Sienna

Hullo. What brings you thither, then and anon? Why do you stand afar, be you friend or foe?
 My apologies. The Writer has been reading The Lord of the Rings, and Tolkien has so deeply penetrated the way she's been thinking that it affects me, despite quoting incorrectly.
 Well, as the title indicates, my name is Sienna. The story behind that, while short, is not for telling unless a reader requests. For now, I will merely tell that I am an authoress (yes, I must insist on the ess) and that I am friends with Alex, who I believe has already introduced himself here.
 As to the real post. The title should have been "Happily Infuriated"; however, as this is my first time here, my name is more suitable. As such, I will leave the subject of being 'happily infuriated' for another time and possibly another person.
 I have been informed by the Writer that I spend too much time on formalities. So, I will do as a dear friend often tells me and, ah, 'loosen up'.
 Now that I'm free from talking like that, I can go ahead and say: the Writer reads too much.
 Whenever I'm not stuck waiting for another drabble to be read, I'm watching the pages of a book turn. As magical as that is, for someone like me, I'd like some writing to be done. Who's with me? ... Except I'm alone here. It's up to anyone who reads to decide whether or not the little people, peeking out from behind the daring strokes of letters, will be supported or cast down. It's up to them -you, really- whether or not we live.
 Be honest. If you're a writer, you know how it really works. You write what your characters do, and hope that they don't do it too fast for you to keep up. If that's not what's happening, then either you've imprisoned them too harshly or you have a writing style I've never seen before.
 Well.
 I'll be very honest: I did not expect my first post to look like that. Apparently, the Writer just let me talk and it filled up what's supposedly a 'quota' of length.
 Thank you very much, for reading and for ensuring that my little peeking self is really alive for awhile longer.

Faro Stelar

Hi there! My name's Faro Stelar, and there's a ghost behind your back. Oh, don't look, you couldn't see it if you wanted to.
 I was told that if I got a reaction to that, it would be funny. So far, not really.
 So... should I explain myself, or should I talk about blog-worthy things? The Writer says not the first one. Let's go with that then, shall we?
 I'm a character from the StarWars universe, sort of. (Long story.) The easiest way to explain is to assume everyone's a Whovian, except not everyone is and I'm not either. Basically... a popular belief (or theory) is that every major decision you make creates an alternate universe in which you chose something else. In my own universe, that's true- mostly. It does happen, and I have a few friends that somehow went to a few alternates. But (at least for me) it's not just major decisions, it's every single one, like whether or not a person blinks. Fun, right? No.
  I'm part of a race that I like to call "Travelers". Technically, I'm supposed to be the king of the Travelers, but I turned it down. Since that's who I'm supposed to be, I'm extra special- I can see all of the alternate universes. At once. It's like there are ghosts, people that are the result of different choices. Billions upon billions of them, but while I'm in a universe, I just see the ones that would be able to actually fit. I'm the only one who sees them, and it hurts.
 Well, the boring explanation is over with. At least now if I come back here, I can skip all that, right? Nobody likes to hear someone go on and on about something only they know about. That's a trait the Writer suffers from, a lot.
 But anyway. I can wrap this up pretty soon, since I'll be back. Hopefully that's a good thing, and not too many people don't like me?
 Either way, being free from the Writer (kind of) for the time it took to say, do or write this... it's fun. Anyone can say they like it when they're not being tormented... but really, it's fun. I enjoyed it. Can't wait to come back, if Sapph lets me.

Alex

Hi! It's good to see you. I'm Al
 Greetings, whoever thou might be. I am A
 Hey there, anyone reading! I
 Hello. My name's Alex.
 There! Glad I got the first line done. The Writer sure took long enough letting me in here.
 But... yeah, I'm Alex. No last name to tell. To explain that: I'm an orphan. Nobody knows who my parents were, or really how I ended up at the orphanage. (Friendly Meadows Orphanage, where weeds thrive.) The lady in charge is old and mean. I've always known my best friend, Steve, and his twin sister, Millie. He's afraid of bugs, she collects them- freckled redheads I couldn't live without.
 Classic, right? I know. I'm an author.
 But! I'm told this is a "blog" and it's not about me. So, if someone would just tell me what "blogs" are...
 (That was a good place to end a post, right? A nice little drop-off? ... And now I've ruined it.)
 Well, being an author I might not be a regular here. A horrible post is a post.
 Now to figure out how to get the Writer to let me stop talking.
  Oh there we go! ... I ruined it again didn't I? I did.

I have a blog!

 Hurrah! I have a blog!
 I'm "The Writer", the writer of this blog. Well. That much seems obvious. But these tales from the tank will, from here on out, not be mine. Am I making sense? No? Good. Oh well.
 But anyway, I'm the writer of the ones who will be writing the posts. They're my characters. Some of them know that, some of them don't, and some are half mine or less. (Co-authoring and fan-fictions.) They demanded that their voices be heard, and finally, this is the result. Maybe someday, readers will see these people between two covers, free on the pages. Until then... they -and you- will have to live with hearing tales from the tank.
 I suppose I should stop talking, shouldn't I, and let the characters in. But as this is the first post, it's mine. Mine, you hear me? Mine! Mwahahaha!
 And here ends my very first blog post.