Two Fannish Notes
*watches as 90% of flist looks up*
As many of you probably know by now, I have finished the Silmarillion Writers' Guild archive. It's still kind of unbelievable that it's finished. nelyo and I started kicking around the idea of a website almost two years ago, back when I thought it would never be possible to have an archive where people could upload their own stories and I figured I'd have to code and upload them all by hand. Research and guidance by some of the amazing people who are members of SWG have allowed us to realize our greatest hopes, though, and now we have an archive to call our own!
So I'd like to invite other Tolkien fans to check out our site and consider putting their stories there. Or just to squee one more time that this project is finally finished!
The SWG Archive!
Secondly, the very talented hrymfaxe has done a drawing for my novel Another Man's Cage!
Here's the scene, for those of you who have read AMC:
Thoughts whirl through my head like thousands of tiny birds, as I descend the stairs and head for the music room. I am nearly fifteen minutes late by now, but I know that Findekáno will be patiently waiting. He would sit and wait all night, would I forget and leave him there, unlike Tyelkormo, who would wait perhaps a minute for me before running out the back door to do what he pleased in the forest.And those of you with foresight can probably figure that, since the song was inspired by Nelyo, Findekáno will later sing it again, under much different circumstances.
As I near the music room, the gentle sound of harp music being played by insecure hands winds down the hall. The melody shifts and changes, as though the player is unsure of what sounds best. I am about to plunge into the music room—apologies ripe on my lips—when the music twists one last time, and the simple beauty of the melody seizes my heart and makes me press against the wall beside the door, a gasp stuck in my throat and my eyes squeezed shut, listening.
Findekáno raises his voice in song, and the words on his lips are tenuous but beautiful. If he were to sing with all of his spirit, the music would be unbearable, I think. I do not recognize the lyrics and wonder if they are also of his devising. I let the music paint a picture in my mind: a forest, with the wind high in the trees, green leaves afire with light, and inexplicable love racing through my veins with every beat, inspiring me to courage I never dreamed I had.
When the notes at last falter and die, I am reluctant to open my eyes, reluctant to allow reality to seize my heart again. Findekáno’s timid voice whispers through my head like a dream: This gift is not mine to keep. I know not from where it came.
I open my eyes and step into the music room.
Though even if you haven't read AMC, go look at the drawing! It's beautiful!