Love’s language lost

Words. Love ‘em. Why don’t we keep more words? English is good at words, keeping hoards and scraps and tidbits of vocabulary gleaned or borrowed or outright stolen from everywhere else.

Just ran across this one, while skimming excerpts of Beowulf in Old English: unbliðe. It’s translated as “joyless”, but I think that it would translate more literally and, I feel, poetically, to “unblithe”.

It tastes good on the tongue. Unblithe, with a soft, drawn out ‘th’ sound to lengthen the word and make it gentler, more intensely sorrowful.

Why didn’t we keep that one, I wonder?

 

In brief–

Mad ego: JUSTIFIED. Moar later.

 

It counts, dammit!

My first professional sale is the very definition of a baby step, but by God, it counts!

The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities:Exhibits, Oddities, Images, and Stories from Top Authors and Artists contains work by a multiplicity of writers and artists, many of whom are very firmly in that circle of professional creators to which I have aspired to belong for as long as I can remember reading.

I’m in there. My name is in that book, printed in black and white between two hard covers, included in the same volume as Tad Williams, China Mieville and Michael Moorcock. And while my miniature contribution is easily overlooked, it’s in there, and it counts.

It feels… proper. Right, as in: correct. It’s where my name is supposed to be.

So sometime in the relatively near future, my name will be a little bigger, a little more prominent, closer to the front. It’ll be included in the list used to draw readers in and promote sales. It will be one that other writers, early in their careers just as I am now, point to and say “holy shit, I’m in a book with her!” It’ll be a name that, when readers see it, translates in their minds to “there are words in there, put together in an order that will draw me in and make me enjoy myself thoroughly for a while”!

I can’t wait.

Mad ego? Probably. Can you blame me? :3

 

Better now.

What that up there said. Mostly. A little?

Okay, I’m ready to consider the possibility that maybe at some point in the not-terribly-distant future I might be less incoherently upset with myself.

If– and this is a huge if, mind– I can go the fuck to sleep Jesus I need to sleep.

Dear brain: SHUT UP AND SHUT DOWN FOR THE NIGHT or we will no longer be friends. :|

 

Empty head, empty everything

Why the hell am I so dog-fuckingly stupid? I couldn’t make a decent decision if my life depended on it and I still, still keep deluding myself with the idea that everything is going to be okay, if I can just hold on a little while longer, everything will get sorted out and when the dust has all settled, I’ll come out at least marginally on top.

If there is anything the last couple of years have taught me, it’s that this philosophy is a huge, steaming pile of bullshit. I am a loser and I will always be a fucking loser, and every time I try to get ahead, I will always come in second.

Why the fuck do I bother?

 

O hapi dae!

Not bad for off the cuff. Moohahaha.

 

Afterthought:

Aforementioned story has found a comfy home at Circlet Press, lovingly taken in by editor J. Williams. Brief acceptance commentary made me preen; am pleased and proud.

So it looks like my career shall begin in what we shall coyly term explicit romance. If anyone’s startled by this, the line forms to the left; take a number. I doubt they’ll hit double digits.

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to bed I go.