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

01.13.03 - 9:56 p.m. Ink and Paper First off, Burnished Copper, the "Chloe wants her Mommy" fic is now up on the site. Second, I started thinking some more about why I've had trouble finishing any of my WsIP lately, and this afternoon, as I was doing the rewriting on Passion (aka the David sent me fic) (in addition to the previously mentioned fear of major revision), I realized that I did something today I had not done in *ages*. I printed the story out and made revisions by hand. I find it so much easier to work with a hard copy of a text, but I've gotten so used to not printing stuff out at work, because 1. I don't want to leave it lying around by accident, 2. I no longer carry a bag big enough to fit a folder in, and 3. I was getting used to revising on screen. But there's just something much easier and less intimidating about having the whole thing in your hand, the ability to rifle through the pages, to see both what was there and what you've added in over it. I suppose I could use the 'Track Changes' function in Word, but it's very cumbersome; we use it a lot for documents at work, and I don't care for it. I'd rather have my pen-and-ink revisions. And now I've got "Ink and Paper" in my head. Love that song. So, aside from a little coda scene at the end, to bring the whole story full-circle, it's done. I just have to type in the changes and send off the revised version to the betas. Who will hate me for making such major changes after they've already gone over the thing once. Next on the list is Nothing Like the Sun, and then we'll see where we stand. ~victoria link [current mood: sleepy] [current music: Black - Pearl Jam] [random quote: Well there it is in black and white No need to read between the lines You made it clear to the letter You're breaking off] ~*~ 01.13.03 - 11:33 a.m. dreams and Draco You like how in that last entry I said I wasn't going to list my writing goals and then I listed my writing goals? Sometimes my thought processes baffle even me. Last night, I dreamt that the earth was split in half by some major cataclysm, and that instead of one big round earth, there were two jagged half-spheres of earth orbiting each other - but somehow only 500 people died and 2100 people were injured in this unprecedented event. And apparently, I missed the whole big earthshattering thing, somehow. I don't know how, but when I got home, everything was different, to there being this half-earth in the sky all day and at night, and night was longer or shorter or something, and the moon was farther away or something. It made sense in the dream, at least. And there were corrupt senators and a nasty minion for one of the large pharmaceutical firms who were all trying to do something that I don't remember, but I was trying to stop them. *** Also, last night, I think I thought of an ending for Nothing Like the Sun. At least, I had some fun Draco-Hermione nasty banter where he tells her he could almost like her and that he's tempted to take her with him, but not really, because if they had to do more than just screw, they'd probably kill each other within a week. I just hope I can remember it. Because I hate when I get a good conversation going in my head and then I fall asleep, and it's gone the next morning, and I never get it back. I mean, I may get the gist, and it may be almost the same, but it's never quite as good as I remember it being the first time around. And I find that incredibly annoying, which is why I tend to get myself up and write stuff down, but last night I was crampy and icky-feeling, so I didn't. Bonibaru mentions that Draco is the Cordelia of HP, and I cannot think of him like that, because I lurve Cordelia, and would never have her behave the way Draco is behaving, but the comparison may make sense, should Draco ever overcome his name (though really, with a name like Weasley, Ron shouldn't exactly be a hero either, and he is, so maybe Malfoy isn't going to be the curse it seems like now. Though what people seem to forget is that JKR is writing children's books, at least through GoF, and the fact that we only get Draco through Harry's eyes doesn't necessarily mean that Harry's wrong about him. Because we only get Snape through Harry's eyes as well, and how wrong is he about *him*? Remember that - a good author lets you know when her narrator is unreliable, and so far, there's no outside evidence for Draco's desire for goodness. Is it possible somewhere on down the line? Sure. But not yet, in canon, imo) and his personality to actually, you know, do something decent for someone other than himself. I also think the LotR PWP will turn out to 1. not be a threesome and 2. not to have any porn in it. Which is kind of a disappointing turn of events. But we'll see. *** This morning, I saw something I hadn't seen in ages, didn't expect to see today, from grown people. Three different people