tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81763522012-02-12T21:12:55.472-05:00Facts are few, stories many... (If you want facts, see <a href="http://salomebehindthescenes.blogspot.com">Salome Behind the Scenes</a>.)Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.comBlogger1341100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-56806213140125001082011-03-21T16:54:00.005-04:002011-04-01T18:20:01.862-04:00

After more than six years since I began to write Private Dance, I've decided to publish it as an e-book series. Each edition will be edited and additional material will be added. Because my writing has improved so much in the past six years, expect a much more polished, complete story. Even though it's only an e-book, I'm pretty excited about having it out there. The first installment should be

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-13077466542580613532011-03-10T15:21:00.004-05:002011-03-12T12:39:25.769-05:00

It struck me the moment I saw him. We had gone a bit mad with our grief over Gabriel's disappearance. Death, whispered a little voice in the back of my mind. Gabriel is dead.I tucked my chin and blinked at M. Montiere from the corners of my eyes. Surely he would recognize me. At least he would know I was not Umay. Once I had seen Umay and M. Montiere standing a few feet apart on the edge of the

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-56217980067414529492010-04-17T20:38:00.002-04:002010-04-17T21:57:43.976-04:00

"Hold still, Salomé." Zera's fingers tugged at the laces of the corset--Umay's corset--a full size smaller than the ones I normally wore. "Can you still breathe?""Barely." The corset's iron grip on my ribcage squeezed my voice down to a whisper."Good," Zera said. Then she cackled like an old hen."Oh, you wait. I will someday find a way to get you back." I muttered and then spent a full minute

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-32704087221555234492010-03-03T10:23:00.005-05:002010-03-14T20:32:10.886-04:00

It was Zera who came up with the idea, though Umay and I both agreed to it almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth."Umay, how much time did you spend with Juliette de Lorca?" she said.From the end of the divan, Umay answered. "Only a few minutes. We were standing at the edge of the ballroom, in a crowd of women.""Do you think she would recognize you if she saw you again?" Zera's fingers

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-3228563044418675152010-02-27T22:05:00.005-05:002010-02-28T20:13:39.306-05:00

"You actually met her?" Zera leaned forward under the blankets."Yes. We were at court together, one of the dances that M. Montiere invited me to attend." Umay looked like a child in her white night snift, her eyes enormous in the dim light and her full lips pouty. "She's a lovely person, though...""Though what, aziza?" I asked. It was hard to read her face in the near-darkness."Nothing. It's

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-33548332975131036392010-02-06T18:38:00.010-05:002011-03-10T16:04:42.844-05:00

Zera smoothed one eyebrow with her index finger and stared up into the darkness."You know," she hesitated before sontinuing, "I didn't want to say anything, but I had the same feeling.""You did?" I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, Zera. Tell me what made you think so.""I'm not sure," she said. "That's why I didn't mention it. I thought perhaps it was just how impossible it seemed that someone

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-74133227512057147692010-01-31T22:36:00.006-05:002010-01-31T23:32:05.035-05:00

I lay in bed alone that night, staring up at the ceiling. To my surprise, I didn't cry. Though I'd wept in the garden with Marie and Zera, it had been more at seeing them cry, at feeling their sadness. Now I wondered at my lack of tears.Perhaps it was unbelievable to me. So many nights I'd spent alone in this same bed, knowing that in a day or two or ten, Gabriel would be with me again. Perhaps

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-14881614576357417482010-01-21T23:01:00.003-05:002010-01-21T23:42:31.717-05:00

"How did you find us?" I asked Marie. We were sitting in the salon, cups of tea perched primly on our knees. Zera was with us. Umay had come down from her room to hover the doorway from the kitchen, her eyes huge and her face a shade paler than usual."Gabriel talked about you." Her expression was grim but she had stopped crying. She looked as if all the tears had been drained out of her and she

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-79774472865769381992010-01-12T16:05:00.005-05:002010-01-17T23:27:49.083-05:00

Gabriel worked hard to win us all back to his cause, bringing us roses and chocolates, a beautiful hand mirror for Zera and a locket for Umay. He spent hours lavishing me with foot massages, braiding my hair, and when I would let him get close enough, kissing trails of kisses from the top of my head to the bottom of... however far he got before I stopped him. My fear began to dissipate. Even Zera

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-60134052727752828712010-01-06T22:16:00.001-05:002010-01-06T22:18:36.189-05:00

"What do you mean, he's not wounded!" Zera howled, half getting up from where she sat. She glared at me and twisted her neck to show her outrage to Umay before turning it back on me. "He showed me his body. He swore to me that he would never hurt Umay." The s in swore caught itself between my teeth and gave off a little whistle. "I believe him." "So you're calling Umay a liar," Zera snorted. "

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-89210003171296311082009-12-16T20:53:00.004-05:002010-01-06T21:40:42.005-05:00

"Salome!" Gabriel moved toward me, staring into my eyes as if asking my permission. I turned my face away but he kept coming. "Salome, look at me." He made his voice low and sweet as after we slept tangled together for half the night. It was like a soft summer rain that chased away the plaguing heat of the longest months of summer, the sort of sound your soul itself longs for. I resisted him as

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-70097242485369639522009-12-15T12:49:00.004-05:002009-12-15T12:53:25.067-05:00

The reason given for the historical Salome's popularity as a subject of paintings is that it presents the opportunity to paint scantily clad women and exotic scenery.I suppose Gustave Moreau thought so. Here is his rendition.

