a fool's musings
Fool, said my muse to me,
look in thy heart and write...
Warning: Adult Content
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2002-05-10 - 4:52 p.m.
paging through the Times
But I did read some interesting articles, and I figured I'd share with you all.
'Cause I'm cool like that.
There are two from Salon about blogging: here and here.
Then the really interesting stuff.
Did you know Kevin Aucoin, the make up artist, died? I didn't either.
He seemed like a cool guy. Read his obituary in the Times and a second one in a British paper.
Here's an article about Liberals and Libertarians not being as far apart as many liberals think they are. While long-term goals are different, their stances on many issues are the same, though possibly for different reasons.
I've thought about being a Libertarian, but there are some things that are too conservative there for me.
And then we have the fun stuff:
An interview with Tom Waits from the NY Times [it's free but you need to be a registered user].
My two favorite quotes:
"How do you reconcile your irreconcilable musical desires and dreams and wishes and memories? You may not be able to make one thing out of it."
and
On performing:
"Maybe it's kind of like alligator wrestling, because you're dealing with something that's alive. And you might be thrown by it and you might be gored by it, and it's bigger than you, but you may get to ride it."
He's so freaking cool.
Here's a review of Attack of the Clones - the Times didn't like it. Not too spoilleriffic, but if you don't want to know anything, you should probably skip it.
The Times did, however, seem to like Unfaithful, which is surprising, given Lyne's previous work.
This is an interesting article on Zora Neale Hurston's roots, and here is a review of the book discussed - Negro Folk-Tales From the Gulf States .
And last but not least, this is an interesting idea: One Town, One Book - trying to get everyone in New York City to read the same book at once.
Of course, this being New York City, there were conflicts and differing opinions, and it didn't quite work out as planned.
But it's an interesting idea, even if I'm not necessarily into the whole "book club" thing.
On the one hand, a book club sounds pretty dang cool - getting together with a bunch of friends once a month to discuss a book you're all reading.
On the other hand, my reading taste is wildly unpredictable, and having a set curriculum would drive me out of my mind, because I would dig my heels in and not read the book I was supposed to read.
Especially if there were no grades involved.
I was terribly motivated by grades in school - a total grades junkie, and I didn't really work hard for it.
So to do it without that articificial motivation seems... strange to me.
I realize that reading a good book and having a conversation about it should be motivation enough, but if you're going to impose structure on my free-reading time, I'm gonna want more than that.
Huh.
Almost time to go home now.
It's a shame I'm too damn unfocused to write. Today would have been a great day for it.
Ah well...
~victoria
[current mood: bored]
[current music: The Wall - Pink Floyd]
[random quote: All in all, you're just another brick in the wall]
~*~
2002-05-10 - 10:56 a.m.
"day old banana pudding"
I feel like I should have something interesting and important to say.
I'm sure at some point I did.
But my brain is currently the consistency of day-old banana pudding, to quote Munch.
This week has been *hard* for some reason. I don't know why. I guess I could blame PMS. I do get extremely fatigued from it, and usually have bouts of insomnia in the week before my period. So far, no insomnia, but the sheer exhaustion factor is way up, considering I haven't *done* anything.
I do feel like I'm back in a writing groove, which can only be a good thing, right?
Well, good for me. Don't know about you poor sods who get barraged with the results.
Part of the weirdness I was having with writing was that I finished all the stories I'd been working on for so long, the stories that were my fallbacks when I was stuck on something new.
The first of these was Flirtation 101, then Time's Fool and then Night of the Dead Living.
I keep returning to Consumption, of course, but that's a different kettle of fish. There's much still to be worked out on that; mostly the plot of the second half, concerning the fallout of Magneto's plan, Scott's and Rogue's arcs continuing to move in opposite directions, though they've switched tracks. Rogue's trajectory is going to start rising, while Scott is going to be hurtling downward for a while.
