And in the Aw, What The Hell category...

[darkemeralds]

Not long ago, I challenged ravurian to get a photograph of himself at his most fabulous, and I said I would do the same. While we wait for Mr. R...






I don't know whether this is the most flattering picture, but I liked it the best of all the ten zillion I took trying to get something I could bear. I think it speaks the most truth about me.

Honestly, I wouldn't have posted these three weeks ago. Things are converging, and I'm growing down into my real, actual, 55-year-old self, so I figure I might as well show my face around here.

Comments

[runcible_spoons]

I understand. I have long been disabused of the notion that I have any idea what authors look like in fandom. Or even how they are upon meeting. What ever my imaginings, I'm delighted to have your face in my mind and connected to that astonishing piece of work.

You are amazing and an inspiration to me and I thank you.

Also, you make me pine for Portlandia! I'm growing tired of the pace and lack of connection in the Land of Angels and I miss Powell's. So, thank you on several fronts.

[darkemeralds]

Let me know if you ever come for a visit. I would love to meet you.

[runcible_spoons]

And I would love to meet you.

I was just re-reading that essay written after the end of Restraint about AU's and RPF's and it occurred to me that while I would LOVE to see this as a film or mini-series, I think the comments are right, your novel would never survive the creation process.

But. But. I wanted you to know that the writing was so evocative, that I feel as though I have watched the mini-series. I feel the imagery and when I close my eyes, I can see Tristan in the flower of his manhood, just coming out into the garden at Ravensworth, smiling his unguarded smile at John. And John, returning it with just a bit or reserve and still, after the slow, honeyed weeks of summer, that blush on his cheeks of modesty.

I have been to England and to a number of those crumbled, older estates and I can feel the lush green of the English Summer, the thick aroma of roses and lavender that hangs in the air. That solid unchanging mass of stone and old glass that makes up the older manor houses. It's just a tiny stretch for me to place John in those gardens. To have Tristan swing down from his horse and breathlessly call across the garden wall.

So you see, you've done a remarkable job of making this happen for all of us readers. How you have affected me, how deeply I was moved by Restraint, is difficult for me to textually render. I keep saying thank you because that is our culturally approved way of showing gratitude. But what I feel is deeper and more turbulent than mere gratitude. Restraint changed me.

And that is a rare gift.

I apologize for my lengthy reply. You are a remarkable human being.

[darkemeralds]

I've been wanting to come back to this comment. It brought tears to my eyes. Still does, a day later. Your description of your own images of John and Tristan are like little added scenes, things I didn't imagine myself, beautiful and rich in their own right. I can't conceive of a more gratifying response to a piece of writing than to learn how much richness it evoked in the reader's mind and heart.

what I feel is deeper and more turbulent than mere gratitude. Restraint changed me.

Oddly enough, me too. I don't think I'll ever be completely at peace with it. The writing of it was as turbulent and emotional for me as the reading of it seems to have been for you. There's something deeply gratifying in learning that what you felt is so similar to what I felt. It means that by some miracle, the writing--the words themselves--didn't obscure the heart of the story.

Thank you so much for writing what you've written here. It means a great deal to me.