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-18989084528950309882009-12-13T13:41:00.005-05:002009-12-13T13:53:27.203-05:00

The Biblical Salomé has been the subject of much art and writing. I'm going to start showing it to you here. I'm getting just a little tired of people saying, "Who?" when I mention Oscar Wilde. Oscar Fucking Wilde, people! (Sorry. Maybe I just know about Oscar Wilde because he wrote the play about the woman whose name I bear, but really... Oscar Wilde. Like Shakespeare, he's one of those

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-39131404995006252842009-12-12T18:14:00.002-05:002009-12-12T18:16:16.258-05:00

I've started a new blog to record progress on my new project and keep it separate from the story that I'm telling here. You can find it at Salome Behind the Scenes.I'll keep writing here, but please check in there for news and updates.

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-44020010694308510642009-12-11T10:36:00.003-05:002009-12-11T11:01:08.259-05:00

I've spent a lot of time talking about the past here, and I'll continue to do that. The past is what makes us who we are, after all. But so does the future. Dreams and hopes and plans shape our lives and characters as much as what we've already done.I watched Man on Wire a couple of nights ago. It's a documentary about a French tightrope walker who did what seemed impossible. He strung a wire

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-30868874827504609532009-12-10T15:31:00.003-05:002009-12-10T16:15:49.203-05:00

When his carriage pulled up outside ten days later, Zera, Umay and I were in the salon drinking tea. Zera slipped her arm protectively around Umay's shoulders and I got up and stood between them and the front door."Bon jour, mes filles!" Gabriel called to us as he stepped inside. He seemed surprised to see us all there, looking at him expectantly. "Bon jour," I said in a low voice. Umay and Zera

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-73892131507812303242009-12-10T15:19:00.002-05:002009-12-10T15:30:36.169-05:00

There are moments when, looking back, I think I could have, should have done things differently. I suppose everyone has those feelings at times, whether they're 300 years old or not. I am in the fortunate position of getting to try over and over again. Imagine starting new every ten years or so, in your twenties all over again.I am on the brink of starting new now, fresh with a new passion, a new

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-31869728084172718822009-12-09T11:27:00.002-05:002009-12-09T11:32:10.057-05:00

What can I say? It's taken me a while to come around to the idea of letting everyone have access to my Facebook account. But... okay. Let's do this thing. Find and friend me on Facebook at my email address: salome.jones@gmail.com. There is actually more than one Salome Jones on Facebook. (Imagine!) Write me a note in French and I'll almost definitely let you in. You'll know it's me because right

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-78252093561255484672009-12-08T15:08:00.004-05:002009-12-08T15:28:42.977-05:00

I stumbled onto Paulo Coehlo's blog today. While I can't say I agree with everything he says, I do love this quote, and live by its guidance whenever I can."Yes, a person can stand for the rest of his days facing one of the many doors he should go through, but he must understand that he has only truly lived up to that point. He may continue to breathe, walk, sleep and eat – but with less and less

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-37160622256285370442009-12-04T23:51:00.004-05:002009-12-05T10:43:31.847-05:00

Zera crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at me. She was tougher than I was in those days. It should have been hard for me to ignore her words, but I couldn't leave Gabriel, not knowing if he was dead or alive. In fact, I didn't want to leave at all, but I kept silent about that for the moment.I had a sudden realization. "Umay, Gabriel was here in this room when it happened?""Yes," she

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-5372748441817980782009-12-03T20:25:00.011-05:002009-12-08T15:45:32.847-05:00

Umay and Zera and I spent long days doing almost exactly what we wanted, with a bit of tidying thrown in. I had started writing by then--yes, even in those early days! It was not a thing that women did or thought to do, but it called me and I felt compelled to answer. Umay liked to paint and we would take Zera and go out into the fields of lavender, throw down a blanket and sit and talk and

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-43106835780441796882009-07-09T01:38:00.001-04:002009-07-09T13:57:10.657-04:00

In July the first of three incidents occurred.I was standing in the kitchen looking out the window at the fields of lavender that grew wild in the countryside. I was thinking about how lovely it would be to raise children here. I could almost hear their shrieks of delight as they chased each other--there would be two boys and a girl, I imagined--through the sweet-smelling flowers. They would come

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-36538310678794489282009-06-11T09:29:00.002-04:002009-06-11T09:30:02.526-04:00

We were in Paris, non?As you may recall, I was living in a little apartment with my sister Umay and my best friend Zera. The year was 1698 and I was just beginning to wonder if there was something strange about my aging process. I was twenty-two and people were beginning to think I was younger than my eighteen year-old sister.But life was good for us three girls. We had more freedom than most

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-82818958119129743932009-06-04T15:08:00.002-04:002009-06-04T15:20:14.665-04:00