Hey, you don't become a Fearless Leader without being tested in fire and fucking up a few times. And Scott is always, always the Fearless Leader, even if I'm taking him the long way 'round this time.
His ability to lead is one of the things I love about him.
So a brief list of WIPs:
Consumption
Babylonian!Rogue
Amnesiac!Rogue
Psychokiller fic
the dark coma-Scott fic
Dreams In Red
Breakdowns and Wake-up Calls (or The Object of His Affections)
Cruciato Fic
Paperback Writer
Love's Compass [the sequel to Blood Wedding]
Exchange the Experience [an Achin' to Be story... hmmm.. haven't opened this in months. Maybe that's where I'll light next]
Gardening at Night [the next All of Heaven Away]
Coming Around Again [the sequel to Second Chances]
N'Kimah [the last of the Hooker!Rogue stories, though really, that series could end where it is and I'd be happy. I just sort of want Logan to get revenge on Sabretooth]
Metropolitan [absinthe + kryptonite + GSB = ChLexark if I can make it work]
When We Were Young [a tale of how Lionel and Jonathan and Nell all know each other, and also Martha's Metropolis background]
Huh. I think that should cover things.
~victoria
[current mood: mushad and stunod]
[current music: Burden in My Hand - Soundgarden]
[random quote: Kill your health and kill yourself and kill everything you love]
~*~
2002-05-09 - 10:34 p.m.
quick and dirty
Is it wrong that I spent the last 40 minutes writing pure L/R smut? It is Masturbation May, after all.
And since Babylonian!Rogue is turning out to have a plot instead of being the quick tumble I expected, I felt the need to write some pure, no-redeeming-social-value smut.
I'm not sure it's hot.
It's in the betas' hands now.
~*~
Quick and Dirty
Friday nights at the Montague Hotel have become my favorite thing in the whole world.
See, every Friday night since I gained control of my powers, my routine is the same. I slip out of the mansion, unnoticed, unmissed, dressed in as little as possible, and I head to the bar at the Montague Hotel.
It's a nice bar, upscale, the way you'd expect a posh Westchester hotel bar to be. There are leather seats and heavy wood tables. The bar itself is mahogany, and polished until it gleams.
Harry the bartender knows me now. I slide onto a stool and smile, and my Absolut and cranberry is in front of me almost before I put down my purse. When I first started coming here, Harry looked unhappy. I know he thought I was a hooker -- excuse me, call girl. I was shocked the first time one of the men in the bar approached me to negotiate a deal, but I've learned to laugh it off. Because I know if I get upset, Harry will tell him.
He's the only one I'm interested in. I hope he's here tonight. I scan the room casually, but he hasn't arrived yet.
That's the big secret. I've been meeting him on the sly for a couple of months now. We don't really talk much; I don't even know his last name and he doesn't know mine. We just have a drink and then fuck.
Last week, we went out to my car, and I gave him a blowjob, since I had my period and wasn't really up for anything else. The week before, he went down on me in the ladies' room. One time, we had sex in a booth way in the back of the bar. I had bruises on my back for a week from banging into the edge of the table.
"Is this seat taken?"
I inhale sharply. While I was reminiscing, he arrived.
"It is now, sugar."
He gives me a little half-smile and sits. Harry nods and puts a pint in front of him. He looks me up and down and that smile grows into sexy grin as he takes in the floral sundress I have on..
"How've you been?" I ask, a little breathless from anticipation. I'm not wearing any panties, and I know he can see the shadow of my pussy in the dim light of the bar when I move. I can feel the humid rush of desire between my legs, and I don't even want to go through the usual chat before we get it on.
Most people would probably say I should be ashamed of fucking a strange man I met in a bar, but I'm not. Not when it feels so good. Not when I was starved for touch for so long.
His hand, long fingers with neatly trimmed nails, slides up my thigh. I turn to face him and part my legs, trying to let him know just how ready I am.
He throws a twenty down on the bar and offers me a hand. "Let's go," he says.
