a fool's musings

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

Warning: Adult Content

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current mood: current mood

"pathological and unbalanced"

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    Music
  • Walk On - U2
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11.17.03 - 2:04 p.m.

time keeps on slipping slipping slipping into the future

Yeesh.

I feel like I've written myself into a corner on "Slip of the Tongue."

Remus, my sweet, stop being so bloody sensible. Sirius, darling, start using some of those wits you're so famous for. Or go back to channeling the Tick. Either way. Say something or Remus is just going to toss you out on your admittedly adorable tuchis.

Meanwhile, I was all fired up to write some on Remember to Breathe, and now I'm not.

I can't seem to settle today. Time feels all elasticky, and everything's moving at odd speeds - verrrry slowly and then zoom! speeding up.

It's quite surreal.

My period is being its usual bitchy self, roaring back on day 4 with cramps. You know, the one physical advantage to having children is they say the cramps stop. Oh, and it lessens the risk of cervical, ovarian and breast cancer, iirc.

Right now, that's looking like a good enough reason to get knocked up. If only I could find a nice guy...

I'm kidding. Kidding!

I am far too selfish and lazy to have children without a husband to support me. Us. whatever.

It's two o'clock and I don't know what time it'll be when I next look at the clock - that's how weird time is today. Could be 2:02 or it could be 2:42. And I normally can guess time within 10 minutes either way, even upon waking from a dead sleep.

So I'm a little disoriented right now.

Meh.

~victoria



link

[current mood: disoriented]
[current music: All Along the Watchtower + Jimi Hendrix]
[random quote: Businessmen they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth]

~*~

11.16.03 - 7:52 p.m.

Hair! Long, beautiful hair!

I need a haircut.

I have reached the point where my hair is driving me crazy more often than not.

It gives me a headache when I put it up, and ends up in my mouth when I leave it down, both of which are incredibly annoying.

I haven't had it trimmed since August, so it really is about time. November, May and August are generally when I get my hair cut.

Don't laugh.

Though this year, I believe I got it done on March 31, but I only remember that because of other things.

Anyhow, my hair is my one big vanity, and I constantly think I'm going to either let it grow long or cut it really short again, but I never do either, because if it ain't broke, why fix it?

But it's really annoying me now, because it's at That Length, the one where I'm either going to let it grow longer or I'm going to cut two-three inches off and start over again.

It's also really being unmanageable lately. I don't know if it's because I'm using a different conditioner (Dove, atm. I ration the Feria from DD, 'cause that's the Best Conditioner Ever), and it's not very conditionery, or if it's the weather or just that it needs a trim. Considering how badly I've treated it over the years, it's remarkably healthy.

That's the one good thing about oily hair and skin - it generally bounces back from the damage you inflict on it. Also, the thingy I've been using to hold my hair - it's not a scrunchy, because there's no material, it's just the black band - is shot. I go through them like water, because I have so much hair, and I'm constantly putting it up and pulling it down. Good thing they're cheap. And they hold better than scrunchies do. When I moved, I got rid of my whole collection, and man, I had a *ton* of those things - to match every color and season and mood...

Jesus, I've spent a couple hundred words talking about my hair. That is so sad.

To make up for it, there's some smut in the LJ: Lust for Life: Sirius, leather pants, back alley handjobs. You know you love it.

~victoria



link

[current mood: pensive]
[current music: Feel Me Don't You - Dada]
[random quote: I saw an angel shooting junk in Reno, I saw the devil playing checkers in the park]

~*~

11.14.03 - 10:24 a.m.

it's all about adjectives

This Week's Friday Five:

1. Using one adjective, describe your current living space.

Cozy.

2. Using two adjectives, describe your current employer.

Er, the actual bosses or the company?

Bosses: kind, dedicated

Company: Big, evil

3. Using three adjectives, describe your favorite hobby/pastime.

Intelligent, creative, fun

4. Using four adjectives, describe your typical day.

Busy, languid, paradoxical, boring

5. Using five adjectives, describe your ideal life.

Intellectual, passionate, warm, loving, comfortable

Gah. I can't believe I can't remember the adjective song from Schoolhouse Rock. All I can think of is the noun or the adverb one. Huh.

