( 'pro cras' = 'for tomorrow' in Latin )
( 'pro cras' = 'for tomorrow' in Latin )
- making decisions about my future
- making phone calls
- writer's block
- the lack of a decent time travel/teleportation device in my life
- still out of diet coke, woe
- regonym made a podfic of Observer Effect! GAH IT IS AMAZING I WANT TO LISTEN TO IT FOREVER.
- brimtoast , full stop
- my cat is curled up in my lap, my little basset is sleeping next to my knee, and the old man is sleeping on my foot. all three are snoring.
- Pepper Potts (and also Tony Stark, I SUPPOSE)
- Tonight I am going to a Lady Gaga dance party in the park. I am dressing up. There will be an adorable toddler with me. IT'S GOING TO BE AWESOME BEYOND AWESOME, TELL YOU WHAT.
Next week, some of my undergraduate professors have asked me to help them set up the new Natural History Museum. Very cool happenings. Giant sloths and cave bears and saber-tooth tigers, oh my. To say nothing of the suids and hadrosaurs. But it's kind of, well. Stressful. I will just feel better if my hair is bright and unfaded, I think.
It is an exceptionally rainy, dreary day. I am going to catch up on some RPing, brew a giant pot of coffee, and settle down to finish re-watching Season Two of Twin Peaks. Oh, Agent Cooper, you are such a wacky dreamboat.
Man, I only planned on writing ONE FIC this year. AHAHAHA.
( in which shit goes aft agley )
Long story short, I did finish all of my fics, got them uploaded and edited and pleasing to my eyes, if no one elses, by 11:59 PM on the 24th. I think the pinch-hits weren't as great as they could have been, but I tried, and I loved writing all of them, and I'm so glad the recipients seemed to enjoy them too.
TEN THOUSAND THANK YOUS to my darling, wonderful betas and all the brilliant people in Yulechat, who are all encouraging and lovely and just as crazy as I am. I am totally addicted to Yuletide, now. It was my first year, and I had SUCH a good time, and I can't believe I've never participated before. I've been a terrible fandom lurker for years, and it was great getting to finally give back. I did a number of hippo dances in #yuletide (under the pseudo of "Pillow" -- don't ask) and I also got to beta a TON of fantastic fics, which believe you me will be mentioned in some rec posts soon, because HOMG, did you guys know that being a beta means you get to read awesome fics EARLY? DUDE. IT'S GREAT.
Anyway, even though authors have been revealed, I still have approximately 49 fics I still want to rec, and even more that I want to read, so there will be more gleeful, rambling posts soon. Don't think you've escaped yet.
I LOVE YOU ALL. HAPPY YULE, AND HAPPY NEW YEAR. *dances a victory lap across the internet*
Snowed in in Tennessee -- spent yesterday in Dollywood, which was eerily and deliciously empty due to the near-freezing rain. I am already plotting a murder-mystery set on a rainy day in a deserted amusement park. GENIUS, EH. Also, less deliciously, I discovered my boots are not waterproof, which dampened (har har) my enthusiasm considerably. My toes, y'all. Doom. And all the rides were shut down, but then the rain turned to snow and apparently the entire world went insane and the East Coast has now been coated in white fluff and ice. And the ride back from Dollywood to Bristol was like a rollercoaster ride, so that's something, right? We cleverly stopped driving before we skidded off the road into a semi-truck or a ditch and stayed at a hotel until morning came. Now we've reached fictionalfaerie's library workplace (IT IS VERY LOVELY) and I have an internet! And I'm being read children's books by adorable folk. Adorable, crazy folk. <3
I plotted fic and RPG comments as we drove through the snowy wilderness. ARGH YULETIDE IS SO CLOSE ARGH. Ahem. I mean. Things are going well. I'M NOT PANICKING AT ALL. Also, quiet un-named people whom I may or may not have coaxed into Yuletide with me! YOU'LL THANK ME ONE DAY. MAYBE.
Also I am already in RPG withdrawal. It's very sad.
ARGH THE SNOW HAS STARTED BACK UP. WHAT. NO. STOP THAT.
So of course I sign up for Yuletide and then think, oh man, I love this fandom I received as a request, but man, I really wanted to write in THESE fandoms, too. And now I've ended up writing three Yuletide stories at the same time, only one of which was actually requested. And of course that story is the one that I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE WHAT HAVE I DONE TO MYSELF. It's just such an amazing source and I don't have the slightest idea if I'm doing it justice or not! Brb, weeping into my keyboard.