I've spent the past couple of days doing a little work here, cleaning up old links, fixing typos, getting rid of useless information.And now I'm hoping to start writing the story of my whole, long life again. I may re-post a couple of old parts, just to remind everyone of what I was writing about. Other changesI'm connecting the Naughty Bits section and listing it in my profile. Now that blogger

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1157590706085871992006-09-06T20:34:00.000-04:002007-02-11T21:21:22.004-05:00

In the past few days, I have discovered something about myself and my personal style. I suppose I must always have known this about myself, but something that someone else revealed to me this week brought it home to me in a way it has never been brought home before.In a few conversations about sex with a girlfriend recently, she revealed to me that she liked guys to go down on her, but that she

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1150677663159290782006-06-18T20:36:00.001-04:002009-06-04T15:07:36.630-04:00

For the past two days I've been writing things that I can't post. It's frustrating to me not to be able to share everything with you who come back time and again to find nothing new. Things that may be published, I can't post here. Things that are being considered by those who I would prefer did not discover my blog, I can't post here. I ask for suggestions of how I might share these things with

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1150426239609407542006-06-15T22:37:00.000-04:002006-06-15T22:53:26.286-04:00

why can't Salome write every day?I have been issued a challenge by a friend who shall remain nameless.I have to write something here every day. Hopefully it will sometimes be story related.So here is my writing for today.Street SceneOn weekdays now that the weather is warm I walk most everywhere. The place that I walk most often is a university campus. The central part of the campus is like a

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1148511627268930332006-05-24T18:29:00.000-04:002006-05-24T19:00:27.356-04:00

Even as I work my way through all the story posts I've given you so far, I find myself constantly comparing life in the 18th century to modern life. If you look at it simply as a matter of history, of course it seems much different. We did not have electricity or running water (or at least not the way we have it now). There were no modern conveyances. All travel was by horse or horse drawn

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1147314767895088092006-05-10T22:27:00.000-04:002006-05-14T20:15:55.370-04:00

Well, I've been linking bits of story together again. This time, I decided to put the sections in story order. When I wrote some of these sections originally, I wrote them out of order, as they appealed to me. But as I'm linking them up, I realize that there's no good reason I can think of why I shouldn't put them in the order that they happened. So now Deflowering comes after Induction. It's

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1147027651570343782006-05-07T14:45:00.000-04:002006-05-07T14:47:31.583-04:00

Umay and ZeraTwo Actresses Jean Baptiste Santerre

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1146835140129149192006-05-05T09:14:00.000-04:002006-05-05T09:19:00.130-04:00

I've linked up to Induction, which is the part I reposted just a few days ago. It's fun rereading the old stuff. But does anyone have any ideas about how I can make it easier for people to start wherever they left off? I guess if you know the name of the post you leave off with, and the date, you will now be able to just go back there and click the "Next Story Post" button at the bottom. That's

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1146752267785085372006-05-04T10:13:00.000-04:002006-05-04T10:28:14.376-04:00

At Kati's request (she has some pull as my longest standing, most frequent reader), I am putting a link over on the sidebar called "Chapter 1".I will then go into all the story posts and put a link at the bottom of each to the next story post. This will skip over all the non-story posts, so if you want those you will have to go back into the archives. In some ways, every post is a story post,

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1146701697944243812006-05-03T20:03:00.000-04:002006-05-03T20:52:05.893-04:00

"Salomé! Umay!" Gabriel's voice rang through the flat. He opened the French doors to the bedroom with great energy."Mais qu'est-ce qu'il y a?" I asked, my brows knit together. "What is it?""I have made you famous. Get dressed. We must go out."Umay and I looked at each other. "And what about Zera?" Umay demanded. She still had the insistent, sweetly petulant tone of a child. "Haven't you made her

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1146666855812227352006-05-03T10:29:00.000-04:002006-05-03T10:36:54.180-04:00

I have just posted the conclusion of the scene I reposted a few days ago, originally entitled Induction. The new post is entitled Petite Voyeuse-Induction II. For those of you who have not yet visited the Naughty Bits site, I can only repeat my warning that ... well... obviously, it's where all the Naughty Bits are. Please don't go there if you will be shocked by descriptions of ... naughty

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1130768073941574692005-10-31T08:53:00.000-05:002005-10-31T09:14:37.706-05:00

It's coming. I can no longer deny it. The leaves are changing colors and falling all over the grass. There's frost outside in the morning and the plants int he flower bed have gurned black and shriveled up.It's dark earlier and earlier and it doesn't get warmer than 60F anymore. Winter and I are not good friends.I try to think of winter in the pagan way: a time of renewal in which the new year,

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1109710455883418122005-10-11T23:08:00.000-04:002005-10-11T23:15:18.913-04:00

"...not a sound. But when I looked back, there you were in a heap on the ground."We were having Turkish coffee in the salon, dressed in loose abayas and slippers. Umay had her head resting on my thigh where I sat between her and Zera."I thought you were dead at first," Zera continued in Turkish. "I was panic-striken. I tied Sufiye to a tree and ran back for you. You were unconscious, but

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1128650371816798702005-10-06T21:50:00.001-04:002009-06-02T23:06:13.951-04:00

