I'm reasonably introverted, and my first love was Miss Popularity. It was tough at times, yes, and I don't think she ever really knew how uncomfortable certain situations made me, but when it was just the two of us, it became the least important thing in the world. We compromised for each other, learned to live in each other's worlds, because it was so worth it to have each other.
Some nights we would go out to parties, some nights we would stay in and watch a box set. It worked. We were together for a reason, and our relative extrovertness was not one of them.
The original version of Playing By The Rules was around 14000 words. The edited version posted on Lush is just under 10000.
I think I have a combined 1 billion words in unfinished stories at the moment, if that counts...
I know just about enough German to score a few free beers from a friendly Bavarian, and to seriously offend an angry-looking barman and his girlfriend.
Other than that, just English. Always wanted to learn Ghàidhlig.
Expressing sincerity. Always sounds sarcastic. Has gotten me into bother more than once.
I have, in the past, gone out of my way to thank everyone who commented on my stories. I don't do that any more (not that I post a whole lot of stories any more).
Of course, I appreciate that people would read my work and comment on it, but as I see it, that's what this site is for. No one is doing me a favour by reading my story—that's why they are on this website (in theory). I certainly don't expect to be thanked by everyone whose story I read. If anything, I should be thanking them for providing the material for this website.
I might follow up an interesting comment by PM, or say thanks to a friend while chatting to them. What I've taken to doing recently is actually replying to comments people make on my stories (a relatively recent feature), but I don't feel obliged to do anything about any comment that someone makes. If someone feels upset that I don't acknowledge their comment then, from my point of view, they made it for the wrong reason.
Mine. Then she can go fuck herself.
The Energy Bus, by Jon Gordon
Outstanding read.