Stories I worked on in 2003 (this is *worked on*, not finished, not started, just that I opened, messed with, and saved, however little of the story may exist.):

( Tam. )

( Poe (also juvenilia, but not quite as bad). )

( Nazca Lines. )

( Snowfish. )

( the wind smut (which I think is called The Way of the Wind). )

( Your Own good (or sometimes My Own Good). )

---

Developing Issues.

Heart Exploded Words.

( A Handful of Southerly Wind/Shaggy Shaggy Locks )

( Castle (which doesn't have a real name, yet).  )

( A Private Affair (which, if I remember correctly is what Sportscar turned into.) )

( Tie Your Buggy to the Moon. )

( Greenhouse )

( Life as a House/Life as Measured by Architecture )

( Magna Mater. )

( Places in the World a Woman Can Walk. )

( Dove Stati, Dove Vai (Formerly called Forzo Rome). )

( Libation Bearers. )

( Hoc Vale. )

( Skygodwater. )

( Like Rain, though the sky is clear. )

( Hannah, Anna, and Nan. )

( Pricks. )

( Company Man. )

( Red Sky at Night. )


( Falling. )

( Bough. )

( Firing the Dead. )

( Taste of Salt. )

( Feeling Driftwood )

( The Building (renamed Listening). )

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And The Goddess Afoot, and Requiem, and Wounds, of course, and probably a couple of others that I can't remember at the moment.

Tags: "first line meme", falling, like rain, red sky, skygodwater, wounds

http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/photo5270.htm

Today I climbed--so high! Up the branches, up to the top, to the clouds, it felt like. I was not heavy, I was light. Pure light, sunlight, I was so happy. And then down again. Past the nests in my branches, past my leaves that will fall away, fly away. And I will remain. Rooted, stationary. I want to fly, like the kite in a crook of my branches. I straighten it as I climb by, so it won't fly away, leave me behind. I want my feet off the ground, the wind beneath me, not just around me. Branches like waterfalls, like rain, like tears. I mourn.
I want to fly, so high, so far above myself that I can't even see me. just a spot on the ground like any other spot, that I'd never know was me if I couldn't feel it, even from that high up, the silver-grey thread that ties me to myself, reaching down through the bottom of the plane, down down down to trees and leaves and dirt and me. I mourn again.

Tags: like rain, my own good, picture game