I've been working on a post, which, while completely in French, I still decided to put on the Naughty Bits blog. For those who aren't familiar with this, whenever I think that some readers might be offended by a part of the story due to sexual content, I put it on a separate site. So if you won't be offended by sexual content, you can read it and if you will, then at least you won't be

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1128475609037198602005-10-04T20:43:00.001-04:002009-06-02T23:12:34.721-04:00

It was spring. Umay and I were storlling down the Champs Elysees, the main street of Paris, arm in arm, sharing a parasol. Coming toward us, we saw a couple wiht a small boy walking between them. The woman was impeccably dressed, definitely French. You could always tell French women by the way they held their mouths. She was pretty, pale and somewhat fragile looking with dark eyes and rouged

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1127350868451345822005-09-21T20:56:00.000-04:002005-09-21T21:01:08.453-04:00

Here is the funniest way that anyone has so far found my site. A search on Dogpile for the following sentence: i've been on fire since you put that thing on meJust as a followup to yesterday.Oh, and tonight, I was in the Starbuck's partking lot. I had to crawl under my car to see if something was wrong with my muffler. When I got up, three guys walking by pointed out that my keys were on the

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1127271568881475302005-09-20T22:43:00.001-04:002005-09-21T20:56:24.496-04:00

Frustration. I am a curious person by nature, so periodically I look in detail at info that my site collects about visitors. If this makes you nervous, it shouldn't. And that's the same reason why I find it frustrating. Because I am never satisfied with what I can learn from those statistics. I learn something like, someone visited my site from some government agency server, either in the US or

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1123360986395816112005-09-14T22:00:00.000-04:002005-09-14T21:58:02.206-04:00

Tonight I'm in the mood to talk about Gabriel. It's funny the things I reminisce about when thinking of him. If he were alive today, he would be the French Mick Jagger, only younger. He would be a rock star or a movie star who was constantly in the tabloids.But in the 18th century, there were no tabloids. Only gossip spread by word of mouth. And Gabriel was the subject of a lot of gossip. For one

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1123361218161792102005-09-08T21:44:00.000-04:002005-09-08T21:24:15.373-04:00

It was 1702. I was about to make an entrance, dressed in a sapphire blue velvet dress with a rose colored petticoat, the front of which was covered in satin roses. I made a practice of refusing to wear the powdered wigs that were becoming de rigeur in Paris society, and my own hair had been divided into two parts, one of which was pulled into a chignon on my head and entwined with strands of

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1125721252327562032005-09-03T01:09:00.000-04:002005-09-03T00:58:40.630-04:00

Greetings from the 21st century. It's been a long, hot summer. The very best kind. I apologize for leaving you in the lurch. It's kind of like TV, the whole end fo the season thing. Writer's block or--call it what you will... I was out recharging my batteries in 12 hours a day of summer sun. So now I'm ready to begin again. I think. I hope.I'm pleased to see that you've been reading while I was

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1108228822842710192005-02-12T12:12:00.000-05:002005-02-12T12:20:22.843-05:00

So it's been a while. Hi. How is everyone? It's weird how time is. I feel like I'm swimming in it, or drowning in it. There's a lot of it. I mean, I'm 328 years old. And I feel like I'm constantly looking at time in slow motion. I feel it passing.It's almost like being on a high speed train, and being able to see everything as if it's frame by frame. I suspect that most other people don't see it

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1106688808239536512005-01-25T15:54:00.000-05:002005-01-25T16:33:28.240-05:00

Well, I just wanted to post something. It takes a certain state of mind to write about the past. It's hard to recount with any sort of luminosity, events that happened more than 300 years ago. I like telling the story, but it reminds me of things, makes me wish for things that were. I guess though that today I found out that I may only live to be 340 or so, because a report came out saying that

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1106186917513198672005-01-19T21:10:00.000-05:002005-01-19T21:08:37.513-05:00

I'd like to give you all a chance to have some input into which part of the story I tell next, so I am offering you some choices. Let me know what you would be most intersted in reading about, and I will try to fulfill your requests. The obvious choices: 1. Zera's story about what happened the night we were captrued, and where she was taken when we were separated. 2. The story of how Umay was

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1106018867124455182005-01-17T23:59:00.000-05:002005-01-18T00:07:51.460-05:00

Later that night, after Zera and Umay had gone to sleep exhausted by their travels, I went back to my bedroom. I felt as if I were glowing from the inside out. I was still wearing the blue velvet frockcoat and breeches, only now I had relaxed into it and felt as if my body belonged in it. Images and bits of conversation from the evening flashed through my head and feelings through my heart and

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105934577136541812005-01-16T23:05:00.000-05:002005-01-16T23:02:57.136-05:00

I found it difficult not to lose the male posture as I entered the salon. There was something about wearing such elegant clothes... No, it was more than that. The fact that they were men's clothes, yet they had been designed and sewn specifically to fit my body, was strangely erotic and intoxicating. It was also because they were a gift from Gabriel, and because I knew that he had been thinking

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105843142182939482005-01-15T23:00:00.000-05:002005-01-16T12:23:36.900-05:00

