Stuff

I was feeling all pouty because I didn't sign up for the current round of that rp game I played a couple of weeks ago. Deciding not to play was wise, because I really wouldn't have been able to participate much at all--but being wise kind of sucks.

So, I just did something really stupid.

I signed up for 100k_supernova. I've been staring at the sign up form every day for a week now, and tonight I just broke. I mean, I really, really want to write this story, and this will give me the pressure of a deadline to make me actually get off my lazy ass and write it, but 100k is awfully big.

I can write 100,000 words by next March, right?

Right?

There's this theme week thing going on over at the stargateland community, so I'll be posting a few things here over the next couple of days. This is where I'm putting my responses to the day 1 prompts.

Prompt: 31-SGA, Teyla, meditation

( 4 icons )

( Teyla drabble )

Prompt: 01--SGA, John/Rodney, movie night
( Sheppard drabble )

I wrote something else! You guys, this is so weird. I don't even like how this turned out, and yet it's not making me nervous to post it.
( 5 things )

Dear Muses,
Alright, bitches,
O magnificent incarnations of inspiration,
get your pretty asses over here in my brain rightthefuckNAOW.
why have you forsaken me?
It's not like I don't get your whole attention whore thing.
I've worshiped at your altar for years now.
Remember all those cigarettes I lit and then forgot to smoke while writing? Those were for you.
Clouds of incense have I offered to your glory.
Eyestrain, writers cramp, non-anniversary buttsmex, what more do you want?
Please look down upon your devoted handmaid.
Plot. Like yesterday. KTHNXBAI
If it's not too much trouble, some inspiration would be really nice.
Or no more nicotine or vicarious emo crap dedicated to you. SRSLY
Love you,
Me

So, I've been wanting to participate in NaNoWrimo for years. I've never managed to do it, and not just because I suck at follow through. November is renfaire month. That time of year is all about working fifteen hours a day, being intensely social, and then falling into the bed exhausted every night--not exactly the best time to try to write a novel. So yeah, can't do it.

But I really, really want to try the whole structured, word count, goal thing. I think it'll be good for me. If you know me at all, you know I'm one of those people who never, ever, ever finishes a project. So, yeah, goals. Finishing stuff. I'm going to try to do that.

So here's the plan: my own personal nano project will be 1667 words a day on my days off for the next two months. That may or may not be 50000 words (much too lazy to go find a calendar right now), but it's about right. I post the word count here to keep me honest, and then promise only to whine about writing behind a cut. And that's it. A goal. Yay me.

1996 / 50000 words. 4% done!

...or at least finished writing this story. I feel like I've just run a triathlon. It still needs work; oh boy, does it need work, but at least the shape of it is there. This is the first time I've pushed through to the end of anything without letting myself get distracted with endless edits. I'm so proud of myself I could just sing.

It has a beginning: "Oh shut up, Mur," Orien said mildly. "I don't have time for your drama."

A middle: “Branch-charmed by earnest stars, indeed,” I gasped. That was the next line of the poem, somewhat mangled by my breath-scattered thoughts and shaking voice. “Are you trying to hypnotize me? Or just tell me that you want to go to the oak grove?”

And an end: As for the rest, well, Thiede did say I was a quick study.

An actual end! YAY.



Edit--Also, I have two Dreamwidth invite codes if anybody wants one. Just let me know.

I thought it was about time to write something here, since I really haven't made an entry worth blinking at since March. This one probably won't be worth any vigorous eyelid movements either, but what the hey.

Let's see. Bad stuff first. Work is crappy, just like usual. There's lots of emotional roller-coaster drama and not nearly enough money. It probably seems harder because the fair season starts next month, and that makes freedom look awfully attractive compared to my whining grandmother. It's just that time of year, I guess. Spring, itchy feet, sap rising...homelessness.... Gypsy, what?

We'll be missing almost all of the fairs this year. That isn't such a big deal for me; I'm happy with the dreams in my head no matter what what our lifestyle is like, but I feel really bad for Larry and the kiddo. Larry's not a bad house husband, don't get me wrong. Still. Organizing home is my forte, not his, and he's wasting his potential being tied to the house away from people. And oh boy, the kiddo needs friends the way my houseplants need water. There are no kids for him here. None. Every time we go to the park, he has to make friends all over again. Sometimes I think I was mad to think we could live in a stable place like normal people. We're not normal at all.

What else...I have a few fandom-type things going on online. These days I'm playing a Wraeththu rp game with an original character. Shadow is all new and shiny, and he says things like, "Fuck conformity," and "Oh good, I'd hate to think you'd let just anybody cut your throat," as easily as I would say, "Please pass the butter," so that's fun. Also, I started playing Aredhel at Dreaming Spires again. I love that game even though the format isn't good for my poor psyche. I tend to edit obsessively when the roleplaying isn't done via IM, since I actually have a choice about when to hit the reply button. Oh well, I suppose all that heavy editing is good for my writing skills.

Here's a secret: after re-reading my posts over there, I've decided that I actually know how to write. It's not as good as I want it to be, but it isn't awful. I can really do it if I try hard enough. For real...um. I think.


Speaking of writing, I'm doing it again. Constantly, relentlessly writing, that's what I'm doing--both inside of fandom and out of it. I don't know why I do this to myself, not really. Trying to write something besides the usual rp and journal stuff always makes me feel like I'm hovering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I want to write, oh, with the same results as giving birth...a miracle come from love and dreams, through pain and fear, striving at the very edge of my endurance. Pretty silly, huh? Yeah. I've got the drama queen part down pat, all right. Now all I need is the miracle.

*sigh* I meant this post to be cheerful. Oooh, I know. I read some really awesome books this month. Cassie Clare's latest book didn't suck. Finder by Emma Bull made me fall in love with Bordertown all over again, even if it did make me weep. Elsewhere by Will Shetterly is quite possibly the best book I've read all year. I'm such a sucker for troubled adolescent boys. And speaking of troubled adolescent boys...I swear, every time I re-read Swordspoint I discover something new. This time I obsessed about Michael Godwin in between squeeing over the parts I'd forgotten about Alec; there's all sorts of interesting things going on there that I'd never noticed before. Ellen Kushner is a genius.

And that is all.

I don't own anything by Tolkien, more's the pity. Thank you phyncke for doing a quick read/beta for any glaring mistakes. :) It's been changed since, so any remaining mistakes are my own.

( Finwenian Charm )

Aredhel/Caranthir-->because I have a really stupid facination with Aredhel/any Feanorian boy, an obsession that keeps me up nights writing horribly cliched stuff.
As always, it all belongs to Tolkien. I'm just playing with his characters.

( longing )