And then there is ghostfic, and I am steadfastly stuck on this one scene that I already wrote, which got deleted by my computer, because it hates me. There is no other explanation. Skynet is here, and it is Vista. And don't even get me started on my Temeraire high school AU, which began as a fun OT3 piece and somehow has devolved into a Roland/Laurence kinkfest. That is definitely a lot of fun, don't get me wrong, but it has also totally derailed my plot. /o\ DAMN YOUR SEXY EYES, JANE ROLAND.
Of course, there is also my new source of madness and delight, the From the Ashes RP community I joined recently. It is a bandom HP AU and guys, I cannot get enough of it. I spend gleeful hours composing comments and picking out icons and scouring everyone else's threads. I could easily spend MY ENTIRE LIFE playing this game. It is wonderful in all ways and you should all go read it immediately, but omg, I have so many other things to be doing! I set out to have a productive day and instead I find myself spending hours hopefully refreshing my inbox and daydreaming about porny interludes for other characters.
And! In case you didn't think I was crazy enough, I also had this Cunning (ahaha not so much) Plan to write a ficlet for each of the Twelve Days of Christmas. I am deeply afraid this is going to be a massive failure, as are all of my creative endeavors of late (SELF, JUST FINISH SOMETHING, WHY ARE YOU STARTING TEN MILLION NEW PROJECTS?).
I need to get back in a successful writing groove. I need to post something and have it out there and be like, LOOK, SELF, YOU CAN IN FACT COMPLETE THINGS. In fact, flist, help me out! Take a vote!
( "Pro cras" means "For tomorrow" in Latin. Good to know, eh? )
So, yes. If I do not post whatever it is I should be posting by next Friday, please poke me with pointy sticks.
( i've got troubled thoughts )
So yeah, on the balance, my life is pretty amazing. Now, off to go look like a leper in public. Did I mention the blister makes me lisp? I'm such a catch, guys, seriously. And I'll probably be procrastinating like mad on cleaning tomorrow morning, so it's a safe bet I'll be fiddling around online. Sorry again for being such an e-tool, friends. I will try to make it up to you, honest. *pokes at several Word documents hopefully*
( To anyone that happens to read this: watch Generation Kill. )
And if all that's not enough? The show's also slashy as hell. So get you hence, gentle readers. It's pretty fucking ninja.
But my personal favorite is probably this one: Twitter switch for Guardian, after 188 years of ink. Seriously, the giggling gave me physical pain.
A mammoth project is also under way to rewrite the whole of the newspaper's archive, stretching back to 1821, in the form of tweets. Major stories already completed include "1832 Reform Act gives voting rights to one in five adult males yay!!!"; "OMG Hitler invades Poland, allies declare war see tinyurl.com/b5x6e for more"; and "JFK assassin8d @ Dallas, def. heard second gunshot from grassy knoll WTF?"
I started laughing again just C&Ping that. AHAHA. Oh, Guardian.
This was also relevant to my interests: Fiction World Rocked as Woman Claims No Sexual Attraction to Neil Gaiman.
Gaiman twittered about it. Obviously. Also I would totally buy that Britsexgeek book. Um. DON'T LOOK AT ME.
...annnnd back to editing/working. /editing. /porning. So yeah. What lulz have you guys found, o faithful flist?
In other news, I am still running around like a madwoman and having doubts about my career choices. Which, uh, I suppose is a more pressing problem, so I will focus on the porn instead. OMGWTFBBQ. But yes. How are your lives? Tell me about your WiPs, your hopes, your dreams. Etc.
ETA: Since the porn is not for my bandom friends, I can only offer this as a consolation: some slightly lame icons of my ONE TRUE OTP FOREVER OMG AND IT'S EVEN
NOTE THAT THEY ARE ALL CUNNINGLY OF THE SAME THING. o.o
What that boils down to is this: I wound up going through all my folders of photographs from Thailand and Vietnam and West Africa, and made a few icons. Don't ask how long it took me. Because the answer is: EMBARRASSINGLY LONG. I didn't even do anything fancy! I just made pictures smaller and more square and it was somehow the most difficult thing ever. Grad school has nothing on this nonsense. You people that make icons with text, and things that move! I am boggled, and also suspicious that witchcraft is involved.
