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Echo Bazaar: Journal for June 26, 1889

It is late that I begin my expanded journal. It’s time I poured my heart into some outside container, that I may retain levity within my own breast to accomplish my Heart’s Desire. Dire times, these are, I am sorry to say.

As my ship rocks back and forth, perhaps lost forever in the Unterzee, I have secluded myself for the time being in the captain’s cabin. Cramped it may be, but somehow I cannot quite stand the sight of the gang of ruffians I affectionately call my crew. Their eyes haunt me, and I wonder if I have led us all astray into lingering death with the meager stores this tramp of a steamer holds. I swear that next time, when I’m again in Fallen London proper, I shall invest (though long it may take) in a pleasure yacht for the comfort of my crew. They have earned some comfort, though it’s through my unearthly charisma that I’ve been able to hold things together.

My constant companion, a celebrated artist’s model whom I love dearly, has been keeping an eye out for any possible mutineers. My quite magnanimous nature, she says in our quiet moments in the cabin, may one day be the death of me. This is depressing to contemplate, though I’ve been known to be ruthless in seeking persuasive means to solving problems. She forgives my indiscretion in the past, particularly at the Dowager Empress’s Court… or, at least, I am given to believe this is so.

How I miss the comforts of my premises at the Bazaar (I shall never be too dry nor too warm again)! How I dream about setting my feet before the fire at the Parthenaeum, listening in on whispered secrets (a Gentleperson of Some Importance such as myself gathers quite a wealth of information on these little opportunities)! Never again shall I take these comforts for granted. Why, when I return, I may immerse myself in obtaining a library. A gentleperson as myself does have standards to keep.

I will note now, for future reference when I may look back upon these times and laugh ironically, the safest way to sail the Unterzee thus far: take opportunities when the sea is calm to move forwards. Learn which situations will lead towards land without being troubled by… the uncertainties of sailing forth across these dark waters. And never, at least until you are well within reach of land, pretend to know how to prowl these depths. Indeed, I wonder if in the future it may be possible that I gain knowledge with enough sailings such that I may forge my own way reliably, without waiting for guidance from Her Majesty’s fleet or for waters so calm that I can see the reflection of the cavey crags reflected below.

She is returning; I hear her footsteps, watchful as I am. You know, I once set out to become a detective, but discovered that I much prefer the social life. Considering my predilection, I wonder if I’ve made the right choice… but there is comfort to be had quite soon now.

Update: Vorkosigan Saga Was Never Fanfic

Someone decided I needed to be disabused of the notion that the Vorkosigan Saga was ever Star Trek fanfiction. Damien’s comment here.

I can still see the Star Trek influences in the first book, but I’m not sure whether that means I’m still insulting Bujold by saying that. :-( I never meant to insult her and am terribly sorry if I did so.

And these days I don’t think fanfiction is an indication of not being creative and incapable of being original—indeed, the rest of the original post was about how her creation ended up being different from Star Trek even in the first book.

But hey. I love her works as their own thing, and I don’t really care if they were ever fanfiction or not.

Thinking About Things Other Than Pink Elephants

It’s actually quite hard to do with intrusive memories. If you run across a smell that reminds you of, say, a memory closely related to that smell… are you able to block that memory out before it starts? And how soon are you able to forget it?

I often think of PTSD as being like trying not to think about a pink elephant when someone says, “Don’t think about pink elephants!”

I suppose this is the Stay-Puft Marshallow Man Principle.

Nevertheless, I tried rather hard this afternoon.

It did not work very well, actually, but it was fun.

New Post at Tor.com: My Favorite and Mostly Improper Items of Holmesiana: A Letter

Dear Fans of the new Sherlock Holmes movie:

Let me apologize on the behalf of older Sherlock Holmes fandom for the bits of it that have been generating get-off-my-lawn reboot wank, not five days after the release of the movie. The Sherlock Holmes fandom has thrived for over a hundred years and multiple generations, and every generation has its… special snowflakes.

But fortunately, every generation has also produced creative fandom work (though they may not see it that way), from the solidly analytical to the wondrously fanciful. I may not agree with all of them, or even remotely like some of them, but they all occupy a place in my heart, because there wouldn’t be a Sherlock Holmes fandom without constant re-interpretation of the works. Yes, even the fic pastiche where Moriarty is a vampire who falls madly in love with Holmes.1

I present to you the more amusing pieces of Holmesiana I’ve gathered throughout the years. I’ve strived for a varied collection here that is at the very least sometimes accessible, even if it knocks out some of my absolute favorites. Too much of the fandom is out of print; I hope that changes one day, so that reading all the ’ship wank doesn’t cost 500£.

[Love and adaptation: that's how legends survive.]

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