It was a week after my birthday (my real birthday and not the one it says on my modern birth certificate). April in Paris was delicious in every way. It was 1702. My birthday had been unbelievably joyous, for reasons that I will share with you in due time. But this day, Gabriel told me that he had another present for me. "Really?" I asked. "I feel like I don't need anything else." "To be

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105502039182547822005-01-15T19:12:00.000-05:002005-01-16T12:21:24.780-05:00

"I've been thinking," Gabriel told me one day shortly after I had revealed the story of my escape from the harem. Some kind of fantasy was dancing behind his eyes, I could tell. "What have you been thinking?" I asked. "I've been thinking about you--" "Really? What a surprise." I flashed him a smile. "Something you said the other day. About wearing boy's clothes." I felt a little stunned by

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105757701146799002005-01-14T21:51:00.000-05:002005-01-14T21:55:01.153-05:00

I know it sounds lame, but my cable connection is down. I am writing to you from a very slow dial up connection. Hopefully, tomorrow morning this will be fixed when the cable modem repair person comes here at 7 am. (Oh joy! Nothing like a 7 am weekend morning.) So I have been dilegently working on the next post and I hope you will like it. Should I tease you with the beginning of it now? Well,

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105592531145295502005-01-12T23:59:00.000-05:002005-01-13T00:02:11.146-05:00

I'm halfway through a new story post, but things keep interfering with completing it. But it is on its way, so check back soon.

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105490460682712282005-01-11T19:29:00.000-05:002005-01-11T20:06:52.890-05:00

This is just a tehcnical note. I've been aware for a long time that it's very hard to navigate the archives. I found a partial fix for this. Now when you click on one of the archived months on the right sidebar menu, you will get a list below the archive links that shows all the names of the posts for that month. If you want to read them in order, you will have to work your way up from the bottom

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105413343528174252005-01-10T22:55:00.000-05:002005-01-10T22:50:39.106-05:00

Actually this post is about questions I have recently been asked by readers. Specifically, I was asked to compare Alexei and Gabriel in bed. This made me laugh a little, but I am willing to answer it. I was also asked to talk about what I wanted, when I became aware of my own desires. I still want to make it so tht anyone who doesn't want to read fairly graphic sex can skip this parts without

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105329660170576682005-01-09T22:00:00.000-05:002005-01-09T23:01:00.170-05:00

I had come this far in telling Gabriel the story. I wanted to tell him the rest, to let it out of my head and my heart. In a way, in telling it to him, I was telling it to myself, allowing myself to remember. "I could still hear them," I continued. "They were making a lot of noise in the underbrush. Then I heard Zera's voice." She was swearing in Turkish, saying all kinds of curse words that I

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105230104142157572005-01-08T21:10:00.000-05:002005-01-08T21:09:48.133-05:00

"I was frozen. I wanted to flee, but it was as if I were paralyzed. I tried to scream, but only the smallest noise came from my throat. And who would have come anyway? Two men stood above me. I could see them well enough in the moonlight. They were dressed as hunters or merchants, in tall boots and wool vests and hats. They wore swords. They were gibbering at me in harsh voices, words I could

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1105154908370549012005-01-07T22:40:00.000-05:002005-01-07T22:38:36.576-05:00

How can I best explain the magic of Gabriel? There are so many things, it's hard to know where to begin. When in doubt, I like to begin with the first amazing moment. I have been telling you this story for months, telling it to you in the way it occurred to me.There are parts of it that I repressed for periods of time. Those parts I left out as I told the story to you the first time. I told

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1104985242654576602005-01-05T23:23:00.000-05:002005-01-05T23:20:42.653-05:00

It was summer. I was wearing nothing but a corset and a slip. I sat on the bed, my knees tucked up under my chin. Gabriel, barechested, was lying back on the bed, his head next to my hips, so that I could look down at his face. He was telling me about a new play he was writing. I listened to him with rapt attention, watching his face. He got so animated when he talked about his work, yet he was

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1104959413310777822005-01-05T16:15:00.000-05:002005-01-05T16:10:13.310-05:00

Well, here I am. At long last. Can you believe it? I haven't written since December 15th. I have a very weird excuse. I've become addicted to exercise. A good friend of mine went away recently, and to get him out of my head, I've begun to exercise like a mad woman. I have two exercise balls and it seems like I am constantly on one of them. Pilates on the ball is totally addictive. So I know I

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1103126484796197322004-12-15T17:39:00.000-05:002004-12-15T22:13:28.166-05:00

It's so strange how when you look back at time in your mind, and think of when you first met someone, you realize at once how you cannot see into the future at all, and how you can sense what is coming in some vague, amorphous way. Do you know what I mean? Think about your partner, your best friend, someone who you met randomly and who became very important to you. Remember when you first met,

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1102567667242843102004-12-08T22:44:00.000-05:002004-12-08T23:47:47.243-05:00

Not far from the banks of the Seine, there was a boarding house for young ladies in what was once an abbey. The architecture reminded me of the convent, but the keeper of the house, Madame de Graffigny, was very unlike the mother superior. She had put flowers in the main room and a salt cellar on the table. She served two meals a day, which, while they were not fancy, were better than what many

