a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

2002-01-21 - 6:27 p.m. Under pressure... As we speak - or rather, as I type this - mom and dad are each reading one of my fics. Mom's got "Touch of Frost" and Dad's got "In the Service of the Queen." My two Tamlane redos seemed like a safe introduction. I've printed out "The Soiled Dove" and will possibly do "Best Laid Plans" and maybe "The Envious Moon" or "The Space Between", "32 Flavors" or "Piece of My Heart" or "Root Beer Reverie." I'm going for good without too much sex, and without having to have too much backstory. Talk about nervewracking. ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-21 - 5:02 p.m. The Bubble and the Gape Gonna talk a little about girly things, so in the odd event you're a guy, you might want to skip this one. Or, hey, you might pick up some useful information. Who knows? I hate the bubble. I'm wearing a new bra I bought on my shopping spree at Target and it's my size, and yet, the cup isn't quite big enough. Or the lace isn't stretchy. Or something, I'm not quite sure what. But I have the bubble. You know what I'm talking about. Where you look like you're wearing a demicup and you're not? And it'd be fine if you were wearing a cleavagey top, but I'm wearing an Old Navy fleecy right now, so it's not a great look, you know? So, on the list of things that piss me off about women's clothing, tops has to be the bubble. Also, the gape. You know the gape. Button-down blouse or dress, your size. Fits well through the shoulders and at the waist/hips or whatever. And yet, either won't button across your chest or you get the gape, where everyone and his uncle can see into your blouse, because you're straining the buttons. Grr. The gape pisses me off so much, especially on an expensive piece of clothing. I shouldn't have to attach velcro to keep my blouse closed, if the damn thing were made correctly, right? Another thing that annoys me - having to pay for alterations. I'm short. Or so. I've learned to live with pants that have to be cuffed or hemmed. Why the HELL do I have to pay for it, when men don't? And why don't women's coats and blazers come with that handy inside pocket? I realize that we're all supposed to carry purses and be girly girls, but I hate carrying a bag and would prefer not to. If I had a well-made men's jacket, I'd have an inside breast pocket, and putting a slim wallet and a lipstick in there *wouldn't* ruin the lines of it. Don't even get me started on panythose. I won't wear 'em unless under serious duress. ~victoria current mood: irritated current music: La Isla Bonita, Madonna - ick. Need to change radio station... [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-21 - 12:10 a.m. Influences, the end... for now *g* Sigh. Hugh Jackman is too adorable for words. So yummy. I need to see Kate and Leopold. Also need to see Ocean's 11 and Gosford Park, and possibly LotR again, so I can drool over my boyfriend. You know, Legolas IS my boyfriend. Anyhow, to get back to what I was talking about earlier, I think I actually covered it, in a very short, not so polished way. Elmore Leonard said: "My most important piece of advice to all you would-be writers: when you write, try to leave out all the parts readers skip." And I think it's great advice. Except, which readers? How do you decide for whom you're writing? I write stories *I'd* like to read. Is that what other people do? I mean, basically, when I'm writing, I'm making up a story and telling it to myself. It always starts out that way in my head, and then eventually transforms itself into either a fantasy [which I wouldn't share] or a story, which means I've transmuted myself into one of the characters [or eliminated myself altogether] and now I'm ready to put words on paper and watch the whole thing play out. I don't know if this is how other people work. I would think more professional writers [and writers who aim to be professionals] don't. So, anyone care to share? Email me or sign the guestbook or leave a comment. I really do answer everything I get. And no, this isn't a pathetic plea for attention, dammit. *G* ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-20 - 1:42 p.m. Influences, part deux Hmm... Watching football, getting ready to go to Abby's 4th birthday party, checking email. Yeah, I couldn't go a day without checking email. Addicted, remember? So anyhow, thinking about the whole influences business, and reading the discussion on xmmff-disc about pairings and why many people dislike Logan/Rogue - and yes, I've thought about and pretty much countered all their arguments in my head. I find for me the visceral connection I feel toward the characters trumps any petty concerns over age or morality. I *have* written stories where the age-gap has been a problem, where the relationship doesn't work out, etc. I make no apologies for my preferences or for my not-so-secret romanticism. - and how what we like