I'm thinking this

[roxy]

I'm going to move all my old spn stories here because it's so pretty! It looks so nice and fresh here! Plus, if I lose my mind and delete everything on LJ, I'll still have this! I know--genius! *beams*. Plus some of those old stories are pretty good, if I might tootle my own horn, and the higher word limit here will make them look better.

It's kind of cozy here, right?

Comments

[roxy]

Oh my gosh, thank *you* for writing it!!

Is it getting more lively? I'll definitely have to poke around. :)

[darkemeralds]

Several of my LJ friends have started shifting operations here, and I'm finding interesting new comms to join. My first big step in the shift was to set up the "Other Sites" option in My Account Settings so that everything I post here automatically cross-posts to LiveJournal. Now I post here exclusively, though a lot of people still comment on LJ.

But Just in the last week or so, comments and participation here at DW have gone up for me. I recommend the crossposting option. It's easy and painless.

The nice thing about DW--besides its lack of LJ douchiness and it's wealth of great features, is that it feels shiny and new, and yet, unlike when I was totally new to LJ, I know how to use it, and I have friends, and I'm more at home.

Okay, back to chapter 29. Here's a snippet just for fun:

John was forced to pause in his otherwise vigorous walk to allow the passage first of a troop of the King's Guard, then of a pair of fine coaches, before he could cross from Great Cumberland Place into Park Lane, and as he stood waiting, a curious sensation overcame him. For a moment everything about him seemed to slow, and grow quiet. The thundering of the horses' hooves, the call of the sergeant of the guard, the rumble of the carriages' wheels, the crack of the coachman's whip, all faded from John's hearing, and he stood silent and still, as if in a daze. Someone jostled his shoulder in stepping out into the road, but he scarcely noticed. I am changed, he thought, and nobody knows it. He could not have put into words what he felt, but an image came into his mind: all of London receding, flying away from him in every direction with a great rushing sound and a blur of faded colour, as he stood on this street corner, still and vivid, golden and warm and as full of sweetness as a pear on a summer bough, truly alive for the first time in his life. A cord of fire tugged at his heart, and at its other end was Tristan. It did not matter whether Tristan was a mile away in Half Moon Street or a world away; in that long, resonating moment, John thought it would not matter whether Tristan was in this world at all; he would still feel that cord.

The sounds of the city crashed over him like a sudden wave upon a rocky shore, and he shook his head to clear it. Even before the exhilaration of that vision began to fade, he felt a pang of sorrow, for what gave that colour, that succulence and round fullness to his life must remain forever hidden, unspoken, and celebrated only in dark and secret places, and he did not know if he could bear it.

[roxy]

ohmy, I swear, it's so beautiful and vivid I feel like I'm there. I don't know what it is about the way you write but it touches something in me that so few writers can. I adore that description. I adore John. You really make me happy. *contented sigh*

[darkemeralds]

:D :D :D