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My personal communities:
Icons/graphics: ee_em_gee_icons
Fanfiction: eeemgee_fanfic
Original fiction: original_edith

My journals/accounts:
Livejournal: edith_margaret
Dreamwidth: [personal profile] edith_margaret_garrud
Fanfiction.net: [fanfiction.net profile] EdithMargaretGarrud
Archive of Our Own: [archiveofourown.org profile] Edith_Margaret_Garrud
FictionPress: the original edith

Femslash AU Fic Fest!

Come join us for a Femslash AU Fic Fest over at [community profile] girlgay! The more the merrier! (Or something...) There are already a tonne of great prompts for wide range of fandoms that I for one would love to see filled.

Two new comms

In an attempt to prevent my journals from descending into chaos as I become more involved with fandom, I have created two new communities for my own use. Introducing:

ee_em_gee_icons & eeemgee_fanfic

Please feel free to come and check them out. I appreciate comments, concrit, and randomness in all its forms. Lurkers are also welcome!

Van Gogh's Sunflowers

I've been steadily re-watching my way through New Who for two or three months now, starting with Rose, and today (late yesterday, rather - it's tomorrow now) I reached Vincent and the Doctor, which has always been a personal favourite of mine. I laugh, I cry, I think deep thoughts about life and death and sunflowers. Eleven's words to Amy near the end break me every time:

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things. But, vice versa - the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant."

Van Goghs Sunflowers for Amy

The Vagaries of the Human Mind

I am tired, and a little sore. Nothing of note particular note occurred today, and a have a blister forming on the instep of my left foot.

And yet, I feel happy, good about myself and about my life. Not to complain or anything - since clearly this is a positive thing - but WTF, brain?

A Sundial in a Grave

Once, a long time ago - years, though how many I know not - I came across a book in a library, entitled A Sundial in a Grave. I don't remember if I read it and liked it, or read it and disliked it, or if I did not read it at all. But that title has just come back to me, and I think that I shall have to find that book again, just for the dark poetry of that title.

"Do you always trust your first initial feeling / Special knowledge, holds true bears believing / I turned around and the water was closing all around / Like a glove, like the love that had finally, finally found me..."