or don't like obviously directs what we read. My feelings on noromo fic in movieverse have also been stated, here in this very diary in the entry called Noromo in movieverse (you have to scroll down a bit). But I think it also directs what we write. I know that Rogue and Logan are never going to get together in the X-Men movies, or even in the comics. The pair speaks to me on a very visceral level, as I've mentioned. I relate to Rogue to an almost scary degree (biohazard tattoo, remember? Gotten years before the movie and long after the X-Men had left any conscious part of my mind) and the idea that somehow this pair could just meet and mesh - like Cathy and Heathcliff or Beatrice and Benedick (depending on if your bent is for comedy or melodrama) - spoke to me. It didn't hurt that they had some serious chemistry onscreen and were the most developed characters. At least, Logan was. Rogue, not so much. So I write stories I'm interested in reading. When I write, I stick in all the stuff that keeps me interested in anything I'm reading - snappy dialogue, character introspection, a dash of poetic language and imagery, some comedy - and leave out the crap I skim over, like the description of the Capability Brown-designed gardens and the Hepplewhite furniture and the gowns by Chanel. For other people, that description is the milk of writing and they want to suck it dry and describe every stick of furniture and scrap of clothing every character encounters, along with the daffodils and the sunsets. Not for me, unless it advances the story. I have more to say on this, but I'm being yelled at to get out the door. So, laters... ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-19 - 6:25 p.m. things I'm thinking about All sorts of thoughts are percolating in my head based on reading various lists and blogs and articles this week. Plagiarism and creativity, the role of the author, marketing in relation to fic, influences on my writing, obscenity and the Internet, the filter of history and how it's told by the winners, the effects of feedback on fic writers, as well as some sort of feedback philosophy, angst v. fluff, my own moral center or lack thereof... so many things swirling around, and I'm trying to get my head in order to write something coherent about each of them that hasn't been said already [and I really hope anyone who stops by here has checked out the journals listed over on the side because a lot of this stuff was sparked by discussions in those places] and much more articulately than I could. In the meantime, some articles you might find of interest: "TECHSPLOITATION: The Erotic Web Offensive" by Annalee Newitz [found through Kate's diary] "Plagiarism? So what?" by Patrick T. Reardon "Historians' challenge: Revive truthfulness after scandals" by Nathaniel Frank [both found in the comments on Jintian's blog] In other news, my back is killing me, but my hair looks great. That guy from Law & Order, the one doing the TD Waterhouse commercials now - Stephen Hill - should be related to Leo somehow. The resemblance is freaking eerie. They need to get him on West Wing. Seriously. And yes, I use the word "freaking" far too often, but isn't it a great word? And you don't have to worry about corrupting any little children when you use it. Okay, maybe *you* don't have to worry about that, but I do. *g* I spent a bit of time with the kidlets and don't want to get in trouble for teaching them bad habits. There's time enough for them to learn to curse when they go to school. One last note: Less than a month 'til pitchers and catchers. *g* Grr. html is out to kill me. Stupid quotation marks. ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-19 - 4:14 p.m. wire man Before I drag myself away from the laptop to go find food (and play in the snow), I thought I'd share this. Pretty damn cool, eh? The things I find wandering around the internet... ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-19 - 2:52 p.m. jaegermeister meisterjaeger Which drink are you? Courtesy of DevilDoll. Hmm... I wonder if I put clear instead of brown if I'd get Rumpleminze... Anyhow, I hate Jaeger, but the description fits, so who am I to argue. ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-19 - 2:35 p.m. Someone Else Okay, so there's this mood challenge out there at http://www.jaegecko.com/mood/ and I wake up this morning after a dream I had with a bit of a story. So I write it down, and it's a little strange [though no stranger than some other stuff I've written, I suppose], and it's 250 words over the limit [and who besides me will always hear Marv Albert's voice when saying, "over the limit"? O-kay, no basketball fans here... *g*], the mood I chose isn't even on the freakin' list! Ah me. Anyhow, here it is. I don't know if I'll ever post it anywhere but here [and possibly on my site. I still haven't put up my WW in 25 words thingies on Muse's Fool. I need to do that], but if you're