Entries tagged with ..(auth)or..

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: "Testify" :: Common

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..(auth)or..,
smp

SMP lives!

Iiiii mostly finished my book last week. I say "mostly" because I wrote a character study for one of the two main characters and wound up saying "Actually, this explains a lot" (because I don't understand what character studies are, evidently) and jammed it into the book between section one and two. I need to do the same thing for the other main character and put that between sections two and three. But since it doesn't have any impact on the main plot, I was able to keep writing that (slowly) and so now all I have left is N's story. The book is out to one reader already; I'm going to write N's bit, then do a really stern edit, and then send it to two other people. After that, I will edit it again and then collect a favour from a professional editor of my acquaintance, then try finding an agent or a publisher for it, apparently.

in the middle of all that, I also need to start the next book, because this wound up being a duology. (Look, it could either be a duology, or it could be A Feast For Crows, which is a lot harder to sell.) Which is hysterical, because it's probably going to be about 100-110K with N's story, so I'm hoping that for everything I cut for being garbage I will be able to add better things, like dialogue and motivation. I'm constantly bemused by the fact I think it's really pretty good and at the same time there are all these dropped plot hooks and oh my god it's practically just a really really detailed plot outline. But it has taken a lot of years to get to the point I thought I could write it, I wrote it, I rewrote it repeatedly and started over like four times, and now I think it has pretty much passed its first major milestone.

Which is pretty cool, tbh.

Current Music: "Everything Reminds Me Of Her" :: Elliot Smith

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(no subject)

I want a vodka tonic. I do not, however, think that my throat will put up with this plan, so I'm settling for tea. I hate that lack-of-sleep generally-shitty feeling, and I also hate the feeling you get after a nap; I feel like I'm not so much thinking as herding cats into a pillowcase.

So have some self-indulgent thinking!

Writing: I'm stuck on everything. I really want to write that bandslash fic that I first-lined when I did that meme, and not least of all because both

apiphile and

cupiscent have an interest: I cannot think of two people I would more like to make happy, and frankly I'm incredibly flattered by their interest in this story. However, I'm concerned that if I don't have an outline, I'm going to get where I got with The Dead Letters, where it was, quite seriously, in the last 10,000 words of the 180,000 that I realised what, exactly, the point of that book was.

I think that's actually part of why I'm stalling on editing TDL, actually. I have all these words, man, have you ever looked at words? And when I go through and edit, I will have to take some out. Since, essentially, there are four chapters that just over what the previous four chapters went over because I was writing in a holding pattern, trying to figure out what happened next, I feel like "editing" is synonymous with "cutting", and not with "making better". And bear in mind, the last book I remember editing is The Book From Hell, which caused my semi-nervous-breakdown last spring. Even though I KNOW I edited other things before I was laid off, that book will always loom in my memory because of the sheer and utter work it took to get it done. It was so fucking hard that I can't even articulate that, even now. And it is fresh like yesterday, too.

So I feel like I need to have an outline because otherwise I get way off track, and not in some awesome "The plot should be this!" kind of way, but in some "now boarding the Tangent Train on platform two" kind of way. And I can't even cope with the thought of the editing process. I'm not seeing that as a chance to take raw words and make them into what they really need to be - adding the style to the substance, I suppose - so much as seeing it as a way of REALLY seeing what's wrong with anything I write and cutting hours and hours of work out and tossing it in the bin. And I can't cope with that for some reason.

In a note of irony, I don't even think it's the relative quality of the stories that are killing me - certainly when I was looking for a segment of TDL to meme, I flipped through the Word file and was actually pleasantly surprised that I could face looking at it again. It didn't instantly turn to crap the second I got some distance on it, so there's that.

The other part of it is, man, I love me some sociopaths. I play sociopaths when I rp, I write sociopaths, I love the idea. Probably I wouldn't love the reality, but then again, reality has very little to do with my literary kinks. But! I know I've essentially written exactly what the fuck I wrote in that segment of fic that I memed before. And I feel like if I'm going to write, it has to be different - obviously, it doesn't have to be completely different, but I should avoid using the same freaking lines over and over again. The fact that I remember using the "hands busy" line probably means I actually used it ten times over the last few years in an rp context and just don't remember all the instances.

So I feel like I'm not doing anything new, at least for me, and I'm not sure how to MAKE it new for me. I'm sure people into bondage get really tired of it the fifty seventh time they tie someone up in kinbaku. I think that's a lot of where I'm stuck, even beyond the outline/editing issue: if I want to rehash things, I can just toss Phantosmia back up here and let y'all read that and send me emails explaining that I'm a terrible person. *g*

The OTHER part of it is intimidation, I think. I mean, there are three words of dialogue in the scene I have written, and I feel like at least one of them is out of character. Since I am happy to critique other people, both fic authors and professional ones, for being out of character, I feel like I really, really, really have to have that character voice in my head from jump street; otherwise, there's no point in writing what will eventually be horrifically ooc if I'm allowed to continue. I mean, there are plenty of other people writing stuff that's ooc, but a) I'm able to recognise that I am not, thus far, IN character, and b) I'm a damn fine writer much of the time. I hate the process, I hate everything that goes into it, I hate the part where you actually have to either write or type up what you're thinking, I'm looking forward to the day we get to Neuromancer and I can just dictate stories in my head, but I do, actually, think I can write. ~~Today.~~

Part of this is because if I refuse to prove it, no one can argue with me, but the instances I've had feedback, it's been in acceptable ranges for quality writing. (Which is more than a touch like saying "For criteria I choose, I'm an excellent lawyer, doctor, and Indian chief despite having no formal qualifications.")

