I was talking about this the other day with Mandragora and Michaela de Bruce. It seems to me that my glory days on the web have passed, or perhaps that the glory days of the web have passed. I’m not sure which, but will happily sit in the twilight skipping stones on the black lake by the castle.
Now the Baroness Lesenvlk, I was Lady Neferset and the web did bow before my presence. My pages were listed in at least one place on “the best of the web.” Still are, although that list is a veritable dust bowl. I won an award for space postcards once. Twice, actually, but I lost the code for the second one in the great hard drive crash of ’98??? What’s the sense in that, I wonder?
Douglas Adams’s Starship Titanic Crew liked my web page once and claimed to have used it in games research. Now all is silence and cobwebs and the occassional intrepid soul who taps on the castle wall or raids the Dragon Con pictures. I don’t mind the silence. I keep saying that so it must be true.
I love my web tools. I can go in and find out what draws each and every one of you to my door. (And I do look.) I can see who is linked to my pages and where I get my click-thrus from. However, sometimes I enjoy just doing websearches for my identities, to see who is talking about me.
Torg. I’m still remembered there and archived although it has been years since I have contributed to the conversation. To them, I suppose I am an old gamer, getting ready to look back on 30. I’m surprise to see that I was still talked about for a time even after I stopped talking. A typographical error of mine is forever remembered on the faq file. My Egyptian Magic, which owed more to Allan’s proddings and interests than my own wishes is either used or not, lauded or villified. Or it was for a time after I left. The conversation continues without me, although I stop to listen now and again.
I think my Lady Neferset may have turned into a lieutenant of Dr. Mobius (to name one Torg rpg board). She would like that. She was always the wicked little bitch. Queen Bitch of the Infiniverse, I used to say. I miss her, perhaps more so because I have been editing Necropolis by Moonlight, but what’s dead is dead and nothing can bring her back.
And then there are my pages. There are very few links outside of Torg or Zag’s that talk about Neferset anymore. Poor demented shade. I did notice, however, that there exist one, perhaps two, intrepid spirits who have taken up her name on discussion boards. You have my blessing, all of you lovely Lady Nefersets. Grow and thrive, my children and inheritors of my name. But, throw a garland at my shrine now and again. I pray to Lord Osiris that you will read of my exploits and know me for myself.
To speak the name of the dead is to let him live again, to breath life unto him who has vanished.
Seriously, the book should be out by July. Buy it. You’ll like it. If you don’t, you have my permission to use it as a coaster, or perhaps weather proofing for really drafty windows. (Door stop? Something to even out the short leg of the table?) It’s called Necropolis by Moonlight and is coming from Alchemagery and Libellus. Astute readers will know that I and some erstwhile friends run Alchemagery and Libellus. Support us or we might have to stop one day.
I digress. Stand with me. Walk into the shadows with the Baroness. Glory in them. Study the patterns of the cobwebs. I know I do it all the time.
Anathandra–my lady, my pirate, glory of my imagination, stronger, better, and bolder than Neferset ever dreamed– she hopes to wake on printed pages soon and she shall. She sits with me in the candle light and waits. Wolf eyes are watching you.