But I did post some other stuff. It's fascinating, what one finds when one goes combing through one's LJ for untitled stories and comment fic and leftover things I used to worry about people liking. I'm rolling my eyes at myself. It's a blue light special, everything must get posted, even that one Bradley/Colin fic I wrote and am...was... embarrassed by. (It doesn't have a title either, poor thing; I have to think of one by October 22 or it will vanish forever from drafts.)
Anyway, here's the stuff I did manage to make up titles for, hah! -
No Longer Bound To Rome - The Eagle, Marcus/Esca, 2,497 words.
Transparent - Merlin, the knights and Merlin, gen, 2,064 words.
Virtue - Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, 560 words.
Unexpected - Penny Dreadful, Dorian/Ethan, 602 words.
In other news, it's the most wonderful time of the year! No, I'm not talking about Yuletide, tho I guess that's okay too; I'm talking about PUMPKIN FLAVORED EVERYTHING OMG at Trader Joe's! I took my first baby steps in the New! Delightful! Pumpkiny Things! pool of treasures there today, and grabbed up some dark chocolate covered pumpkin spice granola topped with toasted pumpkin seeds, and oh yeah, it's as great as it sounds. Yaaaay pumpkin season!
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Eric Weiskott describes “the 13th-century revolution that made modern poetry possible” — namely, the change from alliterative verse (“the form of poetry used in Beowulf, Piers Plowman, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”) to the accentual-syllabic meters that underlie what we think of as traditional English verse, which began around the end of the 12th century. Weiskott gives as an example “the opening lines of the Ormulum, a very long religious tract composed by a monk named Orm”:
Thiss boc iss nemmnedd Orrmulum
forrthi þatt Orrm itt wrohhte
(‘This book is called Ormulum because Orm wrote it.’)
(Gotta love both the spelling and the impeccable reasoning.) I liked the apposite Pound quote (“To break the pentameter, that was the first heave”) and this interesting paragraph:
So if alliterative metre doesn’t measure stresses, syllables or even alliteration, what does it measure? Scholars have been debating the answer to this question since the 18th century. Current thinking is that alliterative metre measures a more abstract unit termed metrical position. A metrical position might contain one syllable, or it might contain more than one. Specifically, any number of adjacent unstressed syllables count together as a single metrical position. So, for example, the run of three unstressed syllables in the second half of the line from Piers Plowman, –e was the, is formally equivalent to the run of two unstressed syllables at the beginning of the line, in a. That’s right: a metre in which 1 + 1 = 3. In Beowulf, the rule is fairly simple: four metrical positions make a verse. By the time of Piers Plowman, the arrangement of positions had got more complicated.