Bear in mind that in the case of the fic, I'm setting up an au-universe wherein two people who are only marginally crazy in the real world are really crazy and violent and generally awful; I'm not entirely sure why I'm worried about ooc voice.

Okay, no, I'm totally sure why I'm worried about that, but it doesn't sound good to say "I'm fine with setting them up as killers as long as they sound right, because I ignore what is in character and what is out of character for the purposes of making unf noises!"

And then there's Slot Machine Prophet. Wow, yeah, there's a clusterfuck rolling. I still have no outline, despite having some vague idea that I wanted to have one before I started editing TDL (not that I've done that, but I'm officially into nanoedmo and I owe so many chapters) so that I could not get caught up in what happened with 19 Seconds, where I spent so much time polishing the first ten chapters that I ultimately was unable to continue the story because what I was writing new was not nearly as good as the stuff I spent weeks polishing up. (We're ignoring the fact that 19 Seconds was, overall, an incredibly juvenile work and the easiest summation of why I should never, ever, ever be allowed to write female main characters. Also, it was in first person. FEAR ME!)

I'm still not sure what SMP is about, frankly. I have the characters, I have the idea of a nation at war, I have a strong sense of the world, and I know that there's magic and spiritualism about in the world - current theory: magic has disappeared, which is a problem since one of the main chars is fundamentally magical - but that doesn't add up to a book, at least not for me. I need more parameters before I can just let the chars go be themselves all over the place, and I also get stuck into the dread of "oh god I will have to cut, cut, cut like I'm shilling for Ginsu!"

I am so fundamentally lazy that I don't want to write things that are going to have to go away in huge quantities.

So other than the fact that I am stuck like a turtle in peanut butter on everything - I don't think I'd call it writer's block, because I refuse to believe I ever get writer's block - everything is going well. Unfortunately, that first clause is kind of more important. *g*

I think that some of it is the fact that I have a finished book. I mean, I know that's not the end of the line, that was just where I broke down the goals. Step 1, write book. Step 2, edit book. Step 3, agent book. Step 4, sell book. Step 5, buy book in print. If I had just gone from Command-N to Step 5, I would not even have the book that I have. I broke the achievements down into smaller, more realistic sections. But the point remains: I have a book. Even if no one else EVER sees that book, I still have one. But I'm not motivated to work on Step 2, and all I can think when I look at the other two projects I have on the desk is, essentially, "Wow, this is starting over."

I'm not trying to whinge here, btw. I'm trying to work through the process in my head, which may come off as whinging, but that's not my intent.

And there are enough things keeping me from making serious headway on SMP and Omerta that I don't even have the push to get past "I have a book" to "I'm going to write another one."

I will never write again! I'm going to go cut my hands off and join a nunnery!

Or, you know, smack my head on the wall for a while and hope that something happens that clears up some of this confusion about what I'm writing when and how it sounds. Or else that I fall asleep and have another lovely dream that I'm President and Rahm is my crazy ex-IDF bodyguard.

Current Mood: aggravated
Current Music: "Gospel Plow" :: Screaming Trees

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(no subject)

This is what happens when you have LOTS of writers on your flist.

Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one ~~sentence!~~ paragraph, because fuck rules, man, seriously.

I'm summarily culling anything that's actually completely dead because a) this isn't fic amnesty, and b) only one of these is a fic in any event. Go team me!

And ALSO, FUCK MICROSOFT SO HARD. Files that I created on this computer cannot be opened by doubleclicking. Remind me to shut off auto-updates FOREVER, because this is EXACTLY the sort of shit Microsoft pulls. ALWAYS.

*ahem*

1) It was just that Gabe was the one who had the bright smile and the gun in his hand, was the one that most people saw first. William was the one who stood a little behind him, eyes shining and hands busy. It worked for them.

2) This is the sound of your bridges burning.

3) But nothing caught his eye, not until he looked at the fire blossom he’d touched the cigarette to, and saw the rim of white light around the edge of a petal sculpted out of radiance. Nothing else was that colour, and he looked closer, curious to know what it meant - though he was going to be fucking pissed if it was just something like “this is what happens when man and god interact, you idiot,” he mentally noted.

4) The pain explodes again and again and new and inventive things are done to what is, essentially, a body - or a bag of meat - hung from a hook and there is no one at all inside any longer to stop it or feel it or even care. The body is too broken, the man who lived in it fled, and that does not stop the creatures that continue to destroy it, for they are bent on destruction of everything that they see or touch or sense in any way. It makes it less pleasant that there is nothing screaming, but not even that fact is enough to stop them.

5) When Geth was seventeen, but still a boy, and a savior even if no one else knew it yet, he raced across a queerly awake city.

6) He smiled and stood, taking another, very sharp knife, out of his bag. "The people who believe they can rape, they can murder, they can do anything they like to us because we're not quite human. Did you ever study history?" No pause for a response to a rhetorical question. "Did you never wonder why the idea of the witch survived when there was so much effort put to destroying them? Did you never consider that perhaps we are your witches?"

7) And the irony, of course, is that I am far more of a betrayer than he is.

8) "Yeah," he said, tapping his cigarette in the ashtray by the bed that chronically overflowed, "and I'm fucking well afraid of temptation. I'm smart enough to be, too."

9) He sighed and attacked a particularly stubborn undead rat - you could tell by the patches of fur clinging to bones - with a torch from the wall sconce. The Igor wanted to modernise, to lay in gas lines, but he didn't see the point. For one thing, these buggers were getting bolder, and they bloody well needed the torches to fight them off. He'd found one in his coffin the other day, and Igor denied responsibility, but the other option was that it had raised the lid itself - of course, it had been about the size of a badger.

