Author has written 6 stories for Sherlock, and Sherlock Holmes.
Some people like coffee. Some people like tea. I like fics of over 2000 words in which John and Sherlock joyfully and explicitly go at it. Extra points for scintillating dialogue. Yes, begging counts.
ART, TRANSLATIONS, AND PODFIC
I have huge respect for artists and translators. My policy on translation is that if you're 18 or over, and you want to translate something, I'd be delighted. Please send me a link, and I'll post it. My policy on artists is that I will build a shrine to them in the front yard.
Book jacket. My alien character, Ut, is a "sentient column of thick, golden soup with geometric shapes where the noodles should be." Ut is based on a mini-lava lamp I got at a conference. I love it.
Control, Alt, Delete
Note: Story contains adult themes, and so do drawings.
Kindle Cover by a talented friend who wishes to remain eponymous.
BANTER 'R' US
Conversation with my husband, September 7th, 2011:
Mirith: I don't understand why all I can write is porn.
Mr. Mirth: Well, it's a function of your inputs.
Mirth: Wait, wait. Are you saying that we spend so much time going at it that all my inputs are cock? That I no longer have any knowledge of anything else? Because that's fantastic.
Mr. Mirith (blushing furiously): No, I'm saying people write what they read, and you read a lot of porn.
QED: My husband is the greatest.
More astonishing commentary from my husband, October 28th, 2011:
I am sitting on the couch writing Chapter 11. My dog looks at me with her eyebrows drawn together, mainly because I am showing no signs of heading upstairs for the nightly session of dog snuggling.
Mr. Mirith sees her concerned look. "Don't worry, Sophie," he counsels. "Your mother is just preparing for take off. She will be piloting a rocket ship made of dreams and friendship and porn."
A scene from my continuing lunacy, November 10th, 2011:
I ask Mr. Mirith to leave the bedroom because it's midnight and he wants to inspect his iPad and it's flooding the room with light. (Did I mention I'm an insomniac and hyper-vigiliant? If a bird coughs, six blocks away, I'm ON IT.) So he trundles off to the computer room, and I go to sleep.
Hours later, I'm dreaming from the point of view of John Watson. (Yeah, I know: dreaming in the third person. Weird.) In the real world, my husband comes back and opens the door to the bedroom. I hear it creak and wake up. And as I'm surfacing from sleep, I hear my Watson brain saying, very clearly:
"God damn it, Sherlock! Are you still up? COME TO BED."
It was especially funny because Watson!me was with Sherlock in the dream, so when he realized that it had only been a dream, and his flatmate was still tromping around, he was annoyed. Or to view it from another perspective, I noticed I had been dreaming, but didn't notice that I was not John Watson, and I stayed in character (sweary, combative, mated, mostly monosyllabic) upon waking up. Hoo boy.
Re: "Cold Snap," December 17th, 2011
Christmas morning, 2011, as Mr. Mirith and I are cooking in the kitchen:
Me: So I want to write some mpreg.
Mr. Mirith: OK.
Me: Er, no, I mean a story set in an mpreg universe. Neither John nor Sherlock will actually be pregnant.
Mr. Mirith (laughing): Wait, no. That's just silly.
Me: Huh? No, it's not.
Mr. Mirith: Yeah, it is. Why put them in an mpreg universe if neither of them is going to be knocked up? One of them should be knocked up.
Me: OK, it's Christmas morning and you're arguing that I need to get either John or Sherlock pregnant. This is the best argument of all time. Can we put this on pause for now and start it up again once the fifteen guests get here? Because I just want to see their faces when this shit goes down.
Mr. Mirith: Yes, all right.
We may have slapped each other five after this. No, we definitely slapped each other five.