snuck onto the bus from the back door. Adults. Grown ups. One in a freaking fur coat, so don't tell me she couldn't afford the $1.50. (though honestly, *I* own a fur coat. But I can afford the bus, too.) I haven't seen that since my days riding the 88 Special to high school. ::shakes head:: And now I have actual ::snicker:: work to do, so I'll go. Just keep your fingers crossed that I can manage Draco as well as I think I can. ~victoria link [current mood: woozy] [current music: The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys] [random quote: If I gave you everything that I owned And asked for nothing in return Would you do the same for me as I would for you?] ~*~ 01.12.03 - 10:15 p.m. Things to do So I'm thinking, now that I'm practically caught up on email (to those few people I still owe, er, I really am getting to it), I may as well begin to take back my online life from the jungle which has engulfed it, by which I mean, links, recs and assorted other stuff I've let go for months and months. So herewith, without further ado, a fannish to do list for the next month or so: 1. Update Unfit recs pages with new recs and new URLs for stories that have moved. 2. Clean out and update Unfit and Muse's Fool links pages 3. Get back to working on XMMFF Archive, with labeling WIP stories and working on a system to get new stories into the archive. I'd like to have it active again by May. I think that covers it. I'm not going to list my writing goals, because I keep those separate in my head from my archiving goals. Makes life a little easier. Writing goals for the month include: 1. Finish Nothing Like the Sun 2. Finish Dating Plan 3. Write damn LotR PWP 4. Finish 'David sent me' fic 5. Finish watchfic See, now I just have to convince myself that this is not too overwhelming, and get to work. Alias thoughts will be up in the LJ as soon as I can type 'em up. Two things, though: Woobie!Vaughn. And French-speaking!Vaughn... *thud* ~victoria link [current mood: ambitious] [current music: hot stuff - donna summer (in my head)] [random quote: Squint your eyes and look closer I'm not between you and your ambition I am a poster girl with no poster I am 32 flavors a] ~*~ 01.12.03 - 4:27 p.m. Buttons, bangles, bright shiny beads Buttons! Link to the X-Men Movieverse Fanfic Archive: J E T S! JETS! JETS! JETS! ~victoria link [current mood: crampy] [current music: Jets pregrame show] [random quote: Hypocrisy is an homage that vice renders to virtue. ~Francois, Duc De La Rochefoucauld] ~*~ 01.12.03 - 4:24 a.m. 424 It's 4:24 am and I am still up. I just wanted to note that for the record. Good night. [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.11.03 - 7:38 p.m. Some headlines just reach out and grab you Some headlines just reach out and grab you: The Who's Townshend Says 'I'm Not a Pedophile' Urk. Also, did you know JRRT's grandson is a writer. Not an especially excellent one, according to EW, but published, nonetheless. Why couldn't *I* have a world-famous published grandfather, so I could get my every nattering published? Huh? Anyhow, the novel is called Final Witness and the mini-review says: In his debut thriller, Tolkien treads the literary path of his grandfather; like Lord of the Rings, Witness is about an underdog hero with a grave task--young Thomas Robinson, who's determined to unmask the murderer of his monied mother, Lady Anne. It features a ring of evil power, a sapphire that Tom believes aided his mother's ruin. And it has typically Tolkienesque lines like "His face was crushed into the soft center of her breast..." [vic here: I don't recall any breast-smooching in LotR. Have I missed something?] --well, you get the picture. J.R.R. Tolkien's grandson has written a potboiler brimming with secret rooms, secret drawers and secret marriages. Not Middle-earth, but certainly middlebrow. -- Gillian Flynn Anyhow, went to see Two Weeks Notice last night with Leslie. I liked it a lot. I don't want to like Hugh Grant, but he really is irresistible. He and Bullock have excellent chemistry and wonderful comic timing. A great romantic comedy team if I ever saw one. Some of the lines were truly hilarious. And I'll admit to weeping delicately at certain points, but I blame PMS. Then we went to dinner in a nice restaurant a block from her apartment (and about 5 blocks from mine. God, I love having friends so close). She had spaghetti (linguine, technically) and meatballs. I had some sort of grilled chicken, so I was envious of her food. Sigh. When I eat out, I try not to order things I could have at home all the time - ziti, spaghetti and meatballs, chicken parm etc. - or things I know I'll prefer if I made 'em myself - manicotti, rice balls, loin of pork - but sometimes, sometimes a plate of macaroni and meatballs is a cure all, and I didn't take it. Hmph. The restaurant also had mozzarella in carrozza, which you don't see many places anymore, so we had that as an