10) Something hard was under her fingernails, and she worked at it in the slightly-flickering light of the overhead, first with a cloth and then with her nails. Whatever it was, slightly brownish and hardened, rathe than hard in its own right as she'd initially thought, it was also stubborn and hard to get out.

11) "I flirt with myself a lot," he said. "It hasn't come to much so far. I refuse to buy myself flowers."

In sum: I write in first person too much. I write on fantasy themes too much. I write female characters too much. I write about God too much. I try to write vampire comedy too much. GO ME.

Current Mood: enthralled
Current Music: "Colourblind" :: Counting Crows

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Statuses

SCHOOL:

Let's see. I'm learning something already, how's that? I'm learning that the fact that I never did a standard American style undergrad degree means that I have NO FUCKING CLUE how this works.

I wound up making a spreadsheet of the classes I need to take, the classes I WANT to take, and the classes I hope to be able to waive (or will certainly be able to waive) but still need the number of credits for the course. I noted prereqs/recommendeds, as well. Then I went to the next page, side by side, and put in a tentative schedule, fifteen credits per quarter, for all the classes in the order they need to be taken.

Let me tell you, that shit is hard. I have a complete clusterfuck happening if I do in fact go back to school and I can't get into CTN 161 until fall because it's not offered in summer, but I THINK I have a tentative work-around that involves swapping BUS 116 or ART 114 into summer and shoving CTN 162 into winter and CTN 161 to fall. I HOPE that works, anyway, but I think the only prereq I've got out of the CTN 160-162 block is 160. And since ART 114 is Intro to Digital Photography and I'm taking it as a total elective, it doesn't matter where that winds up falling, though I would like to take it before Video Art I if at all possible.

But see, my point, several 'graphs back, is that I have never had to take a course like this. Because I am retarded, or because the American standard educational system is retarded, I have gone entirely to schools where the course scheduling goes something like this.
1) You sign up for a full-year, 48-credit course.
2) You complete the course.
3) You repeat to 180 credits.
4) You graduate.
OR
1) You apply to the school of the subject you are interested in studying.
2) You select, from a variety of options, three specific courses that interest you, but since you're talking Geographical Anthropology, for example, you're chosing between Oceania and Japan, let's say, not between Russian and Automotive Engineering.
3) You write a dissertation and sit a written exam.
4) You graduate.

Do you see the problem? DO YOU? Do you see that it is, for example, a lot EASIER to schedule this shit where you're taking CTN 160-162 simultaneously since that is the biggest headache you face by coming in out of sequence in the school year, but you can't because they are Web Production I, II, and III?

Also, AHAHAHAHA, I am looking at taking 13 Computer Technology courses (CTNs, very clever) and 6 Art courses. AHAHAHAHAHA.

There was an information tech course I wanted to take but I changed my mind when I realised that it was only offered at North Seattle and that I just had not read through the description of CTN 160-162 and was planning on taking the IT course for the experience with Java and Flash and something else, which those courses will give me. So now I have the Digital Photography course, which I have to have equipment valued between $175-$599 WHERE WILL I GET THAT? Fortunately, my dad has a camera that I think is quite expensive, so I can borrow that if I can't buy my own - and me buying a $175 camera is kind of like a person with no hands buying gloves. I might be able to use the camera on the other side of the class, but I have NEVER had the patience for photography - my pictures are crap, and I have adopted a philosophical objection to photos partly because I can't take them. So I'm not buying it to start with, that's for damn sure. Though I probably have to find out if it's compatible with the Mac before I start because otherwise I might as well move into the Geek Lab.

And yesterday's list.
~~1) Getting unofficial transcript from Evergreen so I don't have to take the COMPASS test.~~ Figured out how to do this, now need to show Tim.
2) Getting official transcripts from Evergreen and Oxford so I can hopefully knock off fifteen-twenty credits (ahahahaha, you think I took a math class, HAHAHAHAHAHA.)
3) Getting CSC 100 waived because otherwise I will stab everyone in the world if I have to go be introduced to the internet.
4) Getting someone other than me to pay for the lot.

Steps 2 and 3 should be completed by tomorrow. Step 4 is gonna take some doin'. I have, however, determined that none of my credits EVER count toward math (and dude, I do not CARE what the WA State requirements are, I DIDN'T DO ANY MATH) and that I really don't even want to start dealing with getting a transcript from Oxford.

I look at my spreadsheet in the middle of the night and think "This is going to be FUN!"

*****

JOB:

Ahahahaha, NOTHING. Though I am going to apply to conduct the Underground Tour because that would be fun and awesome. I might also look at the community colleges around here; BCC had a GED instructor that sounded great until I realised that you have to have a degree in Adult Basic Education or else three years experience and I have 0 years' experience.

I can't even claim unemployment this week because I got paid for work I did in December last week and even if I am interested in defrauding the guv'mint, I probably should save that extra week for June when I still won't have a job. But I think I'm still going to turn in my three apps because - why not?

And I should know if I aced or flamed out the VT interview next week this time.

The problog is fun shit, though.

*****

FIC:

AHAHAHAHA, still does not have plot! Have turned into

apiphile's research bitch in the hopes of getting an MCR-as-the-Rat-Pack AU and am having fun with that, especially since, in my considered opinion, GeeWay already sounds exactly like Sinatra; they have the same verbal tics.

HOWEVER. I have not found the appropriate voice for my characters, and I have stalled out with one page. I had two but I eated the other one. I really need to get a plot, though, because there are not enough crazy murderous sociopaths in the world, and I love writing crazy murderous sociopaths. So I'm going to keep giving it my best shot; we'll see.

Also, I am not editing my "real" writing and I would like someone to step up and volunteer to beat me into doing that. However, everyone I know is crazy busy (you have jobs, fuckers) and that's not going to happen. I can wish - and wishes are just a delaying tactic.

