I think novel endings are a little like nailing the landing on a gymnastics routine or a figure skating jump. That is, the ending totally depends on the beginning and the middle, and if there are any problems in the beginning and middle, they’re going to turn into an obvious wobble by the end. So you look at the end and you say, “How can I fix that wobble?”–but you can’t fix it by fixing the ending. You have to trace it back to where it started and fix it there.

For a present to myself for finishing a draft of my alt-1920s-Asia fantasy, Sparks & Ashes, I got myself a little order of perfume from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. BPAL has gone mainstream enough now to advertise in Shoujo Beat, but I discovered them a couple of years ago, when it seemed like everyone on Livejournal discovered them at once. They’ve got scents based on gods and demons, characters out of Lewis Carroll and Neil Gaiman and H.P. Lovecraft, plants, cities– in this order I got “The Bow and Crown of Conquest” (that’s from Revelation), “Les Infortunes De La Vertu” (that’s from de Sade–I didn’t pick all of these myself, they give you some freebies at random!), “Season of Ghosts,” “Loup Garou,” “March Hare”…

One of the things that’s alluring about BPAL is that it gives you a way to define your identity. Lots of people glom onto a signature scent, but it takes a special genius to repackage this so that you can wear something inspired by a literary reference you love, or a favorite character from Shakespeare.

I was thinking just now about how I used to be into that sort of thing to, I guess, a much greater extent than I am now. I was interested in making icons for my Livejournal. Figuring out web page designs. Designing avatars to use on forums. Playing dress-up with online paper dolls.

Teenagers get criticized all the time for using material objects to assert their personalities or their identities. And, for sure, I think it’s important to watch out for the ways that marketers use that desire to get you to buy stuff. But it’s not that there’s anything wrong with the desire itself. You want to say, “This is who I am,” but saying “This is who I am” feels very naked and scary. So you gather totems to prop it up. You say who you are by the perfume that you buy, and the way you trick out your MySpace page or your blog. And they provide their own kind of strength.

I think maybe I’m old enough that I’m used to who I am. Maybe that’s why I’m less invested in these external markers of identity than I used to be. Also, I’m probably more alert to the artifice of choosing just one picture or quote to represent oneself. But it can still be fun to experiment.

I smell like sage/lavender/leather, by the way. It’s a weird but somehow alluring combination.