Anyway, these are probably a bit crap, since they are my first, fumbling effort, but you guys are welcome to have at:
( i love the whole world, it's such a brilliant place )
So yeah! That happened. I thought about writing long and involved stories about each picture, but I wound up tearing my hair out trying to get it to format correctly. WHY IS EVERYTHING ON A COMPUTER SO INHERENTLY DIFFICULT. But yeah, if you want to know more about one of the icons, just ask and I will ramble at you incessantly about buddhist temples and Ficus benghalensis and James Bond. *g*
Apparently by concocting the worst nightmare of not only my life, but any other. Behold:
So I go into my qualifying exams and they tell me I'll be interpreting the life history of the spider-mouse based on observing them in tanks at different age intervals. They show me into the room, give me a clipboard, some goggles, lock the door behind me. I approach the first tank, and inside is a clutch of eggs, glistening a bit in the terrarium, and I think--wait, mice don't lay eggs. I've been had! And then the eggs hatch and they're slimy and strange and I don't look too close because I'm started to get weirded out, so I turn to the next tank and FUCKING SHIT.
I don't even know what is wrong with my fucking brain. A spider-mouse doesn't sound that scary, does it? Oh, but just think on it a little further. It's got the head of a mouse, wide bulging black eyes, and bitey square little teeth chomping at the air, and from the neck down, the bristly translucent brown legs of a fucking death spider. Tarantula-sized. Pawing at the glass of the terrarium and snapping its teeth and there's like twelve of them, swarming around each other. In the next terrarium they're even bigger. And then a terrarium tips over and they're everywhere and they're CLIMBING UP MY LEGS, and I'm screaming, "JUST FAIL ME, I DON'T CARE, JUST FAIL ME AND THEN SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD OH GOD."
Subconscious, you are On Notice.
So have a snippet from an entirely unrelated story which I may or may not continue. Tharkay's introduction in Black Powder War from his POV.
( The dining room went queerly silent after Tharkay entered, as though someone had dropped a china plate or set a crystal glass ringing. )
LITTLE DID HE KNOW. Anyway. BACK TO TRYING TO GET THE BOYS TO KISS.
Then, today I went to move a cabinet and motherfucking god on a popsicle pogostick, I think I re-cracked it somehow, because it HURTS. And all my heavy-duty painkillers are long gone and ARGHASDKLADSF. WHY. I CANNOT EVEN BREATHE. I already couldn't breathe through my nose because of all the snot, and now I cannot breathe at all. I don't remember any black cats walking under ladders or broken mirrors, but hot damn, y'all. What the everloving fuck, for real.
In other news, people are being awesome on the internet. Here, have some Temeraire kidfic recs:
t_lyrical wrote an ABSOLUTELY DARLING little!Laurence fic, Aviators and Sailors, which basically makes me want to die of glee and cuteness. Toy ships! Long-suffering brothers! SWOOPING. If you have somehow missed it, get thee hence.
Then there was another fic of adorable and win, by softlyforgotten , and you should all go and plead with her immediately for more. If the Children Don't Grow Up is absolutely beautiful and even though the premise is sort of cracky, it's gorgeously executed and the interaction between Laurence, Tharkay, and Granby is fantastic. (OH TEA THREE <3 <3).
Also there is a new Supernatural tonight! So that is nice.
Now I'm off to go lay down and try not to move ever again.
(SERIOUSLY FUCKING WHY. WHHHY.)
What does it mean?
...a psychotic dictatorship? Poets and writers are regularly rounded up and shot for entertainment? Who in the name of fuck made this thing?
Seriously, though. Sometimes Google leads you to dark places. I find that site intensely boggling and disturbing. Hatred of cheese? Lemonade? Homophobia? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON.
In other, more awesome news, tonight's Supernatural was one of the best episodes of my entire life, no lie. Kripke! CALL ME.
WHY ARE YOU SO TINY, AMANDA. Oh, well. See the hotness? Does it not make you want to expire with joy?
Anyway. How's spring going? The snow just melted here, but it's still very grey and muddy, and I can't wait for things to look green and alive again. Also I may fail out of grad school. And become a bookkeeper. It's a thought.