*****

REAL LIFE:

Have I mentioned that it has snowed MULTIPLE times this week and that when I was outside a little bit ago it was snowing AGAIN? Yeah. It's fucking FUN, people.

My insane shoes should be here soon, and also that I have a wicked bruise on my leg from where I tripped over the comics crate and it is NOT HEALING and it HURTS and I can't cross my legs at the ankle because OW FUCK HELL NO.

Also, my car is full of crap and my clock is stalled and my layout is noncompelling as far as finishing it goes and my chair is FINALLY being fixed by someone competent: ie, not me.

Current Mood: nauseated
Current Music: "Pantaloon In Black" :: Oh Susanna

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(no subject)

HELP HELP HELP THIS STUPID STORY IS WRITING ITSELF I AM NOT INVOLVED IN THIS I FEEL LIKE I HAVE BEEN TAKEN PRISONER IN MY OWN BODY AND THE ONLY WAY TO MAKE IT STOP IS TO ACTUALLY PUT THE FUCKING THING ON PAPER BECAUSE OTHERWISE MY BRAIN WILL KEEP WRITING IT AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S ABOUT OH GOD WHAT A CLUSTERFUCK.

IT MIGHT BE ABOUT A CIRCUS I DON'T EVEN KNOW EXCEPT EVERYTHING I WANT TO WRITE RIGHT NOW IS ABOUT CIRCUSES SO THERE YOU GO ALSO I AM SO NOT HAPPY WITH THIS DEVELOPMENT FUCK FUCK FUCK I AM A HOSTAGE TO MY HANDS AND BRAIN I BLAME EVERYONE I KNOW FOR THIS YOU ARE ALL FIRED.

I NEED A DRINK COFFEE IS NO LONGER CUTTING IT WHERE IS THE FUCKING EVERCLEAR? (OF COURSE I HAVE EVERCLEAR, DON'T BE A FOOL. GOD HATES FOOLS.)

ETA: ALSO, MY WRITING SUCKS.

EDITED FURTHER: OH GOD SERIOUSLY MY WRITING IS SO BAD YOU GUYS. SO SO BAD IT SHOULD NEVER BE SEEN IN PUBLIC WHY AM I DOING THIS.

Current Mood: happy
Current Music: "I Remember You" :: Steve Earle

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(no subject)

HAY GUESS WHAT, I FINALLY HAVE AN IDEA OF WHERE SLOT MACHINE PROPHET IS GOING AND WHAT IT'S ABOUT. Man, I am having vodka tonics for breakfast more often.

ALSO, I figured out that you can turn off that stupid bar about the new userinfo. Amazing how little I look at the upper right corner of that thing.

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Music: "The Holy Side" :: Joi

Entry tags:

I had forgotten

I had forgotten how amazingly, astonishingly ugly New Jersey is. Also, it all smells bad. I remember now having a similar revelation about "That explains why MCR is the way they are!" last year.

So the other shoe dropped, about a thousand times, but at least it was only a slipper.
First! First flight was full. And I had a middle seat. And I think I slept about an hour. I don't know, I occasionally woke myself up drooling because I couldn't lean back in the seat. I'z tired.

Second! Second flight was not full. Second plane, however, was defective. Get off plane, haul ass across fucking Detroit airport, which may be larger than some zip codes, reboard. Next to the one person I had picked out as being Really Quite A Twat, coincidentally. I'll save the commentary about our silent cool-off for later, but I was thinking about twitting about her, and I'm very sure that she twitted about me. Also: mismatched Betseyville carryon says something about a person, but I feel sure that it's not a good thing. And: we found out that the "problem" with the other plane "might have led to a depressurisation issue." Well, I'm glad we swapped it out, but I wish we could have swapped it for one in the same time zone.

Third! (Note that I am eliding out everything that went well, like my baggage coming out all safe and sound and stepping out of the terminal RIGHT IN FRONT of the van I needed to be in, and all that.) I booked a Chevy Aveo. I am driving a Dodge Calibre. It's a bit like steering a main battle tank.

Fourth! So, what did I do with my battle tank? I found the ghetto! Awesome. I also found out that no one in Philly can fucking park. Like, seriously, if I hadn't been looking for enemies in another tank to ram, or possibly invading Czechoslovakia, I would have taken a fucking picture. It is...special. Also, I got propositioned by a prostitute. At 10:45 am. I feel that this should obey some sort of business hours that don't include me.

Fifth! Snow! Fun!

Sixth! As mentioned above, all of New Jersey is more than vaguely seedy, and I feel guilty for, basically, not being a leper. There is also a fly in my hotel room, and I think I'm gonna come back with a can of Raid tonight. I'd rather breathe fumes all night and suffer permanent brain damage than be touched by the fucking thing again.

Now it's time for a shower, some more coffee (you would not believe how much coffee I'm mainlining) and finding a shoe store. I think, given the state of the battle tank, I'm gonna call the Starland and try to get their parking ticket, even though it will cost more than the show. I am afraid that someone will, like, breathe on the car. Or try to steal it. Or succeed in stealing it.

I'm going to open up a rental agency: the gimmick will be that they're cars that don't stand out. Nothing red. Nothing that pricey. Nothing this pristine. Nothing that just obviously shouts "Hi I'm a rental, make some poor bastard's life hell by trying out your crowbar on me!"

I hope Betseyville was reading over my shoulder on the plane, though, because I was working on the social structure of the undead in Zombies Rampaging Slowly, and it is awesome.

And the jughandle turns here make a surprising amount of sense. I think they're fairly awesome, actually.

Current Mood: accomplished

Entry tags:

..(auth)or..

