(no subject)

[stormdog]

It took me until until the middle of last week to sit down and read The Glass Gear. Much as I wanted to, I didn't leap in as soon as I realized what was in that unassuming envelope. It had been a busy weekend, to say the least. Then, of course, it got be Monday, as weeks have a way of doing. Something is always going on during the week. A friend at the house on Monday. Writing Ebay copy for old computers on Tuesday. Dinner with parents on Wednesday. My evenings are too full of late, and story time kept running out in front of the avalanche, daring me to catch it.

But In the end, it worked out. Because by the time it got to be Thursday, I had an idea. "moiracoon," I asked, "the story that I've been squeeing about all week is not only steampunk, but it's a retelling of the Cinderella story. I know how much you love fairy tales. Would you like me to read it to you?"

And though she answered with an excited affirmation, that meant a delay until a meshing of both of our schedules could occur. For that, we had to wait until Saturday evening. And despite the fact that I was bouncing, occasionally literally, with the anticipation of exploring the newest of the myriad of wonderful worlds that the words of my favorite authors have brought me to, and had even taken the pretty sheaf of papers out of their envelope and proudly (and delicately) presented them to my friends to show them just how special this 'Omikuji project' that I'd been going on about was, I left the seal unbroken. That was for later.

And to be honest, the completist that I am, there were a few moments as I looked at the comfortably folded papers in my hand and thought of another short story by Cat; something she wrote for Invisible Games: a story called Killswitch. I am one of those silly, occasionally melancholic, souls who gets a little too tied to sacredness of object rather than sacredness of thought or action. There were a few moments when I found myself in a familiar internal debate; unfold the letter and devour its contents, or leave it untouched and pristine. Fortunately, the former idea won out, and in short order too. I'm far too devoted to the experiencing and sharing of these secret stories to let them lie still and unheard on a shelf.

Finally, the workweek faded into another few days of freedom. That Saturday night, I closed the blinds in the bedroom and drew the curtains across the entryway. I lit a few candles and made the bed. The room felt soft and warm. I nestled against my love, side to side under the covers, and slipped the cream-colored bundle out of its envelope. I'd never in my life opened up anything with a real, actual wax seal on it before. Slipping a thumbnail under the edge of the pages and sliding my hand slowly across to the middle of the packet has become a unique tactile memory that will be inextricably tied to these stories for me. The sibilant whisper of the wax circle pulling free of the paper will echo in my ears each time I open the words inside up to the light. And, the story thus opened up to me, I, in turn, let it out into my little corner of the world; I read it.

And beyond that, I can only offer a thank you to the author for a marvelous experience. I look forward to many more similar, but beautifully different, ones.

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A question for you others who are in on this wonderful secret. Where were you when you read the story for the first time? Were you alone? Have you shared it with family or friends? Just idle curiosity with an hour left before I can leave work today....