistic expectation but at times like these you grasp at whatever presents itself-- you find that the situation is actually remarkably conducive to reflection.

Post-Invitation Cooking:

Fun fact: it is impossible to shake a thought from your head. No matter how vigorously you shake your head, the thought never actually falls out.

Save yourself:

I was going to respond to that, but then I realized something. "You're evading."

"That's because I don't want to answer the question."

"Obviously. But you know I'm not going to drop it."

 And, I think, that was around when I stopped rereading my own stuff.