187,865 words

On October 4, 2008, at 1:00 PM, I finished my first novel.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: "Anybody Listening?" :: Queensryche

Entry tags:

Stuff of updateness

Book stuff:
I have <10,000 words to go. I'm in the right place, with the right word count, and I think I'm actually going to make it out alive (and with a completed 190,000 word rough draft).

Hell, my main character may make it out alive! Right now, he's arguing with God, being driven by an archangel, and about to find out what happens when God and the Devil have an argument. (Answer: Fucked if I know yet.)

But I finally realised today that if I write 2K words a day, which is very doable, I could have the draft done within a week. Sort of creepy. And then I can start the circus book that I don't want to be about a circus!

Job stuff:
I don't know, but what worries me is that I'm not worrying. I mean, I should be freaking-the-fuck-out, given the collapse of the economy (side note: BofA is the devil) and all, and I have very few resumes out, but I have no real sense that I'm in trouble (and I'm not, yet, but that time is coming).

Weird.

Other stuff:
My apartment is fully clean for the first time in weeks, and all extraneous furniture is gone. That feels pretty cool too.

Election stuff:
Oh my gawd. I'm actually really having fun with this one, mostly because McCain and Palin seem to be specialising in Fucking Up Bigtime and I love it. I've got to get back into political ranting - there's just too much there to love.

McCain thinks the economy's great? Palin isn't qualified to lead HP - nor is McCain (according to that great judge of morality and skill, Carly Fiorina)? Obama and Biden grew a pair and started attacking the Reps for their shit about the economy? Palin isn't allowed to speak to the press without accompaniment after her fail at identifying the Bush Doctrine? McCain is looking as old, confused, and doddery as he is - and people are saying it? The only thing the Reps have to attack Biden on is that he's an old white dude, and the only thing they have to counter Obama's popularity is that hey, McCain's for change too, and is too totally a maverick, despite siding with Bush and only breaking with the party when it's going to be a complete clusterfuck for him? (See also: Role in the Keating Five Scandal, statement that Wall Street should be regulated.)

EVERY DAY IS LIKE CHRISTMAS.

I don't even have to continue to harp on the fact that I'm not convinced Trig isn't Bristol's kid! They just keep giving me more and more and more to work with! It's like a party! With gift bags!

Current Mood: nauseated

Entry tags:

Internet Stalking and Writing

The third rule of internet stalking is this:
- Never forget the "schools" function on many popular websites. It may turn out that you, too, went to high school with someone on your flist! You may even have vague memories associated with that person! You may go looking for your brother's high school yearbook to find out what that person's senior memories were! You may be startled to realise that the person looks nothing like your mental image of him!

If that sounds creepy, tough shit. I'm not the one who listed my schools. But believe me, I was MOST entertained to realise that one of the people on my flist went to the same high school as me, at mostly the same time, and has an easily-identifiable name. I am mostly surprised to realise that it took me this long to figure it out.

In conclusion, internet stalking can become real life stalking, and that's when it starts getting fun!

Also, I have a new cure for migraines: write. I have written through two migraines in the last three days, and I can say two things about that.
1) My blind typing is not nearly as bad as it used to be. Hell, it's better than my very-tired IM typing.
2) I've written a lot and my headaches haven't been as bad.

Whee?

I am ... well, okay, I'm also lengthening the book, but I think I'm really close to a complete first draft. I'd better be, considering that I've written over 10K words in the last week and the book is now 170K.

Current Mood: thoughtful

Entry tags:

Things I care about:

- You know, it's not spelled "jist".

- If someone says "I'm not seeing how that goes together," it's polite for "I think you're out of your mind," not "I don't understand how you can wear five hats at once, please explain."

- Plastic: not my special friend. And melting My Little Ponies smell like God took a shit on your head.

- No one wants to know my thoughts on yaoi, because I have none.

- Slapping a gear on it does not make it steampunk. Really.

- There's an awful lot of red dye the second time you dye something. For example, unlike the first time I dyed that thing (a My Little Pony, in case you're playing the home game) there is suddenly dye all over my counter, my floor, my oven, and my sink. Thank god for Mr Clean pads.

- I bought thirteen books this weekend, including a cookbook. I may learn to cook yet.

- Someday I need to learn to use the tag function such that it's not a holding pattern, waiting for me to have the time and go back and resort everything titled "untagged". I also need to apply tags throughout the journal.

- I feel the impetus to finish the proposal for The Omega Imperative, and possibly even to work some more on The Dead Letters.

- Then again, I usually feel the impetus, around this time of day, to do everything evar.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Baltimore Whores :: Gavin Friday

Entry tags:

(no subject)

- I saw a car with the license plate "Jwalk" this weekend. No one will get this, but it gave me quite a turn, I can tell you.

- I saw three really good movies (Son of a Lion, Ben X, and Go With Peace Jamil), and one really really really really bad one (Strangers). It was a good thing the director didn't make it to Strangers, as I do think I would not have resisted the urge to say "Was it difficult to make a movie where the female main character has no motivation to sleep with the male main character, other than some vague idea that she's clearly a slut because she had an affair with a married man as her backstory? What about making a movie that fails to resolve the plot point of her being deported?" That's how bad it was.