Fannish five is up in the LJ. soon

~victoria



link

[current mood: mellow]
[current music: Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd]
[random quote: When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye...]

~*~

11.13.03 - 1:23 p.m.

an excerpt from A Slip of the Tongue

So I've been thinking about this fic (now called A Slip of the Tongue, thanks to Anonymous), and I'm fairly certain I should stick to a Sirius-only POV. It's just funnier that way.

That didn't stop me from writing a bit of Remus POV, though, which I probably will not include in the final story.

But this is it.

******

Remus woke early, replaying the odd dream he’d had where Sirius showed up at his door and declared his love.

He stumbled out of the bedroom to see Sirius sprawled on the sofa, asleep.

“Not a dream, then.” He ran a hand through his hair, puzzled. “Huh.” When he thought about it, the events of the night before became clear, and he knew he’d have to talk to Hippolyta, find out what was going on.

Sirius had never used Remus’s sexuality against him like that, and Remus had never expected him to, but then, he’d also never expected Sirius to betray him three years ago, either, so-- best not to think of that, though.

When he’d first realized he preferred other boys to girls, it had been Sirius he’d dreamt of -- he and half of Hogwarts (the half that wasn’t in love with James). Living with him day in and day out had cured him of any romantic fancies early on. He loved Sirius, he was attracted to Sirius, but they would kill each other if they were ever involved in any sort of relationship beyond friendship. Hell, they’d almost killed each other without sex ever entering into the equation.

However, since Sirius had never shown any sign of fancying men, Remus had put the whole idea out of his mind and only thought of it when he was feeling particularly maudlin and lonely, usually after drinking heavily and falling into an empty bed at the end of a long night.

He knew Sirius was just taking the mickey, or he’d been drunk, or he’d had another fight with Hippolyta, needed a place to sleep and hadn’t wanted to intrude on James and Lily’s honeymoon bliss.

He went through his morning routine, and all the while Sirius snored on, oblivious to even the loudest noises Remus made. Remus finally gave up, walked over to the couch, and shook him.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

******

I may have Remus actually *say* some of this to Sirius. If I can get over my aversion to having them actually express their feelings in dialogue.

*snicker*

Shirtfic (officially titled "Something Borrowed," which I like because it works on three different levels), is puttering along. I have to tie the beginning to the big revelation scene. I have to figure out how to convey that Sirius responds out of anger and jealousy and can never ever take it back. And that Remus acts out of the need to be close to someone, to trust someone, to be with someone who wants him, and of course, out of hurt.

And I think that comes across in the end, where they finally have The Conversation. But getting there... yeah, that needs work. Which is why I try not to write out of order. Sigh.

And *god* this song is depressing...

Angie (Jagger-Richards)
Angie, Angie
When will those clouds all disappear?
Angie, Angie
Where will it lead us from here?
With no loving in our souls
And no money in our coats
You can't say we're satisfied
But Angie, Angie
You can't say we never tried
Angie, You're beautiful
But ain't it time we said goodbye
Angie, I still love you
Remember all those nights we cried?
All the dreams we held so close
Seemed to all go up in smoke
Let me whisper in your ear
Angie, Angie
Where will it lead us from here?
Angie, don't weep
All your kisses still taste sweet
I hate that sadness in your eyes
But Angie, Angie
Ain't it time we said goodbye?
With no loving in our souls
And no money in our coats
You can't say we're satisfied
But Angie, I still love you, baby
Everywhere I look I see your eyes
There ain't a woman that comes close to you
Come on baby dry your eyes
But Angie, Angie
Ain't it good to be alive?
Angie, Angie
They can't say we never tried

~victoria



link

[current mood: thoughtful]
[current music: Angie = Rolling Stones]
[random quote: With no loving in our souls And no money in our coats You can't say we're satisfied]

~*~

11.11.03 - 11:05 p.m.

