Gracious.

[truepenny]

There are over 500 of you.

::waves to everybody::

Since I have to write a synopsis of The Mirador today, and since synopsis-writing is an activity which I both hate and am incredibly bad at, I'm going to issue an open invitation:

Tell me something about yourself.

It's an invitation, obviously--nothing even as strong as a request--so if you don't want to, no harm, no foul. But if you'd like to (and this applies as much to the people I know as the people I don't) ... tell me something. Make it as long or as short, as serious or as goofy as you want. If you are a reader who doesn't have a LiveJournal account, that's totally cool, too--just please remember to sign your comment.

Comments

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

Something about myself: I hate writing synopses.

No, wait! That's something about everybody who writes fiction! About myself, hmmm. I have a birthmark on my right wrist, a little squiggly brown mark, and when I was little I pretended that it was a map of the island where we were really from, and someday we would go back there and wade through the snow to retake our castle, which was made of light grey stone and had big fires burning in the hearths all the time.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Now, see, that's not fair. That's being born with an advantage, a whole fantasy novel right there on your wrist...

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

I keep thinking the snow and the fires are going to stay entirely out of some book I write someday.

I should stop thinking that, because even in the book that takes place above the Arctic Circle in June, they're implied.

[jonquil.livejournal.com]

Oooooh. I am immensely envious.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

Also, the freckles and moles on my legs are star maps. And the reason they're leg-shaped is that space is curved. And all sorts of interesting things would happen to me if only I got into the region of space my leg freckles describe.

I only think to tell people these things now because I have realized that not everybody had these childhood convictions.

When I was 4, it occurred to me to be profoundly sorry for black people, because they couldn't see their star maps, so how would they know how to navigate if the computer went out in their spaceships? Then when I was a little older, I met my first black person with freckles, and I was relieved: it was merely a personal limitation rather than an ethnic one.