"Lead the way." I take his hand and he tucks it beneath his arm. He's really quite gallant. I was surprised by that, the first time he did it.
And another surprise -- we head toward the elevators instead of my car. I raise an eyebrow and he gives me the sexy grin again. "I have a room."
"Oh." We get on the elevator and I can feel desire uncurling in my stomach and radiating through my body. "I don't know if my husband would approve."
That checks him for an instant and he looks down at my left hand, which does, in fact, have a plain platinum band around the ring finger. Then he pulls me into his arms and kisses me softly. "Then you probably shouldn't tell him." He kisses me again before I can voice agreement.
His hands are everywhere, cupping my breasts, rubbing circles on my back and it feels so good. It's almost overwhelming, even now, the feel of skin on skin. I could almost come just from that.
As if he can read my mind, he leans over and pulls the emergency stop button. The elevator grinds to a halt and he walks me to the bar that lines the back wall of the car. He lifts me up so I'm sitting on it, and steps between my knees, all the while kissing me.
I moan when he eases the straps of my dress down and massages my nipples until they're hard and aching. Then he licks at them, sliding his tongue over the curve of my breast in slowly tightening circles until he takes the nipple in his mouth and sucks, hard.
Electricity bolts through me and I arch into him, moaning, my hands anchored in his hair. I'm grinding against him, as he applies the same treatment to the other breast.
I unzip his jeans and pull his cock out. He's already slick with pre-come and I know neither of us is going to last long, and that's okay. Sometimes quick and dirty is the best way.
He widens his stance a little and I slide forward, trying to maintain my balance and get him inside of me at the same time.
"Naughty girl," he rumbles in my ear, his hands on my thighs, fingers digging into my ass. "You're so impatient."
"I want you inside me now," I say. He chuckles and kisses me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth the way his cock is pushing into my pussy. I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of him as he goes deeper and then pulls out.
In and out, in and out. He's controlling it and he's not going fast enough to suit me. "Harder," I whisper, gripping his biceps tightly. "Faster."
His teeth nip at my clavicle and he nods. His hips piston into mine and the friction is so good it's almost unbearable. I open my eyes and he's staring at me.
I always try to keep my eyes open so I can watch him come, but I can't ever manage it. I'm usually so close to orgasm myself by that point that I can't think. I'm nothing but nerve endings and sensation.
Hot.
Wet.
Everything inside my body tightens unbearably and I know I'm going to come. I love that moment right before, when everything in me *knows* I'm going to come and I quiver with the knowledge before the orgasm rolls through me, making my whole body convulse. I tighten my grip around his cock, taking him even deeper as my hips buck up against his, hard, and I shudder in his arms.
"Fuck, Marie," he groans, and I can feel the liquid warmth of his semen as he comes.
I open my eyes and for once get to watch him, his hazel eyes glazed with passion, his body vibrating fiercely from the force of his orgasm.
"Logan," I sigh. "Love you so much."
"Love you too, baby."
I can never keep the pretense up at that point; I can't pretend he's not my husband as well as my lover. I love him too much, and the rest is secondary, a silly game of thrills and secrets we play with each other.
We ride out the last waves of our climax together, and then he pulls out a handkerchief to help me clean up before he starts the elevator on its way up to his room.
Friday nights at the Montague Hotel.
I wouldn't give them up for anything.
End
~*~
Hmm...
~victoria
[current mood: horny]
[current music: A New England - Billy Bragg]
[random quote: Is it wrong to wish on space hardware? I wish, I wish, I wish you cared...]
~*~
2002-05-09 - 1:07 p.m.
Tell me, O Muse...
Pretentious ramblings over in the LiveJournal about blogging and memoir.
Also, some interesting links.
Speaking of which, and good reading material, and my current mini-obsession:
Two unpublished Sandman stories.
Squee!
Neither was included in the Book of Dreams anthology for some reason, so the authors put them on the 'net.