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1102045531481013272004-12-02T22:53:00.000-05:002004-12-02T22:45:31.480-05:00

I confess now that I did something both illegal and immoral as I fled the convent. I suppose I should feel more remorse for it, and I do feel some remorse, but, to be honest, not that much. The mother superior was very frugal or better put, meanly stingy with the convent's money. She would barely let the sisters have salt for their food. Young novices made to scrub floors and do manual labor

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1101784492281810452004-11-29T23:38:00.000-05:002004-11-29T23:34:55.846-05:00

Of all the cities I have ever seen, none can compare to Paris before the Revolution. For sheer decadence, even this land that I now call my home cannot compare. For disparity between rich and poor, again, none can compare. For outrageous demands of fashion, for delicious cuisine, albeit impossible to get unless you were among the elite, for magnificent architecture... Paris in the 1700s is

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1101262054926781492004-11-23T21:00:00.000-05:002004-11-23T21:07:34.926-05:00

A break from the story for a moment... I stole this from MN's blog who stole it from someone else's blog (and I forgot to copy that part, so I can't tell you who, but you can go there and find out.) I'd like everyone who reads this to do the following (please!)" (A) First, recommend to me: 1. a movie 2. a book 3. a musical artist, song, or album (B) I want everyone who reads this to ask me

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1101174598758643732004-11-22T20:14:00.000-05:002004-11-22T20:49:58.756-05:00

It's funny how we tend to think that when we can't see anyone, no one can see us. I was hiding myself under a carriage, waiting until the coast was clear so that I could duck out and get away. I had escaped from the convent. It was so much easier in France, where women could be seen in public, where it wasn't necessary to cover one's face. I'll share the details of my escape with you later. It

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1101172463357554092004-11-22T20:09:00.000-05:002004-11-22T20:14:23.356-05:00

Tonight, for once, I am listening to music while I write. I usually find it too distracting, but I am in a ... I don't know what to call it. A different mood than usual. I have been listening over and over to this album, and this particular song is inspiring me right now. Well, I want to tell you all about something that is really the reason why I loved France so much. I mean, France was great

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1100827091605284562004-11-18T19:54:00.000-05:002004-11-22T22:46:01.343-05:00

OK, a few days ago I ended a story post with the sentence, "The world disappeared." Here is what happened after that. Of all the people who could have rescued me, I would never have expected Lisette. (Actually, I would not have expected anhone except Alexei.) She had come to Alexei's house for our French lesson, and Natalya and Ivan told her what had happened. She worked for a very wealthy

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1100457304345968262004-11-14T13:19:00.000-05:002004-11-14T13:43:47.850-05:00

Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I'm in a bit of a funk. But on the other hand, I feel great. I'm on some kind of mood rollercoaster. I don't know what my deal is. So I have hardly written for a week, or more. Well, I have been working on my novel. Want to know a little about it? Go to the NaNoWriMo website and do an author search for the pen name of Salome Jones. I was asked

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1099964567714551512004-11-08T20:49:00.000-05:002004-11-08T20:42:47.713-05:00

Perhaps you won't be surprised when I tell you that soldiers came to Alexei's house to question me a few days after the doctor's visit. I, on the other hand, was very surprised. Where was Alexei Sergeivich? When had he left? What was his purpose? On what money was the house running? Where had I come from? They also questioned Natalya and Ivan, and in the end, they arrested me. They arrested me

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1099628006124757712004-11-04T23:20:00.000-05:002004-11-05T00:04:56.176-05:00

I have spent the past three days in a surreal fog. I had a horrible nightmare that millions of people voted to give over their freedoms and elected a religious despot to the White House. One who would ignore the cries of the people for an end to killing, for jobs with wages they could live on without too much suffering. One who would use issues such as gay marriage and abortion to persuade people

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1099367445961577402004-11-01T22:54:00.000-05:002004-11-01T22:50:45.960-05:00

When the doctor came to see me, he immediately asked after Alexei. "I had a letter from him over a month ago. To be honest, I am worried about him, but I have no way of contacting him." "Where has he gone?" the doctor asked. I hesitated briefly. "I don't know," I admitted. "You don't know?" The doctor sounded as if he didn't believe me. "On business is all he told me. With Nikolai Osipovich

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1099105988528842652004-10-29T23:21:00.000-04:002006-07-07T13:33:58.023-04:00

I was thinking today that I haven't really talked about what Russia was like in comparison to Turkey. What did I see when I crossed the border? First, I should say that Turkey, as the seat of the Ottoman Sultan, was at its peak of development. I mean to say that the Ottoman Empire at that time was more sophisticated in many ways than much of Europe. it's true that we had a different culture, but

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1098924667621399782004-10-27T20:26:00.000-04:002004-10-27T20:51:07.623-04:00

Alexei and Nikolai Osipovich left very early the next morning. I creid when Alexei left. I couldn't help myself. He was really my best friend, though I spent much of the day alone when he was on a worksite. Still he usually came home to eat at midday and we spent nearly every evening together. I missed my reading lessons from him. I still struggled with reading Russian and I depended on him to

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1098762526845619952004-10-25T23:55:00.000-04:002004-10-25T23:48:46.846-04:00

