So, I just thought I should let you know that my brain exploded today. As some of you know, I finished the story I've been writing for the past couple months for Grace, and she recieved it today. She randomly made the comment, "it made me wonder though, if Evelyn isn't the tree spirit...or the spirit of the wildflowers," and later, "I was just thinking the cottage seemed so incongruous.... Evelyn really lives under the tree." (and I am told, in response to asking if I should change it, "for future stories; you can't really edit this one. it's mine." Which is very very true.) [laughs happily]

Well, the reason that this caused my brain to explode is this: I realized that most of the story worlds I've used recently (i.e. in the past 4-6 years) that, for one reason or another, I could not "finalize", are linked together by this very idea. If this Evelyn, who represents loosely the dream-Grace and therefore involves the dream world and all its stories, is a plant spirit (think dryad, but not quite), then this connects her to the story of the flower-girl I wrote for my correspondence class a billion years ago, which is connected thematically to the rescue short-story I wrote that was based upon the characters mimic-boy and mute-girl (they don't have names), which were created through my experimenting with "drabbles", or scenes written using exactly 100 words, which I was stringing together into a plot-map until discouraged by a site-administrator, and mimic-boy will eventually grow up to become Wyn, while mute-girl will grow up to become a sidhe princess, which connects her to the Changeling world in which I started a story; and, the green watcher, for whom I have not given a complete storyline much less any intention beyond the fulfillment of the reason he personified, becomes Evelyn's father, and is a God-figure in the world in which "Searching for The Rabbit" is set. The only thing not connected is the garden world, which is an epic of its own and cannot be confused with this other. I came to tears realizing that the epic I knew I would write freshman year of highschool, that I lost to memory because I would not commit the atrocity of writing before I had the skill to do it justice, is back.

If all that I just said makes no sense to you, then understand this: I am a writer, first and foremost, and this has proven it to me beyond any doubt brought on because of my dance habits. And it has filled me with more joy and purpose than anything else in months. To anyone who cares for me, when you see me, ask how my writing is progressing. Because I would let the world fall to ruin and all the people in it die horrible flaming deaths if I could write this book and be happy with it. [laughs] which, luckily, you don't have to worry about, because it will take forever to write, in stages as I've been doing, forming the nodes that will create the net, and there is almost zero possibility of my being completely happy with it, because I'm never completely happy with anything I write. And I get distracted too easily to commit myself entirely to a hermetic lifestyle. [laughs again] Ok, I need sleep. So do you, so go away, blogger!