The Voice of Her Eyes by Karawynn Long, a story featuring Delirium, and Merv Pumpkinhead's Big Night Out by Michael Berry.
Read and enjoy.
~*~
Edited to clarify. I misattributed certain things to Lori, which were, in fact, Jemima's words
This is Jemima:
For one thing, I was never in it for the fun, except on the reading side. I don't read as much now partly because I don't have time, and partly because I don't enjoy the sorts of stories I used to, not the way I used to. But Liz was blogbacking my muse psychoanalysis, and the muse was never in it for the fun. The muse does not have such motives; it's not clear the muse has motives at all. She came to me and started writing, and while I was Insufficiently Reluctant, I was not having fun per se revising MII or Colony or The Museum until I knew every line by heart, no. I don't even know what fun means in that context. I did it because the story was inside of me and wanted to come out, and the joy of making a story is not the same as the fun of chatting in #jetc.
Hmm...
I find this interesting, because I am in it all partly for the fun. Mostly for the fun.
Or I was when I started.
I've always self-identified as a writer. I've always made up stories. I've always *enjoyed* making up stories. As a child, it was my favorite thing to do, after reading stories.
So most of the time, I find writing fun. Or I do when it's *on*. It's when it's not on, when I'm blocked or something is bothering me, or I'm finding that my vision is not translating properly to the page or that it's not striking my betas the way I want it to [and this is happening more and more lately, or at least we're all being more vocal about it] that it becomes unfun.
I enjoy editing my own stuff, fixing all the little errors that make me grind my teeth, finding the perfect wording that is usually so elusive, looking things over and seeing stuff I didn't even realize I'd put there.
Yeah.
Love that.
I used to love betaing too, and I'm sure at some point that will come back. The idea of helping to shape someone else's vision - it's heady. And I'm good at it.
Lori again (Jemima, actually):
If anyone out there is sacrificing the pain of hours writing fic for the fun of feedback or the glory of BNF, I feel sorry for them. They know not the muse.
I think this is a gross generalization that may not be supported by the facts as I know them.
God knows, there's a ton of badfic out there that gets support, and I can think of a couple of people who might consider themselves BNFs (and who in certain circles wouldn't be wrong, necessarily) whose writing is flat-out awful.
I don't think it's a question of inspiration, which is what "the muse" means to me.
It could be I'm defining the term differently from Lori and Jemima.
Far more important than "the muse" is the skill, the talent, and the sheer bloody-minded willingness to continue to sit there in front of a blank page even when it's not working.
It's the willingness to take crit even when you're so in love with the story that you cannot see the flaws; to take the time to walk away when you realize you've become too attached and come back a few days later when the criticism doesn't sting as much ['cause it *always* stings] and weigh somewhat objectively what you can change and what must remain.
Some things are necessary, all else should be pared away.
I've been contemplating necessity the past couple of days, or I should say, Necessity as the Greeks thought of it [the tragedians, anyway], and how it's terrible and fearsome and it's the one thing that often cannot be fought. Because it's not Fate. It's not predetermination. It's pure Need at the most basic level, and that's the one thing that will always win in the end, and it can be beautiful or terrible, and it's usually both.
But that's an entry for another day.
More Lori Jemima:
I never understand when someone undermines a story to push it to a particular audience, nor when someone rehashes old fic as part of the hamster wheel potlatch, because I fear and respect the muse more than that....
This I'll agree with, though I've been known to retread the same plot, just changing this or that to see how it might come out different.
I think it's like the Goldberg Variations or the way Monet painted waterlilies over and over again, from different angles, in different light.
Change one thing and see how everything shakes out.
Change two and you might be in a whole new universe.
Jemima:
[...] because nobody believes in the muse herself. I do. For one thing, I'm willing to take the word of the many, many fanfic writers who've talked about their muses. Were they making analogies? Why would everyone make the same analogy?
Because it's an analogy that comes down to us from antiquity and through the ages?
"Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans." First line of The Iliad (or a reasonable prose translation)
"Tell Me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy." First line of The Odyssey (again, a prose translation).