Two things happened the next day. First the doctor came to see me. Alexei wanted to stay while he examined me, but the doctor wouldn't let him. He examined me, all the while keeping quiet. When he was finished, he asked, "When is the last time you had your monthly?" It was so vague, I might not have known what he was asking if Alexei hadn't already pointed it out to me. "I'm not sure," I

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1098669460074605802004-10-24T22:03:00.000-04:002004-10-24T21:57:40.073-04:00

Well, I was bad this weekend. Or... I was busy. Well, actually, I was both busy and bad. Weekends fly by somehow. If I hadn't lived so long, I would probably be saying, is this what my whole life is going to be like? But I know it won't, because it hasn't. But still, I needed a weekend off of something, and the only thing I could take off seemed to be writing. But I will write again. Actually, I

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1098405592157347522004-10-21T20:46:00.000-04:002004-10-21T20:39:52.156-04:00

I have already told you that I have never had a child. So it might not surprise you when I say that I did not believe that I was pregnant. But Alexei did. As long as he believed that I was pregnant, it was very difficult to talk to him about anything else. "Alexei, if I am pregnant, and I don't want you to get your hopes up, because I don't think I am, then it's especially importnat that we

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1098235715261049222004-10-20T22:03:00.000-04:002004-10-21T11:44:38.366-04:00

Nikolai Osipovich stayed with us for all of two days. It was almost unbearable. I begged off of eating with Alexei and his guest. The thought of it took my appetite away. I could not get the picture out of my head of those big hands holding Zera down while the other man in my dream hunched over her like a horrible goat. Instead I spent most of the two days alone in my room. Natalya Valaskova

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1098153186350368222004-10-18T22:39:00.000-04:002004-10-18T22:33:06.350-04:00

I admit it. Yahoo Messenger kept me away from writing tonight. Now I remember why I don't turn it on. But I did have a very nice chat with a famous blogger, so it was not all bad. Note to Kati: I'll get to what happened to Zera soon. By the week's end, I predict. Note to MN: Teeth fetish?

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1098055195843862902004-10-17T22:39:00.000-04:002004-10-17T22:35:14.780-04:00

It was three days after Pascha when the visitor arrived. Things were already feeling a little strained at home. I couldn't say why, but Alexei was withdrawn and seemed anxious. I blamed myself. The dreams came almost every night now, and I had not slept well in over a week. It was a vicious cycle. Each night the dream evolved, becoming more vivid, more violent. I would wake from it unable to

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097880757710858862004-10-15T18:52:00.000-04:002004-10-15T18:59:27.360-04:00

I thought there would be two more posts, but I managed to combine them into one. I have a little bit of a cold so my voice is not the best. I also goofed toward the end and started laughting, but I left it in because if I were telling it to you in person, I wouldn't be able to erase your memory. Anyway, this is the rest of it, and then I won't plague you with spoken word stuff anymore.

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097796484421797062004-10-14T19:34:00.000-04:002004-10-14T20:08:10.940-04:00

Pascha is the day when the Christ rose after he was crucified. When Alexei explained this to me, I was surprised and somewhat horrified. I don't think I had ever considered the possibility of crucifixion. The Turks beheaded those they killed. It was not pretty, but it was quick and said to be painless when done with a sharp sword. Knowing about crucifixion was a transitional point for me. In the

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097693987295269382004-10-14T08:55:00.000-04:002004-10-14T08:44:31.836-04:00

and before books (and even after books, but when most people couldn't yet read), we told stories. My father used to tell stories and recite poems that had been passed down through the oral tradition, never written down. In fact, the religious history of Islam was passed down strictly through an oral tradition for a long time. The Prophet Muhammed himself was unable to read or write. So I love

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097638116681914062004-10-12T23:28:00.000-04:002004-10-13T00:23:57.046-04:00

This is part IV. You know what that means, right? There are two more parts, but I really need to go to bed now. Bet you don't listen to them all anyway! I love this story, but then I'm 327.

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097637844706778942004-10-12T23:24:00.000-04:002004-10-13T00:20:43.433-04:00

Be sure to listen to parts I and II first!

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097637773055859312004-10-12T23:22:00.000-04:002004-10-13T00:12:50.306-04:00

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097637140495131502004-10-12T23:12:00.000-04:002004-10-13T00:11:47.326-04:00

As promised long ago, the story of Mihailo Kazarin, part I.