- I spent an utterly, utterly enjoyable two hours between Son of A Lion and Ben X on Broadway. I got hair dye at the Metro, wandered into Trendy Wendy's and nearly bought yet another handbag (but it was round! and leather! and it said "revenge" on it!), then gave $.75 to a guy who "had locked his keys in his car". Note to panhandlers: I am more likely to give you money if you have an amusing story, but it's not too improbable. The tipping point here was that he was dirty "because he'd been painting in the garage" when he "locked his keys in the car" and "needed to go to Redmond to get the spare key". My ass, dude, but have the $.75. I found out that Mama's Favourite Piroshki, now called "Piroshki on Broadway" is still there, Jack in the Box is not, and Twice Sold Tales is gone from its location. I am pretending, because they are complete evil, that they're not in the new location. I'd rather be dragged backwards over broken glass and lit on fire than shop there. Then I went to Bailey/Coy, and got a couple of hopefully-good books (In A Sunburned Country and Rant) and remembered how much I love books. And I went to the market, only prevented from buying flowers by the fact that I was going to be at movies for the next nine hours. It was really fun to just be there and sort of wander along and do what I felt like. Not that I don't do that anyway, but it felt like it'd been a long, long time since I was either "on a mission" shopping or "making everything count" shopping.

- I'm starting to feel the urge to write again.

- I need to post to the game and tell them that I'm not dead, and that I am playing, and then get back into the habit of that. It's amazing how many habits I thought I had that I've broken completely in the last month of wandering through hell, like that my apartment is only somewhat clean, and definitely-not-inhabitable in the kitchen/entryway, due to my "sorting" technique of "throw everything ever out of the bag till you find the pieces you want, fail to pick any of them up, and then make an enormous mess with the rest."

- Or, to put it another way, I've given up on the corset coat 1.0 and am debating what to do with it, but I suspect "salvage parts and throw the rest out" will be the answer, given that it's irredeemably fucked, and am sewing again on that, with other projects in the works.

- Today I get my tattoo.

Current Mood: annoyed

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Another completely crap weekend, in which I did not manage to get dressed on Sunday, but I did manage to plot the book that I didn't want to plot, and also, I cleaned up most of the place, which has been something that needed doing for about a month and a half now. I cannot believe I got so behind on that, but there you go. On the bright side, I've been alternately sick/tired/depressed/home late that a month and a half of crap looked more like a week's worth, except in the sink, and even then nothing was alive in there, so that was a win. Still, I have never before managed to use all my spoons and then decided to eat ice cream with a fork, as washing the spoons was going to be a problem in that I did not want to do it.

I did minimal writing and no sewing, but I did decide that probably what I need to do with TDL is take out all of the heroin plot. Because there's nothing better, when you're 150K into a book, than taking out a major plot point. But it's not working for me, and I can't decide if it's working for the book.

Note to self: do not let books progress over major developmental points with you. Write it, THEN grow as a person.

Right now, I'm working on the "write it" portion of that statement. Still, I'm close to my original goal - the only problem with that is that I need another twenty k. So I'm taking it on vacation next week and maybe I can get a big chunk of that done. I'm still shooting for editing it the week of the winter break, right after Christmas, since no one interesting will be in town.

The upside is that it turns out that people really do think I have vampire teeth. I have pointy incisors, what can I tell you? I also have an enormous gap between my upper and lower teeth, and two people asked me this weekend if I was wearing those caps to look like I have fangs. The answer is no. These are my real teeth.

So that was fun.

And now, burning questions that I have, at least: how many books can I comment on, while fighting to retain a line and also taking yoga? If the answer is not "two, and a third one that you proof," then the world will end. QED.

And another burning question: WHEN will I have time to transcribe my rant on vampires? But the answer to that one is "next week", and I personally find that hilarious.

Current Mood: ecstatic

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That's it, it's time to find a game again. It's been way too long since I've played a killer, and a crazy assassin just jumped into my head.

Or no, he's not crazy, he's too fucking sane, and he's tired, and killing people is nothing, it's a day's work, that's all, so he can have totally rational head-conversations with himself about whether he'd prefer the knife or the gun or the rope or some other weapon entirely, or whether he's too tired to get really creative with wire and a razor and he'd really prefer to just shoot his victims because then he can go home early. Not like he's on a clock or something, but when the job's done it's done and he'd like to have his home time too. Not that his house is particularly a domestic place - that's totally milkcrates and scrounged books and perfect fucking weapons because the police can't touch him, not with the power he's got behind him - but he wants to be there at the end of the day. And the power behind him, that's big, that's something I'm not sure about yet, so maybe it's Mafia or something, but whatever it is, he's untouchable because of it, and because he isn't dumb enough to kill people who don't have it coming. He's not a crazy psycho, he's an avenger of wrongs done - but at the same time, he's not only about killing people who deserve it, because he's an assassin, for fuck's sake. He doesn't avenge because it's wrong to do whatever the hell his vics did, he avenges because it's his job. And like the best jobs, he's good at it, but not crazy with it.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Hands Clean :: Alanis Morrissette

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I'm back, I'm bad.

I'd just like to mention that I have managed to work out the competing impulses in my brain (divided between, basically, sew! write! read! everything else!) and figure out the timetable they are on.

Doing this has allowed me to write a WHOLE LOT in the last few weeks. I have +/-30K to go on my first draft. Sort of creepy, really. It feels a bit like, you know, the ground just slid out from under me.

Yes,

jkivela, when I start posting new stuff, you'll be able to read it. *g*

In the mean time, I am on an organisation kick. So this is me organising.

I'll put up another post today in which I start keeping track of the books I've read for the year, because basically I do a lot of reading (some of it of tripe that would make your eyes bleed, believe me, but enough about work) and I never know what I've read at the end of a year (...or a week...) and I want to start getting through the backlog of books I own but have never read. Conveniently, that's around a hundred books. Assuming I can tolerate mostly non-fiction on subjects ranging from the Intifada to the physics of dreaming to feminism to religion (my god I have a lot of religious books, why?) that should be, like, a couple years to read, assuming I could conceivably manage one book a week.

At this point, I am struggling to finish Kim, mainly because I read one page and pass out from exhaustion. So that two years of reading is overly optimistic.

