Can I Get a Resurrection Stone?

So. I’ve taken my time in finishing the last HP. I found it to be some measure both of beautiful and exceedingly painful. Mostly, I loved how it portrayed and revealed people, important, interesting people, all to be… human. Full of unexpected integrity and unforseen failure. In that sense, it is possibly the most beautiful and honest book I’ve read.

And I’ve read quite a bunch.

But here’s the thing.

I know it’s incredibly selfish, but I’m in shock in two ways. The first is predictible. When I finish a really good book or series, I get like this, I get a little sad. This is why I love fanfic. With fic, the story is never over. I know yall can agree with me that there is joy in knowing that the story is never over, and furthermore, when you write it, it turns out as you wish.

The second is also predictible, though I had hoped it wouldn’t need to occur. I am sad because if feels as if a muse has died. Now, I have cycled through my share of personal muses, but they never really die – they just seem to fade out into the background. Shows get cancelled, I change fandoms, I change genres and writing styles, yes, but the muses can always be called on, tapped into. Muses don’t die.

But if feels rather like my Severus Snape muse, is in fact, dead. And quite frankly, I’m afraid to try to write him, just in case it’s true.

Well, that’s not entirely true. If anything, I think I could probably write angst. I’ve already been inspired to write a metafic where a happy Hermione and Sev get to comment on his fate – what would have happened if he’d had to kill Albus after all. (And what would have happened if Ron’s brothers gave him some tips on girls earlier on – I can imagine Sev not loving that either.)

Hmm. Perhaps if I do write some angst, it’ll help. Hmm.

Well, it’s going to be an interesting week. I’m only in the office one day – tomorrow, and it’s my 29th birthday. Then I’m off to a Stewardship conference. In Newark. ::shrugs:: I suppose it could be interesting. I figure I’m going to be spending my days knitting and attempting to absorb financial info, and my evenings writing sermons, doing tai chi, writing angst and missing my cat. I get back just in time for Sunday stuff.


It was a good day, honest.

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