"O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate;" lines 11-12 of the Aeneid
"Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos"
Book 1, lines 6-10 of Paradise Lost
(Okay, he's really calling on the Holy Spirit, even though in Book 3 he invokes Urania, the muse of astronomy, or rather, he espouses the idea of the muse, though he wouldn't be so heathenish to actually invoke a pagan muse *G*, but he's asking the Spirit to perform the same function I attribute to "the muse" - that is, inspiration.)
This is Lori, finally!:
The muse hath no why. The muse is. Not everyone has one -- lots of people are in fandom for the fun of it, and I suspect there's a corollation between that and their productivity and their desire or lack thereof to improve their writing. I suspect that when they say "muse" they speak metaphorically. Authentic muses (or what I think of as "authentic") appear to instill a desire to not just get feedback, not just get a "got to see those two together" itch scratched, but to create and excel, to be more than "just another fanfic writer" - mine appears to come with a side order of expectations that other people have the same sort of muse, the same drive to improve, the same dissatisfaction with the status quo of TPTB. That's supposed to be one of the main reasons people write, right?
Either this is the rule and I'm the exception that proves it, or it's another generalization that doesn't really work.
Because I'm very productive, and I'm incredibly interested in becoming a better writer. And I think I'm a damned good one right now.
I think it's more to do with what you see as the purpose of writing.
Except it's not. To many, pairings are not plot devices, they're a reason to write. Consider the resistance to non-standard pairings.
My pairings aren't plot devices.
My interest in writing is related to my interest in *people*; or, I should say, character.
Yes, part of the reason I ship is because of a visceral response to the chemistry between two characters, but the other part - the one that makes me do more than write bad smut over and over again - is the part that wants to explore these characters. I want to know them inside and out, I want to see them from every angle and put them into every situation my little brain can contrive, and see how they behave.
Part of it is also because I knew I'd never get to see Logan and Rogue as a couple on screen, and their chemistry was so palpable, and the relationship so amazingly layered, that it reached right out and grabbed me. I've been writing them as my main couple and the main inspiration for my fic for almost two years now, and I'm still not through. I still want to know more, see more, see how far they can be pushed and stretched and still remain recognizable as themselves.
I'm not at all a plot-driven writer. I'm a plot-driven reader to a certain extent, because I need to know *what happened*, but I think the plot should derive from the characters, not the other way around.
Since I've just finished reading Gaiman's Sandman and I know Lori's been discussing Gaiman, I'll use Sandman as an example.
To me, the whole story, the overarching plot, was driven by Dream's character.
Yes, other people played their parts - and their characters informed the plot [Lyta Hall's obsession with her baby, Thessaly's coldness and self-centeredness - these two things collided and boom!] - but the whole thing is driven first by Burgess's *need* (there's that word again) to control Death, and then Dream's insistence on performing his responsibilities and fulfilling his duties, even at the expense of, well, everything.
The thing that makes it such a fabulous series for me is charting Dream's progress, his growth, the evolution of his sense of empathy, and possibly even a crude sense of *morality*, in the sense that he does what's right because it's *right*, not because "the rules" demand it.
So pairings aren't "plot devices", nor should they be, in my opinion. They're just one more way of exploring character, by putting two people in a relationship, or breaking two people up, or just seeing how two people act when you put them in a room together.
I also feel the need to write. Sometimes it's a burning desire that gets me out of bed in the middle of the night, because the characters are talking and I need to write it all down.
Sometimes it's just an idea that won't leave me alone, and putting it on paper exorcises it from my head, leaving me in peace.
Sometimes it's a desire to create something, anything, as an outlet for feelings that will otherwise explode out of me and possibly hurt someone I care about.