appetizer. For those of you who don't know what it is, it's like a grilled cheese sandwich, with mozzarella instead of American cheese, cut into triangles and deep fried. Mmm... fried... I was telling Leslie, between that New Republic article Te posted on being fat and fit, and the reports about having a drink every other day having huge health benefits, I'm in like Flynn (and let's not discuss the etymology of that expression, 'cause it makes me a little queasy). Now if only they'd realize they were WRONG about fried food, I'd be sitting pretty. Anyhow, the movie was fun, we may be going to see TTT tomorrow, if Dor is up to it, and we've agreed that they must come here and watch like all nine hours of the FotR special edition. I've also told her that we need to take more advantage of the city in which we live, and do more than just go to movies. There are museums! And other stuff! Well, she goes to more stuff than I do, because Arney is always inviting her places like the symphony and to see La Boheme etc. (for free), but I wanna do those things too. I mean, here I am, single, healthy, cute as a button, living in the greatest freaking city in the world and what am I doing on a Saturday night? Writing in my online diary and beta reading Earthsea fic (a very lovely Earthsea fic, btw, so look for it when Bounce posts it). I need to get me a life, now that I've got the perfect setting for it. *g* Now, I think I'm going to take a fizzy Jingle Spells bath and continue reading The Silmarillion. ~victoria link [current mood: lazy] [current music: Better Man - Pearl Jam] [random quote: she loves him she don't want to leave this way she needs him that's why she'll be back again] ~*~ 01.10.03 - 5:15 p.m. Jacob Have I Loved Beth H. did it first Influential YA books I read before or at the age of 12. I used 12 as a cut off because I read The Hobbit & LotR at 8 or 9, and also er, the Flowers in the Attic series around that same age (probably 9-10) (and both LotR and FitA were incredibly influential on my writing, in different ways), but I know that there were still a couple of YA books that were highly influential in shaping who I am that I read after those. First and foremost, Trixie Belden. Started when I was 7 with the first one and read them all the way through to number 35. Trixie was more likeable and relatable than Nancy Drew ever was, though I also read Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys books. She was a tomboy, she wasn't the smartest or prettiest girl in class, she didn't start out with a boyfriend who always came through in the clutch ala Ned, and her family wasn't rich. Green Eggs and Ham. This is like the bible. Everything you could ever want in a book is here. Conflict, angst, resolution, happy ending. What else is there? From the Mixed-Up Files Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (and to a lesser extent Secrets of the Shopping Mall, which has the same "misfits live in mall/museum and solve a mystery" theme, except not as well-written.) totally fed my Manhattan fascination. At 9 or 10, I'd only been to The City once or twice, and never to the Met, so it was a whole different world, but one I desperately wanted to explore. Judy Blume. Not a book but an author. Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. Deenie. Then Again, Maybe I Won't. and on and on. These stories of fumbling teens and pre-teens, dealing with siblings, with puberty, with Seven Minutes in Heaven -- as trite as it sounds, I knew I wasn't the only one, if someone was writing books about this stuff. Harriet the Spy because I wanted to be just like Harriet. I carried a notebook, I wrote things down. I still play games on buses and trains, making up lives for my fellow commuters, spinning out random, trivial conversation into plans to end the world and how I could save it... The Outsiders - S.E. Hinton is second only to Judy Blume in cornering the universal teen angst market in an intelligent, deeply felt, *real* way. I inserted myself into this book in so many ways, so many times - to save Johnny, Dally, Pony. I learned there are always Socs and always greasers, and some people will transcend those labels and some, sadly, never will. The Teddy Bear Habit (Or How I Became a Winner) - another great New York City book, with jewel thieves, hippies, the sixties and prefab bands all mixing it up into a hilarious story about a boy who learns that he doesn't need his teddy bear to be a winner. A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, A Swiftly Tilting Planet, The Young Unicorns, Arm of the Starfish and various Austen family novels by Madeleine L'Engle. Loved these, read them over and over. And as far as the Austens are concerned, how could I not adore a heroine with my name? A Wizard of Earthsea and The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. LeGuin, especially Tombs of Atuan. Ged and Arha in the dark, forbidden (and magically unlikely