Also, as you all know, I never finish anything, so I figure I'll put a link to the list on my userinfo page just so I can see how little progress I've made.

And the other part of my organising: things to rant on. Not entirely sure what to put here except that I had a brilliant idea and now it's gone. So the two that remain are being an elitist and why Virginia is not part of the known world. Also, there's a work rant in there too, but that would devolve into actual violence right now so we'll just say that I'm leaving that one till I'm done with my current project which is making me break out in Gnats.

I think I'll be breaking my writing streak real soon, though, given that I have a new urge to go home and wrestle with my coat and with my corset. Not necessarily a happy plan, given that I want to finish the first draft by the end of April at the latest (and right now thirty K feels like a sneeze, considering that there's one hundred and thirty K on the other side of it), but mine own, so there it is.

I really never want to do sewing as a business, I think. Not that I wanted to before this, but the experience I'm having with sewing is something that's solidifying my lack-of-interest in making a living at things that I enjoy (granted, I love my job, but there's definitely a world of "I wouldn't read this except for the money!" in there). But most people hear that you sew and think that means you repair things.

No. If it meant that, I totally would not have holes in the toes of almost every single pair of socks I own. I totally would not have ripped the lining out of a skirt because I didn't want to sew it up again and the only reason I did that was because the tear hung down past the hem of the skirt. I totally would sew ten goddamn hooks on my coat that I started over a month ago and ONLY need to do three things to to have an entire outfit completed. I would totally not have shirts that I put on and think "Oh, right, I meant to fix that hole"...forgetting that it's been there since I bought the shirt and was, in fact, the reason it was a buck at goodwill - someone opened the box with a boxcutter.

I do not repair things. I create things. I am happy as a pig in shit sewing new stuff.

Most people do not want new stuff. They want old stuff repaired (even if it's totally not worth it) or they want it altered. Alteration I can almost handle.

Being given a pair of pants that were too tight when purchased and told that it "only needs a quarter of an inch" (not according to my tape measure, dude) to fit? Not my idea of a good time. I have to take off the entire waistband, which will then not even fit onto the trousers because you can't just magic a quarter inch out of nowhere! I am not readjusting the goddamn seams all the way down the damn leg just so you can buy pants that don't fit!

Being given a dress with a tear in the underarm seam (by another person!) and asked to fix it? Not my idea of a good time, either. I don't WANT to have to deal with re-serging the dress, then sewing it, then hoping to crap that it holds together. Buy a new dress, since that one only cost fifteen dollars!

So that's the thing for me.

And that's what very few people seem to get. I'd get more joy out of fighting with a pattern to make someone an entire finicky outfit than out of spending the ten minutes to fix your damn seams.

And that is why I will never a) tell anyone that I sew and then allow the comment about doing "sewing" for them (for I have learned that this means "alteration" or "repair") and b) run a business of sewing in an environment where people can just ask me about it.

Before you ask, the only reason I am doing alteration/repair work for one friend is because, basically, he's saying that he wants to get something made, which I am happy to do. The other was...well, it was complicated. But never again.

And I'm totally giving the pants back without working on that waistband if I can't move the hook (unlikely). It's not worth it to try to get the damn material to cough up that "quarter inch". I'd rather make a new pair of pants. From scratch. By hand.

*****

So far I've picked songs pretty much at random - stuff that might be interesting to people. Or at least that I am not prepared to share the sekrit code on. But these are ones I've been listening to a lot lately. It's a fun ride in my life!

Bonus: You get lots of songs.

Sometimes I have a great notion / Jumpin' in into the river and drown

I'm just waiting on that dream / Because the fast ones always ride for free

In their '62 Vette / Sharing one cigarette

And the faders move / And the music dies / As we pass over / On the arc of time

El-Funoun: Tulbah

Lost / it slowly went away / was gone without a trace / I'm tired and I can't remember

And ever since I figured out / That I could control other people / I've had trouble sleeping / With both eyes closed

If you weren't so wise beyond your years I would've been able to control myself

Current Mood: curious
Current Music: prem // joi

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Genesis of an essay because goddamnit, I am an anthropologist

Postulate: All hurtful isms (racism, sexism, chauvinism, feminism, and homophicism, to name a few) are designed to reduce the size of the world one interacts with because the world as we know it is too large.

Corollaries:
- The idea that any place where you need legal identification to get through the day is too large (lack of intimate knowledge of neighbours, large world with a great deal of movement, both by the individual and in terms of the mechanism of movement (rail/autos vs. horses/feet)).

- The idea that any place you cannot get to know intimately in one year, including the population resident there, is too large.

- Nationalism. The idea of defining oneself differently from another group in order to achieve legal separation from that group. You may be required to include groups that are separate to achieve breakaway mass. Nationalism does not postulate a separate race for each nation (ie, Albanians exclusive of resident Romany (special case with purity laws to keep social group pure) are racially caucasian, though they may consider themselves racially Albanian).

- Ethnicity. The hydra of social/cultural anthropology.

Examples:
- The Nuer. Warfare progresses in stages depending on what threatens. Families may fight internally - unless someone outside the family threatens. Clans may fight - unless someone outside the tribe threatens. Unity in defence, disunity in peace.

- Pan-Islamic empire/Pan-Slavic empire. Racial definition for non-racial groups.

- Ethnic Japanese/Ainu.

Considerations:
- There is no such thing as race in the sense that most people use it. Examine difference between race-as-social-construct/race-as-factor-of-appearance and race-as-physiological-issue (ie, sickle cell anemia, certain jaw structures, that disease in Venezuela all have ramifications in terms of medical care - medicine is not able to be colour blind when colour implies issues that patient may be facing but should be colour blind in all other regards).

