in flight

i know that they can hear me yell

CHAG SAMEACH, EVERYBODY.

In a weird way, this is as much my thesis as my actual thesis, considering I've been working on some form of this story for four years, and this iteration since August. So, so many thanks to [personal profile] aria for beta and for telling me to get over myself and post it already.

This is eleven thousand words long (I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE); it's eyai fic (primer is here, masterlist is here). Contains abuse of power, governmental collapse, journalistic excellence, murder, and no hansom cabs at all.

ETA: Oh, god, I'm actually sticking an ETA on this because it's freaking me out so much. YOU GUYS, I APOLOGIZE SO, SO MUCH FOR ONE PARTICULAR PLOT POINT IN THIS. SO MUCH. I WOULD CLAIM IT WASN'T MY IDEA, BUT THAT WOULD ONLY BE ONE TINY, TINY FRACTION OF THE TRUTH.

girl in the war


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in flight

my, my slow descent

I would apologize for doing this at midnight but actually I think we are now all officially on enough different time zones to justify any posting hour.

EYAI DRABBLES GO


All settings or none! All characters or none! Prompt, fic, discuss, do interpretive dance!!

(And for those who selected "what in the name of God": here's a writeup I did on Tumblr for [personal profile] pseudo_tsuga of what exactly I'm talking about.)

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in flight

a sorry box and a hillside

(This entire post was won by cmattg in the [community profile] help_pakistan auction. His prompt is spoilery for the Doctor Who finale so it's under the following spoiler text: 1800+ years, Rory must have inspired at least one artist, yes? I would therefore like THE BALLAD OF THE LONE CENTURION in your best faux-folk style. It can be slightly tongue-in-cheek but mostly serious, please. My post itself is probably only spoilery if you've seen episode twelve and not thirteen, but caveat lector.)

So as a lot of you know, I am a history major suffering through the first throes of thesis work, and last year I was very nearly pulled into a vortex of medievalism by a teacher who was really into the Ottoman Empire. He's teaching at Haverford now and he put up his booklist for the classes he's doing this fall, and on a whim I JSTORed the articles, and it kind of turns out that folk music is hilarious as a historical document because it comes from all over the place and all over the time.

For some reason I got really enamored of this one, even though it doesn't sound like anything really from the Childe ballads and is probably a contemporary invention. It might be because it baffles the crap out of the musicologists.

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in flight

happiness is a warm gun

you hardwire, i'll try to play the guitar. ~2000 words, some violence. The counter-counter-revolution has its problems.

Set in the eyaiverse of original fic, although really all you need to know is that these are tetchy guerilla-revolutionary androids with lungs. With thanks to [personal profile] aria. For girl_wonder, and Fry, I'm sorry I'm such a massive liar. I really hope you like this even though it isn't in Russia. :P

~

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in flight

and by all accounts

TITLE: skin is, my
WORDCOUNT: ~5000.
THIS IS NOT: the counter-revolution. (It is set after BEFORE the Iron Revolution.)
BUT YES THIS IS FINALLY: eyaiverse, for real.

(With love and exhaustion to pushingmetaphor, schiarire, girl_wonder, and fahye, who have listened to me wail for two years now about how I'm never going to write an eyai story that's original, never, ever, my life is so hard, and who have kept me away from sharp objects and continuity errors.

And without further ado.)

*

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in flight

whose stories are they?

This is a personal essay I have been trying to write for a very, very long time. It isn't sparked by one thing in particular, but it comes in response to, and accord with, things I've read by chopchica and miriam_heddy and roga and dafnap and abyssinia4077 and xiphias and kita0610 and ... yeah.

I'm not speaking for all Jews here, and I'm not speaking for those listed above, but I am also not just speaking for myself.

“The Old Testament is responsible for more atheism, agnosticism, disbelief-call it what you will-than any book ever written; it has emptied more churches than all the counterattractions of cinema, motor bicycle and golf course.”

-- A. A. Milne


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very small eta: Some comments have been screened or frozen. all such comments were done so at the request of the individual commenters, and not because of any abuse of my journal's policies or something!

There are now six pages of comments and I'm teary just thinking about that; I'm trying to work through them and give you guys the responses you deserve. If it takes a while, I'm really sorry.
in flight

author's notes, The Crossroads and the Gate

This was originally written for the Sword & Sorcery issue of S2B2, and then… became… delayed. Those who have survived the experience with me need enthusiastic thanking. Pride of place goes to Gogol, who read many, many versions of this, and politely indicated plotholes large enough to drive a truck through and places where there should be significantly fewer bears. Thanks also to Prodigy, who noticed that the opening was missing anything like an explanation of what was going on. Please, do not blame him if you feel that it is still missing that element. He really tried. And as always, thank you a thousand times to Sares, who I entirely betrayed by not making this (more) the immortal, semi-incestuous love story of Adiena and Evarda, banging on the corpses of all their enemies. And enormous, gold-plated thanks to both of the TWO people who agreed to illustrate this story, one of them twice-- the inimitable purlicue, who helped design the look and characters of the story, and the incredible Ferx, whose beautiful, beautiful art is on its pages. Everyone should high-five me, because I am, in fact, the luckiest.

The idea of a goddess of gates came from marinsco's fantastic interpretation of a result from the deity generator meme. Which I highly recommend. Arruén's quail preservation technique is real but for the life of me I can't find the recipe I used, so don't try that at home. Thanks to FFA for hashing out the color and material composition of Venadan's cadurrán set. Thank you, sincerely, to all the people online who have sexually experimented with olive oil, and could assess its functionality as lube.

To come up with the names for this fic, I had a lot of fun using Mark Rosenfelder's Sound Change Applier. The source words are mostly Hebrew or Arabic, with a couple of obvious Greek borrowings, subjected to a system of sound changes modeled roughly on the ones Latin went through to become Spanish. Plus some lazy respelling to make everything look right. The language has regular penultimate stress. (Venadan's name really ought to be Vénadan, but it was visually distracting.)

Here's the (I'm sure very implausible) sound change rules, if you want to play around with them yourself:

b/v/_
l[hbvlkgpynmʦsftdʃx']/\\/_
[pfkgh]l/ll/_
é/yé/_
ó/ué/_
h//#_
h//_#
h/'/_
ʦ/ss/_
f/h/_
p/f/_
v/ev/#_
yué/vé/_
'y/y/_
yy/i/_
t//_#
t/d/_
dʃ/z/_
a'//#_
s//_#
r/rr/_A
r/rr/_ué
r/rr/_yé
Ull/A/_#

V=aeiouáéíóú
U=aeiou
A=áéíóú
C=hbvlkgpynmʦsftdʃx'