interested, and think you've guessed the mood, let me know. *** Someone Else He feels guilty. He never feels guilty. It's not in him to do so. She asked him for help, and he wracked his brains all night to come up with an answer for her, and he couldn't. So he feels guilty. She smiles at him the next morning, and he has to remind himself that his heart belongs to someone else, not to her. She's too young and inexperienced. He likes women, not girls; redheaded women with legs for days, not waifish schoolgirls with soft eyes and full lips. But his eyes stray toward her, in her flirty clothes -- gray pleated skirt so short it's almost indecent, black tights covering her legs, crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring her delicate wrists and hands encased in the finest black leather money could buy. Because only the best will do for her. He's decided that, and he's stuck to it over the past two years, gifting her with gloves of soft leather, scarves of cashmere and silk -- anything she wants, he will give her, anything to ease her way in the world and make her feel less isolated. Except his heart. As he reminds himself, that belongs to someone else. When he'd come back to Westchester, he hadn't had any intention of actively pursuing Jean. She had rejected him, and he could respect that. He'd never asked how her relationship with Scott had fallen apart, and she'd never volunteered the information. He and the Boy Scout had managed to behave civilly to each other as they switched places in Jean's life, and that was all she wrote. He is happy, Jean is happy, and Marie is... well, the kid was hurt, but she's gotten over it. He is almost positive. Except sometimes she looks at him, and he can feel his heart turn over, because there's something in her eyes that disturbs him, even as it arouses him. So, last night she'd asked him for help with one of her silly teenage problems, which he'd used as proof she was still a child, until he'd actually listened to her words. "Bobby likes me," she'd said, her eyes downcast, a slight blush staining her cheeks as she sat on his bed, "but I know Kitty likes him, and has forever. I don't -- I don't want to get involved. I don't want to lose my friends. What should I do?" He'd sent her off to bed; his room was no place for her while she was in those flimsy things she called pajamas and he was only half-dressed himself. He'd lay down on the bed, waiting for Jean, and her words came back to haunt him. Specifically, the words she *hadn't* said kept him up all night. She hadn't told him how she felt about the Iceman, and that bothered him. And then, closing his eyes as he'd made love to Jean, he saw *her* face, and had to bite his lip to keep from calling, "Marie," as he reached his climax. Watching her now, as she licks the last of the oatmeal off her spoon, he once again runs through the list of reasons that what he's feeling can't be what he thinks it is. He sits down next to her, and her eyes sparkle as she smiles. "Marie," he says, and his voice is hoarse from lack of sleep, and other things he still refuses to name. "How do you feel about him?" Her brow furrows and then clears as she realizes what he's asking. "I like Bobby," she says, her eyes never leaving his face, searching for his reaction, "but my heart belongs to someone else." He exhales, not realizing until that moment he's been holding his breath. He squeezes her hand and then rises abruptly, leaving her with a stunned look as he searches the dining room for Jean, trying to reconcile the swell of emotion he feels toward Marie with the comfortable lust he has for the redhead. He finds her sitting with Xavier and Ororo. "We need to talk," he tells her, pulling her from the room. In the hallway, he takes a deep breath as he watches her smiling face, and says, "I'm sorry. My heart belongs to someone else." She nods, resigned, and he wonders how he's the only one who hadn't seen it before. "I know," she says. "Mine, too." They reenter the dining room, surprisingly in harmony for a newly broken couple, each seeking out the someone else who they now realize was the someone right all along. End Disclaimer: Do I look like Stan Lee? ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-18 - 10:59 p.m. What flavor are you? I tashte like Alcohol. Heh. Heh. I taste like beer. I like beer. Buy me a beer. I'm not drunk, I can drink plenty without... What was I saying? Beer. What Flavour Are You? If I didn't taste like alcohol, I'd taste like Nuclear Waste. I taste like Nuclear Waste. Delicious. Tasting like nuclear waste is a good thing - nothing bites me, nothing eats me, few things even touch me. I appreciate the solitude my harsh exterior brings. What Flavour Are You? Hee! An accurate personality test! I love it! ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within. The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme. 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