- Exclusion of ismed groups can be extreme (burqas) or minor (auto dealers). Corollary with degree of perceived threat?

...Goddamnit, I think this isn't an essay. I think I just laid out a doctoral thesis.

Fuck.

ETA: Holy crap.

Current Mood: excited
Current Music: "dark & long", Underworld

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This post contains potentially OBJECTIONABLE CONTENT.

I'm starting to realise why River Phoenix felt he had so much trouble after filming A Night In The Life of Jimmy Reardon, or whatever the hell it's called. He said, if I recall correctly, that for a while after, he found himself responding to things the way Jimmy Reardon would, he'd gone that far into character.

Only problem was that Jimmy Reardon wasn't a nice person.

I find myself facing the same situation.

For those that care/don't know, I'm in The Carnivorous Wardrobe, a Harry Potter online RPG, where I play far too many characters for any one human being. Right now the main story I'm in is Terry Boot's, who's gone from being a minor character set to fill out the Sortings to a character that's pulling quite a chunk of game time.

Course, I had to come up with a story. So, roughly, the story is this: Terry was the second youngest in a large Irish family that were Catholics in Belfast. His parents fight, his da drinks, cars get blown up. He goes off to Hogwarts but develops a healthy social life when he's at home. He's bisexual, but not out of the closet (the advantage to having Irish friends is that they tell you these things...) for a lot of reasons, most of them having to do with Northern society. He feels lost in his family and as a result turns to the street for friends and a place to feel safe, since he and his younger sister get most of the fighting, as they're the ones still at home.

One night, during the summer before the Trio's sixth year (so end of OotP), Terry goes to a club and runs into a former lover. (As you can see, not so concerned with realism. Or at least not MY realism). They go back to the friend's house, where Terry rapes him, then, when the guy resists, winds up beating him and ultimately strangling him. He is never taken to account for this, as he's never suspected. This spurs him to return to the streets, where he's soon involved in heroin (had fun tweaking that for magical chemistry, trust me) and prostitution, along with his two best friends/lovers, Caoilfhionn and Declan.

This continues for over a year, with Terry there at every holiday from school, every weekend he can get away, and leaving occasionally, saying that his mum's sick. (Dumbledore's a right bastard and probably promoted this) It finally ends with Caoilfhionn's death and Terry's decision to go straight as he can. Also his desire to kill Declan for causing her death.

Skip forward to seventh year now. Terry has just shagged Oliver Wood, after starting a more committed relationship with Harry (although he did at least warn him that might happen.) Terry winds up confessing that he killed his lover to Oliver when Oliver says he's going to tell McGonagall what happened, as otherwise they'll both get into quite a lot of trouble. (She's the Headmistress, as we killed Dumbledore right sharpish.)

I am now in the middle of the week in which, following this confession, Terry has taken off for Dublin and is up to his old tricks - so far heroin, drinking, and prostitution. I did not plan this storyline - this literally came about as a result of a hurried ten line conversation trying to figure out why Terry didn't want Oliver to talk to McGonagall - I was originally thinking he would be a sociopath.

So, that build up over with, the point.

This is, quite frankly, some of my finest writing ever. I fangirl it in all its angsty/horror/romance. I fangirl myself freely, I fangirl the people who've written with me, and I don't fucking care what anyone else thinks, it's damn good. (And I apologise for dragging the group, especially Jason, through the mud with me!) I have spent hours researching Dublin, male prostitution in Dublin, Irish slang, and heroin. I know I'm wildly inaccurate in a lot of places, but I'm not bothered by that.

What I AM bothered by is that I am now speaking with a heavy percentage of Irish slang words and phrases, with Terry's pronounciation of contractions, and with Terry's actions (or at least desire to perform Terry's actions).

I am also starting to think like Terry as he goes through this. I've considered myself a sociopath for a long time (It's great in casual conversation - "I came out as bisexual when I was nineteen and as a sociopath when I was twenty four") and I quite frankly do not give a damn what most people think, but you know, even I think it's a bit odd when I'm sitting on the bus, with three children under the age of 10 and their father sitting around me (unrelated to me, I hasten to add) having a nice chat with another person and I'm practically chortling with glee because I've just figured out exactly how Caoilfhionn died. Then I realise that it sort of bothers me, which is worrying until I realise that actually, what bothers me is that I think I will get comments from people telling me that I've squicked them because it is so INCREDIBLY HORRIBLE. I mean, this is a BAD death. Yurgh.

It's also NOT the sort of thing one should be able to come up with when you have a four year old humming the Superman theme for an hour. Or maybe it is, but some part of my brain thinks that it was very wrong that I came up with it then at all.

Then I realise that I'm thinking with the Terry part of my brain again. And that's at least a bit disturbing. I've joked before about having characters take over my brain, but when you're playing four characters, three canon and one OC, and they're having conversations in your head that you find yourself basing plot points off of (and indeed, entire plots), that's a little weird to me.

I'm starting to understand, at any rate, why River Phoenix was so bothered. Much as I like Terry, and much as I like what I'm doing to him, I really DON'T want to start thinking like him.

Yet I want to keep up the writing, because it is fucking brilliant work. I scared the crap out of Gwen last night - to the point that she commented it was my fault if she had nightmares. I think I've really worried Cheeky Boy with my propensity for evil angstitty angst angst angst.

I've got until Saturday, I think, or maybe Sunday, with (ideally) an RP every night and an IC post every day. And it's going to get worse. And I'm going to get more Irish the longer this goes on.

Hopefully at the end of it, I'll be standing there with a pile of writing that I can do something with and will not have had my brain taken over totally by Terry, but if I start saying that someone's on the gear or on the game or snared rapid, please worry for me.

It's half one, and I'm going to bed.