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097640426706756672004-10-12T12:13:00.000-04:002004-10-13T00:07:06.706-04:00

As far as I can tell, the AudioBlogger site is down. This means that the post I just put up is not working. I assume that once AudioBlogger's site comes up again, it will function. It did a little while ago. I have recorded the story in several parts, just to make it easier and faster to load than the whole big thing. Also, it's easier for me in case I screw up. (Yes, there was a lot of

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097550738190027302004-10-11T23:15:00.000-04:002004-10-11T23:13:04.453-04:00

Well, I just signed up for an audioblogger account. So now I'm hoping to record a story better told than read. I have to think carefully about which one and practice a bit first, but hopefully by the weekend I will be ready, so get ready to listen! I'm supposed to be watching the Daily Show right now, because everyone should watch the Daily Show. So I better go. I've been working on the

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097460323604641212004-10-10T23:59:00.000-04:002004-10-11T00:07:19.940-04:00

Winter in Moscva had been so much colder than in ¨Ystanbul. I had never seen snow before that first winter in Russia. It was beautiful, but unbearably cold. I remember standing in front of Alexei's house at night, the snow sparkling beautifully in the moonlight. It was magical the first time. The trees were bare, crusted white silhouettes. The roofs were trimmed in icicles. Smoke rising from the

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097374618428366582004-10-09T22:23:00.000-04:002004-10-17T22:28:19.450-04:00

In the spring, Alexei told me that soon we would soon have a visitor. He'd had a letter, he said. "Who is it?" I asked. "Traders." It was a vague enough answer that it made me wonder. "When will they arrive?" "In a fortnight," Alexei said. He took a sip of vodka. Most evenings he drank vodka. I could not get used to the taste, and as Muslims were forbidden to drink alcohol, I still

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097292529495583872004-10-08T21:19:00.000-04:002004-10-08T23:28:49.496-04:00

Well, things have settled down now and I hope to be back to my regular writing schedule starting this weekend. So look forward to more of the story, including some new erotica in the near future. I just want to say that some people have expressed doubt that this is a true story. I assure you, it's all true. You are learning about what I haven't been able to tell for the past 300 years. The

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1097090232785252832004-10-06T14:55:00.000-04:002004-10-06T15:23:54.156-04:00

I thought it might be time to give you all the links again, so tht those who are just reading won't have to do what Kati did and crawl back through the archives. So here we go. Start with From the Beginning, which has links to the early part of the story. After you finish those, then: Three Days of Freedom The Third Day Slip Knot Transition to the Depths of Despair The Way Willing

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096944970742433552004-10-06T09:34:00.000-04:002004-10-06T09:28:38.286-04:00

"Alexei?" "Hmmm?" "I want to tell you something." "What is it, my love?" His voice was husky. We were in bed, naked. I was lying in the crook of his arm, my head resting on his shoulder. His fingers caressed ever so lightly my right nipple. "I want to tell you everything." Alexei smiled. "Must you tell me right now?" He ran his hand down my belly, stopping an inch or two below my navel. I

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096857181318818882004-10-03T22:57:00.000-04:002004-10-04T16:00:28.766-04:00

In the early days, as I was learning to read, there were no Russian novels. There were only collected short tales, like Barlaam and Josephat. Most stories were still passed down by the oral tradition. Alexei borrowed books from the library of the RUssian Orthodox church. This was not commonly done, but he had worked on some renovations in the church, and as a reward, they let him borrow books.

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096722384895058282004-10-02T23:45:00.000-04:002004-10-03T08:38:36.806-04:00

"Shall I stop now?" asked Alexei. "No, please! Tell me the rest," I pleaded. "What will you give me?" He was getting that look on his face. "For half a story?" I pulled the blankets up to my chin. "Nothing! For a whole story, I would give you untold treasures." He smiled and said, "Prince Josephat returned to the palace. For a night and a day and a night, he pondered what the woman who had

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096652906979565372004-10-01T13:18:00.000-04:002004-10-01T13:48:26.980-04:00

What is it about us? For more than three hundred years, I have struggled with the sadness of knowing and loving people who have left this world, and me in it. Yet, somehow I cannot seem to give up the desire to socialize. There is something about looking at the world through someone else's eyes, knowing their passions, vicariously experiencing what they experience. Sometimes there is something

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096512872308411262004-09-30T23:50:00.000-04:002004-09-30T23:44:19.763-04:00

"Long ago in a kingdom far away, there was a king," Alexei began. "Does it say that in your book?" I asked, giggling. Alexei turned over as if to go back to sleep. "No, no, please forgive me! Go on, go on. Please!" I kissed his shoulder. It was just after dawn, and the pink sky showed through our one tiny dimpled glass window, the first glass window I had ever seen. Alexei pretended to

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096554034593057652004-09-30T10:13:00.000-04:002004-09-30T10:20:34.593-04:00

I've had some questions about the calendar. I found a really good article about the history of the calendar that explains many different calendars, both historical and ethnic or religious. It's here for anyone who is interested. This next week is going to be really hectic. I hope I will be able to write everyday, but I'm giving you fair warning that I might not. A week from tomorrow, things

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096513280235214372004-09-29T22:54:00.000-04:002004-09-29T23:01:20.236-04:00

I'm writing down the story of Barlaam and Josephat as told to me by Alexei Sergeivich. It's a good story. It's taking me a while to write. In the meantime, is there anything you are really waiting to find out?

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8176352.post-1096380090116645142004-09-28T21:47:00.000-04:002004-09-29T16:23:37.160-04:00

I had never spent a whole night in bed with a man before knowing Alexei. I had my own room in his house with my own little bed. Some nights I slept in it all night alone, but other times Alexei would creep into my room late at night. For the first few months, he would come for sex and then sneak away again, but over time, more and more, we would awaken in the morning fitted together like

Saloméhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990481399752644759noreply@blogger.com0