Sometimes it's magic, and I get lost in the flow and look up and three hours have passed and I've got 6K words that make a story and I don't even know how it happened. Then yes, I believe in something more - the Muse, Inspiration, a Higher Power, the First Creator who creates through us - call it what you want, but I think you'll find most people who take writing seriously have felt it, and it's one of the greatest and most joyous feelings in the world, even if you can't quite remember how you got there, or if you'll ever get there again.
That's enough of me waxing florid.
I'm interested in Lori's definition of the muse, and also whether she puts plot above characterization in her writing. Because it seems to me that's part of what I'm having trouble with in her description, as well as in the idea of an "authentic" v. "inauthentic" muse.
Whew, that took a lot longer than I expected.
It's almost time for lunch!
~victoria
[current mood: bemused *g*]
[current music: Losing My Religion - REM]
[random quote: Arms and the man I sing]
~*~
2002-05-08 - 11:27 p.m.
free your mind, and your ass will follow
I take mindpower to a new level. There are those who think and those who act. I am a rare combination of both. I make that which I think into that which you see. Mind over matter and then some. I am not quick tempered, but crossing my line is far from wise. I am known to be lazy, but who wouldn't be? I can move things with my mind. Don't cross me - or you might find something flying your way.
What's your superpower?
Been a while since I put one of these in here.
I think it's fitting.
And it reminds me... Have I shown you my avatar?
Check me out:
Aren't I adorable?
West Wing musings over in the LJ.
Remind me tomorrow that I wanted to discuss Lori's entry on the muse.
Oh, and the Chlark is finished and with the betas.
I'm hoping to get it posted before next week's ep.
~victoria
[current mood: sleepy]
[current music: Reflections - The Supremes]
[random quote: Free your mind and your ass will follow]
~*~
2002-05-08 - 3:17 p.m.
the hills are alive...
More good linkage:
Sabine talks about "the Sound of Music as a film about Nazis."
Best explication I've ever seen of this movie, which I love even as I cringe at some of the hokiness.
~victoria
all about the linkage...
[current mood: musical]
[current music: The Sound of Music, in my head]
[random quote: How do you solve a problem like Maria?]
~*~
2002-05-08 - 12:50 p.m.
and the last shall be first
Quick note:
Last lines listing up at the LJ.
~victoria
[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]
~*~
2002-05-08 - 11:15 a.m.
privacy please
I just wrote an incredibly long entry, hit the wrong button and lost it.
::wails and gnashes teeth::
Let's see if I can reconstruct...
Peggy has been talking about blogging as performance art, and the veneer of privacy blogging has to it.
(All yous in this entry are generic. All I's and Me's are referring to me.)
The thing is this: You're only ever 6 clicks away from someone you know, or who knows you. You may think you're sharing your innermost thoughts with only a few close friends, but newsflash, braintrust, you're putting your thoughts on the INTERNET.
That means random strangers, people who knew you in high school, fellow fans and people with axes to grind are also reading your diary.
And if you don't believe me, you're either stupid or in denial.
(Hmm... this is coming out far snarkier the second time. Must be because I'm freaking annoyed at losing it the first time. Grrr...)
Nothing on the Internet is private, and woe unto they who think that it is.
The only thing you can really regard as private is private email with someone you trust. And even there... be sure your instincts are good, because I've seen private email on display on lists and newsgroups and in journals, without the names removed [as would be the preferred netiquette].
Why yes, I am paranoid.
Also, be aware that people *are* reading your diary, even if you don't think they are, even if they don't say anything to you directly.
I wasn't. When I first started this exercise in egotism (or is it egoism? I never do get the difference straight), I didn't think anyone was paying attention, and it scuttled a cyber-friendship, because I said some things in anger that I should have left for private email, and even though they weren't directed at the person with whom I was friends, she was friends with the person at whom the remarks were directed, and well... suffice it to say that it wasn't pretty. (I also have a theory on this sort of stuff, but later...)
It made me nauseous for a while and unable to write for weeks.
I don't like confrontation, but I won't back down from it.
The thing I learned - and it's a salutary lesson for all - is that you have to take responsibility for whatever you write.
