Title: The Least Among Us
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."
Word Count: 4394
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not really theirs either, though.
Spoilers: Through Reichenbach

Note: It's been a hella long time since I've posted fic and this is my first (perhaps only) in this fandom. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed thinking it.

( The Least Among Us )

Apparently there is some QAF US nostalgia still lurking on the interwebs, because I've received a few off-LJ inquiries about my fics, recently.

I purged LJ for RL reasons, planning to archive stories elsewhere when I got "a round to-it," but I subsequently suffered a catastrophic hardware failure. A friend has possession of that hard-drive, and may, someday, be able to retrieve some of those old exercises. If that happens, then I will follow through on that plan.

In the meantime, I did happen to save the two longest stories (Medley and The Adventures of Stickman and Blob) to an archive, back in the day. Those may be read at http://qaf-fic.com/atp/viewuser.php?uid=468

(I'm still pretty happy with Stickman and Blob. Huh. Who woulda thunk?)

Anyway, if anyone happened to save any of my stories, in any fandom, please send me a copy. I'll promptly post on An Archive of Our Own and put links in the comments of this post.

I have this photo on my drive and I don't know where I got it! I would like to attribute the artist, and/or get permission for semi-commercial use. Do you recognize it? Can you steer me true?

Meet Maraca, our foster cat.



We call her Maraca, because when she shakes her head, she rattles.


Something bad happened to Maraca, but she's doing much better now.


Maraca is sooper kewt. Gross.

So NaNoWriMo is going very well. I'm worried. It's only day three, but I'm already at that place where I want to show everyone, say "look what I made!" like I'm bringing home a Christmas ornament made of green paper, dry pasta, and gold paint.

I know me, and over the years I've become the sort of person who chokes at feedback. I'm proud of myself for being consistent, for writing past my minimum word count. And I'm also pretty proud of the story. I like it. I'm entertaining myself, although I'm aware that I'm almost 6100 words in and nothing more exciting than breakfast has happened.

I'm okay with that. I am actually excited by it. There is a tremendous freedom in long fiction. I don't have to get directly to the point. I don't need a lede, to keep it crisp and snappy. I can stretch my vocabulary, explore character and motivation in lovingly microscopic detail. I had forgotten this, as I always do when the writing gets hard.

Maybe I needed to take such a long break. Perhaps I needed to grow up and calm down, a little. Whatever the reason, I am so glad I committed to writing a novel this year. This feels right.

Apparently, my columns are Isaac Asimov, but my NaNoWriMo novel is




Hmph.

3561 words. Day two. I rock. I can *do* this! (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...)