( Two great tastes that taste great together )
But really, the point of all that ramble is to say, I saw Blue Man Group with Brandon on Sunday, and now I want, with all the fire of my soul, an AU where Ryan Ross cracks under the pressure of stardom and RUNS AWAY TO BE A BLUE MAN. And he's like, the BEST BLUE MAN EVER. To a fault, because when he does the unblinking stare burly firefighters wet themselves. Maybe an AU where Ryan was a Blue Man in high school before othe band or something, I dunno, and Brendon discovers his dark sekrit and is all AHHH TERRIFYING AND YET...AROUSING? IDEK, guys. I just know that I want to cover Ryan in blue paint, and watch him stare silently at people until they freak out and run away. THE HILARITY, GUYS. THE HILARITY.
In conclusion: VOTE. VOTE SO HARD IT LEAVES A MARK.
So, I have been a hermit of late, squirreled away with my books and only finding the internet briefly. You know how it is; let yourself get distracted and suddenly all your time slips away, and I have really needed that time. School has been depressing me--it's usually so easy. But I have a certain sort of mind that is good at one thing, but emphatically, resoundingly bad at another. I don't know if that's just me making excuses, but I do know that numbers and equations and formulas are hard for me to follow, that I have to pound them into my brain over and over to make any sort of impression. I'd rather be reading or writing or running my hands over old bones, because these are things I understand, or that I can understand. The logical, numbered side of the world--I know that if I force myself, if I take the time, I can make sense of it. And the moments where everything snaps into place are magic, of course. Wonderful, even more so because there's a different sort of pride in that hard-won success. It's just. Lately I have had very few of those snapping moments, very little clarity, and it's been weighing me down. Feelings of inadequacy leaking into everything else.
I just have to try harder, though. That's all.
The point of this entry is, one: sorry for disappearing.
The next point is, I just finished reading Neil Gaiman's the Graveyard Book. It is fantastic. It is everything I love about ghost stories and fairy tales and legends, about what I love about life. I wish I could meet Neil Gaiman one day and somehow tell him that he's the best artist ever, that he's framed the world so that you can see the sideways bits, the melting gleams, and that reading his books never fails, never never never, to make me quietly, shiveringly happy. I have a feeling, though, that in the event that I ever do meet him, I will be a mess of adoring gibberish instead.
So instead of staring at my textbooks or pretending my textbooks don't exist and staring at a wall, I'm out on my fire escape again for the first time in what feels like weeks. Bundled up in my biggest coat, clutching a thermos of tea, and wiggling my stockinged toes against the railing. It's brillantly cold out, seeping in through my jeans and my socks and the sleeves of my sweater, and I love it. It feels like going to the Fall Fair, like shivering in line for the rickety old roller coaster, hands sticky with caramel apples, or like my best friend's chin on my shoulder before we lit off through the Halloween streets on our carefully crafted path--have to maximize candy intake, you know, and spend weeks plotting past years' hauls against new knowledge of the streets. I love the fall, because it feels like possibilities, like a Bradbury story. Like Neil Gaiman, or Susannah Clarke, or the Little Prince. When you are just the perfectly right amount of cold, you feel awake and ready to see the world shift. You feel real.
This is my way of saying that I am a nutter out in the 32 degree weather in my fire escape, listening to people walk and laugh on the street below, and that I'm still writing my own ghost story, because I love it, and it makes me happy. So, Neil Gaiman, thank you. Thank you for writing. Thank you for reminding me to go outside. If I catch pneumonia, I don't blame you. It's worth it.
HAI THERE WILL TO LIVE, NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN.
Seriously, guys. Guys, seriously, not to spoil you, but SURPRISE GABE SAPORTA. Also, Patrick acting like an asshole will never not make my ladyparts all tingly. Not to be all TMI, but there you go. In startling, slightly unsettling news: PWentz, when did you morph into my ex-boyfriend? Why do you dance JUST LIKE HIM, it is WEIRDING ME OUT. Right down to the same hair and gleeface. I just don't know what to do with this.
Uh. Back to my toils! But I will be chortling gleefully at the thought of nun!Pete and nun!Patrick making out as I labor. Whistle while you work, right? (GOD, DID I MENTION PATRICK IS HOT? ALSO THE SUN IS HOT, IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED. This.... actually, may have a deleterious effect on my studying. C'est la vie.)