Yeah, you can say, "It's my diary, I'll write what I want" and it is, and you can.
But it's not.
It's not the diary you keep in your night table drawer, that no one will ever read. You're publishing it on the Internet.
Even if you have a supersekrit pseudonym and a diary that's linked to no one and is allegedly "Friends Only," I'm willing to bet that you'll be outed at some point.
Because Fandom is small.
You have to be willing to own, to take responsibility for, anything you write for public consumption.
When I was active on newsgroups, I never flamed anybody. I wrote a lot of scathing posts that got sent to my trash bin. Because nothing good comes of it. It's not productive, though it feels good to flay someone with your withering sarcasm. It does.
But I learned to be diplomatic, and if I - blunt-as-Cordelia - can learn it, everyone else can.
Even in my diary, I tend to be more diplomatic than I would be in email. I don't name names, necessarily, and I try to be oblique without being obscure.
As for the cult of the producer, I don't get it myself.
I read people's diaries for fic snippets and discussion of fandom and other topics of interest (books read or movies seen; sports talk; current events; music). Unless I've known someone via private email or chat or something, I have little or no interest in their cat stories [aside from the fact that I loathe cats *g*] or their troubles in math class [which only serve to make me feel ancient, since the last time I was in math class was in 1989].
I mean, making the quotidian minutiae of one's life interesting to random people is a talent. I know I don't possess that skill, and a lot of other fiction authors don't have it either.
I mean, my personal life frequently puts *me* to sleep. Why the hell would anyone reading this be interested in hearing about it?
On the other hand, people completely separate from fandom are interesting reads because of this skill. (See Sundry over there on the sidebar? Freaking hilarious. I read her eagerly because she's got the talent to make her life sound interesting, even though I don't know her from a hole in the wall and she's not in fandom and I doubt we share many interests.)
Anyhow, I don't get the slavish worship of big name fans. I don't get the obsquieousness being a BNF engenders, and in fact, I find it a little nausea-inducing.
(Everything I internalize goes right to my digestive tract. *snerk*)
Just because someone is a good writer doesn't mean s/he's an interesting person. Just because someone produces transcendant prose doesn't mean she's an expert on the show or the fandom or, you know, anything but her own stories (and there are some who'd question even that, as we all know stuff ends up in our stories that we don't consciously put there). One shouldn't bow and scrape to some BNF's opinion of something just because s/he's the author of one's favorite fanfic.
I have little patience for that popularity crap. I mean, I read and link and converse with people I find interesting. I don't consider all of us good friends or best buddies or any of that. I also don't think someone's right about something and I'm wrong just because s/he gets more feedback or her writing is better or whatever.
Anyhow, I don't understand why so many people in Smallville link to *me*, since I've not been a major producer of fic in that fandom, and in fact, spend most of my time writing the apparently much less worthy het fic in a totally different fandom. (And I'll avoid that topic in this entry since it leads to much bitterness.)
Don't get me wrong. I *love* being linked. It's a vanity, I know it, but I love it. I love the idea that people enjoy my views on Fandom or writing or the shows I watch or whatever.
But I'm certainly not a BNF in Smallville. Getting pimped by Te and Jenn helps, but even before that I was getting linked by people I didn't really know [and hadn't even *read* before they linked me]. Which is great, because it lead me to new and interesting diaries I hadn't seen before, and people I'd never have "met" otherwise.
I guess I should wrap this up, huh.
I don't know that I said anything new or interesting. I think I'll go back to pretending to work and thinking about the ChLark fic.
So to sum up:
Diaries are not private.
Diplomacy is a good thing.
Take responsibility for what you write.
I don't like cats.
I don't get BNF-dom.
If you've got something to say, speak up.
~victoria
[current mood: snarky]
[current music: It's the End of the World As We Know It - REM]
[random quote: I wanted to see you walking away from me without the sensation that you're leaving me alone.]
~*~
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The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme.
The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney.
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