(no subject)

I need to create a tag for dad's cottage logs.

Most of you know that my dad has a little island not much bigger than a parking lot and roughly shaped like a ship with pine trees for masts, that he "and the banks bought" twenty years ago. Every summer he sends his friends "cottage logs," updates and thoughtful observations on life in the north country. This one is from this summer.

( Annie has been waiting, her temper one degree below the boiling point, for me to do something about the rusty old screens in the cooking porch windows. For twenty years. )

Website update.

Every now and then, no matter how busy you are, a story burns its way to the surface and demands to be written. Beware, the story is cruel. Pay close attention to the warnings.

The Stars Look Very Different Today. John, Rodney. PG-13.
This time, John followed orders and did the search and rescue later. "Oh, really? How's that working out for you?"

This is the fourth dark (or darker?) fic. The John-Screws-Up PWP Last Port Of Call, the Carson angst-filled episode tag to "Micheal," Compassion For The Enemy, and then the bittersweet follow-up to Auburn's slave-fic Seven Walls, Necromancy For The Living.