but still incredibly hot) UST thrumming between them - even before I knew what UST was, I felt it in this book. There are other books I recall making a deep impression on me - especially Just Dial a Number, Jacob Have I Loved, and Bridge to Terebithia, but my memory of the details has faded, and in the case of the latter two, the stories were too painful to go back and reread. Now I want to go home and read all of these all over again. But alas, 'tis not to be. Going to see Two Weeks Notice tonight (instead oF TTT, which was the original plan, but Dor is ill, and would never forgive us if we went without her, and I want to see Two Weeks Notice anyway. There's something completely irresistible about Hugh Grant, even though I try my damnedest to resist). I may have to power nap when I get home, 'cause I'm wiped. ~victoria link [current mood: wiped] [current music: I Want You To Want Me - Cheap Trick] [random quote: Jacob have I loved, Esau have I hated] ~*~ 01.10.03 - 12:16 p.m. Chloe wants a mommy A complete PCR, for Pearl-o. She provided the opening sentence. *** Burnished Copper The Kents' kitchen always smells like apple pie and soap. Chloe sits at the table, eating cookies, and watches Mrs. Kent work. It's not as though she hasn't offered to help. She has. She does. But Mrs. Kent tells her not to worry, would she like some cookies, and how is it living with Lana? Did she always want a sister? And Chloe thinks, no. She's always wanted a mother. A mother with glowing copper hair that shines like the bottoms of the burnished copper pots hanging from the ceiling in the Kents' kitchen. A mother who would listen to her girl troubles and laugh over her boy troubles, kiss her skinned knees and cradle her when she cries. Chloe loves her father. He's the best dad a girl could have, but lately he's been absent a lot. Working late, trying to make LexCorp a success, trying not to lose everything they have. And she understands that. She and Lana are friends, but Lana doesn't have a mother either, and Chloe knows that even if she did, it wouldn't be the same. Because how could she compete with Lana for her mother's love? Whereas Mrs. Kent -- everybody in town knows how much Martha Kent wanted children, how overjoyed she was to adopt Clark. So it's possible that Mrs. Kent is also secretly longing for a daughter. A daughter with a wacky haircut and a curious streak a mile wide. A daughter with whom she could share secret Kent recipes for apple pie and chocolate chip cookies. Chloe wonders how much of her infatuation with Clark is based on that secret desire for a mother, for someone who didn't leave when things got tough, who cared enough to worry, and tucked her in at night, even at the ripe old age of sixteen, when she should be beyond that. Because Smallville is a scary place sometimes, with its meteor mutants and snobbish cheerleaders, its bald billionaires and unfathomable farmboys, and sometimes a girl needs her mother. And if her mother isn't available, well, Chloe has learned to make do. And Mrs. Kent is the kind of mother girls wish for, with her burnished copper hair, her gentle hands, and the lingering scent of cinnamon she leaves in her wake. Chloe feels safe in the Kents' kitchen, and not just because she believes Clark will save her from whatever monsters lurk in the woods. She feels tears pricking behind her eyes, and she closes them, pretending for the moment that this is her home, and Mrs. Kent is her mother. /end *** Well, it was originally going to be a drabble. Then a double drabble. But I kind of missed the mark. *snicker* ~victoria link [current mood: warm, nostalgic, wanting my mommy] [current music: Watching the Wheels - John Lennon] [random quote: i'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round] ~*~ 01.09.03 - 5:24 p.m. tentatively titled Rendezvous Regular readers of this diary, cast your mind back to October... I posted the first part of a story tentatively titled Rendezvous, based on the "David sent me" scene in the movie Sabrina. Here's more: *** Logan heard her agree to meet Remy at midnight, and watched as the Cajun kissed her hand and walked away, his heart aching in his chest. He spent the next two hours orbiting Rogue, never getting close enough to have to dance with her, but never far enough away that he couldn't see the expression on her face, smell the perfume of her hair, even among so many people. She was dancing with the Mayor of New York City when he went to get another drink. "Scotch, neat," he told the bartender. He leaned against the bar and closed his eyes. Snatches of conversation reached him; he automatically sifted out the ones that were of no interest and filed away little tidbits that might come in handy later on. Then his attention was caught by Remy's voice. "Ma coeur, please. Your voice is the sound of angels to me, your breath, the breath of God. Without you, I have no life. Please listen to me." "What