It's been a damn long time since I stayed up all night writing. And it's been a damn long time even since then that I've written a short story, much less, all at once. Nevertheless, this is what I have done, and on an all new tale, no less. It's a first draft, and I'm sleep deprived, so I've only stuck it on my seldom used livejournal.

Yeah, yeah, I know it's redundant to have this and that - that's why only rough stuff if anything at all goes there, or stuff related to this one LJ community I'm a part of. So why stick the story there? Easy. It's got a place for comments. Go tell me what's wrong with it that I can't see because I've not slept yet. So I can fix it.

Mrrrm. Today. (Well, technically yesterday... but I've said before that today doesn't end for me until I've slept.) Today I got some rather nifty minotaur poetry in an email from a friend. If I get permission, I'll stick it up here or on the site in the relevant place. It brightened my day.

For about five minutes.

No fault of the writer or the poetry, mind. It's just I finally got a letter from the city shelter. The official kiss-off form type, not the second interview looking good type.

Which spawned the orgy of writing I have posted. An idea presented by another friend in passing, and a halfway agreement to try and write a short story around a concept by the weekend - likely never to have been finished past a paragraph, honestly, especially with my track record - got the benefit of my sudden depression.

I take it back. Guess angst is great creative fuel. Just add insomnia and viola. My jaw hurts from clenching it all night. I did some drawing too. I'd show you, but still no scanner.

But at least, sore muscles aside, I feel empty now. So. I'm going to bed. To sleep, perchance to dream.

This is for all ill-fated fellows,
Unborn and unbegot.
For them to read when they're in trouble,
and I am not.

-- A.E. Houseman.

Yeah. A.E. Houseman is one of my favorite poets when I'm depressed. How'd ya guess?

Kaz