more is there to talk about? You have made your choice," Ororo said. "I, I can't deny I have feelings for Rogue. But they're nothing compared to how I feel for you, 'Roro. Please, let me make it up to you." Logan's knuckles itched. He scanned the room, and found Remy and Ororo huddled close, partially hidden by one of the potted palm trees Xavier had brought in as decoration. They probably thought they were safe from being overheard amidst the music and crowd noise; it was pure chance that had led him -- one of the few people with the ability to eavesdrop on them -- to this spot at this time. "You have to make a decision, Remy. I won't be your piece on the side." Remy was still pleading his case with Ororo, when the clock struck midnight. He set his glass on the bar and said, "Give me bottle of Dom Perignon and two glasses." The bartender complied silently, used to Logan's requests after years of working the Xavier galas. He started to walk away, then turned and said, "See that couple in the corner?" He jerked his chin at Remy and Ororo. The bartender nodded. "Have a bottle of champagne and two glasses brought to them, as well." Logan made his way to the French doors leading to the gardens, and watched until a waiter served Remy and Ororo. They looked around in confusion, and then went off together, arm in arm. He felt a sort of grim satisfaction, which warred with the desire to follow Remy and demand he do right by Rogue, pain that she would be hurt by the Cajun's defection, and selfish glee that now she might be more open to his own advances. He tamped down that last thought and made his way to the orangerie, bottle and glasses in hand. Rogue was already there when he arrived, the green of her gown almost hiding her amidst jungle blooming in the hothouse. He caught his breath at the way she looked, the white of her hair and ivory of her skin silvered by the moonlight, giving her an incandescence he found almost irresistible. Her gown clung to her every curve, and he felt his groin tighten in response. Even in the moonlight, the green silk looked black, and it moved with her, the soft sound wisping against her body of it heightening his desire to feel it under his fingers. She leaned over to sniff carefully at a rose, making sure her skin never touched the fragrant bloom. "Hey," he said. She jumped, obviously not expecting him. "You're not Remy." He grimaced. "No. He, uh, he got stuck talking to one of the guests." Not exactly a lie. "He sent me to keep you company." He put the glasses down on a table and set about opening the bottle of champagne. She seemed to float above the ground as she walked over, and he feasted his eyes on her -- the long, toned perfection of her legs, the soft fullness of her breasts, and the sweet curve of her hips and ass. He wanted to lick the spot behind her knee, inhale her scent as it changed from surprise to arousal, feel that full-lipped mouth against his, feel her warmth around his cock, hear her call his name when she came. He growled softly as he fumbled with the cork in the champagne bottle, feeling like a moonstruck teenager. His hand trembled as she laid hers over it. All the blood in his body went south, and he felt lightheaded with desire. "Logan, what's wrong?" He raised an eyebrow in question, and she continued, "You seem upset." He shrugged, trying to get his brain working again. "I'm sorry you had to leave the party." He snorted. "You know I hate these shindigs, kid." He winced internally at the 'kid', but it couldn't be taken back. She didn't seem to notice. "I know you hate them, but you were dancing with Jean, and you don't get to do that often, and--" Well, shit. She really thinks I'm still hung up on Jean. "Nah, kid. I mean, yeah, that's nice but," he hesitated, and then decided, What the hell. "I'd rather be out here with you." Her mouth opened in a soundless, "Oh." She seemed to realize her hand was still covering his, and she pulled it away. He missed the warm feel of silk against his skin, even in the heat of the orangerie. Without her touch distracting him, though, he was easily able to pop the cork. She startled at the sound, then began giggling. "You're actually going to let me drink?" she asked with a smile. "Your birthday's in a week. I think it'll be all right," he said, pouring two glasses of champagne. He handed one to her and lifted the other. *** And now I'm going home. Well, I'm going home and then I'm going to the doctor. I love the fact that I don't have to rush or wait around at work, that I now live close enough to work that I can go home before a 7pm appointment. Whee! ~victoria link [current mood: creative] [current music: Promises in the Dark - Pat Benatar] [random quote: Never again isn't that what you said You been through this before and swore this time you'd think with your head] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. 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