SBRL songs and writing angst

So I've got this story, see, where Harry tries Muggle "magic" to bring Sirius back from the dead

like on the episode Forever of Buffy. And it's been in my head, well, forever. *G* since I closed OotP anyway, and I can see the scenes in my head. I play the dialogue out. I even know how it ends.

And yet, when I open the file... nothing

WHY DOES THAT HAPPEN?

ARRRRGH.

Every time I open it up, I get lost in Harry's moping about, spiralling down in his depression, and I can't get out of Arabella Figg's house.

So I think I need to skip that part, and just cut to the action. Because I could wallow for pages, but it's horribly uninteresting and ... just ... meh.

I have it all figured out, I hope, but it'll need a serious Britpicking when I'm done.

Sigh.

Also, couple songs have been added to my ever-growing SBRL soundtrack:

Golden Blunders by the Posies (I think Remus would be a Posies fan - the Posies, the Beatles, Elvis Costello, Paul Westerberg... yeah, he'd like the angry yet erudite singer-songwriters)

You're gonna watch what you say for a long time
You're gonna suffer the guilt forever
You're gonna get in the way at the wrong time
You're gonna mess up things you thought you would never
Disappointment breeds contempt, it make you feel inept

and Closer by NIN, which suits them better than any other fannish couple I've seen it applied to.

And, of course, Brilliant Disguise, for those months leading up to the Potters' deaths. "And when you look at me, you better look hard and look twice. Is it me, baby, or just a brilliant disguise? Tonight our bed is cold. I'm lost in the darkness of our love. God have mercy on the man who doubts what he's sure of."

Also, "Who Let in the Rain?"
Things like this
Can always take a little time
I always thought
We'd be together down the line
We start to fight
And can't get over what was said
'Cause you see black and white
And I see red

And I wonder who let in the rain
You know without you
I'm not the same
When love gets strong
People get weak
Sometimes they lose control
And wind up in too deep
They fall like rain
Who let in the rain

I make the bed and cover
Where you used to sleep
I'm smoothing over promises
Made in these sheets
I envy lovers passing by
Out on the street
'Cause what they have
I couldn't keep

And I wonder who let in the rain
You know without you
I'm not the same
When love gets strong
People gets weak
Sometimes they lose control
And wind up in too deep
They fall like rain
Who let in the rain...

Sigh.

~victoria



link

[current mood: frustrated]
[current music: Who Let in the Rain? - Cyndi Lauper]
[random quote: Why is the bedroom so cold? You've turned away on your side Is my timing that flawed - have our feelings run dry?]

~*~

11.10.03 - 11:26 a.m.

feeling circumscribed

I'm having difficulty settling down and writing.

I have five different stories open, two of which for the project ficlet thingy, and meh. Nothing's working.

I know this is temporary, and probably has something to do with the fact that today, my perception of time has been stretched out like ... a really stretchy thing. See? I should be able to come up with a good simile... like mozzarella on a hot pizza or something. But no, my brain refuses to cooperate.

In looking over the challenges I have left to write, I notice that the ones that are first lines and fandom/character specific tend to be the hardest, and therefore I have most of them left. I mean, "Hermione, ordinary, pin" sparks all sorts of ideas. As does, "His mother always said he'd come to a bad end."

But when it becomes so specific that the characters and situations are forced on me, I tend to rebel. That's not the way I meant the offer to be taken, and it's not the way I want to write. I tend not to do well with too many strictures, you know? If I feel circumscribed, I can't write. Especially if the sentences or words just don't conjure up any accompanying scene or dialogue or anything.

I dunno. Maybe it's me.

In other news, The Game and How to Play It is up on the site and the LJ (if you'd like to leave a comment ::hinthint::) in final form.

~victoria



link

[current mood: scattered]
[current music: My City Was Gone - Pretenders]
[random quote: \"I don't know the meaning of the word 'surrender'! I mean, I know it, I'm not dumb... just not in this cont]

~*~

11.09.03 - 12:14 a.m.

the feedback conundrum

God, I hate answering feedback. I either sound moronic or pretentious or some heinous hybrid of the two.

It's even worse in public, where other people can *see* you're saying almost exactly the same thing to everyone, and it doesn't ever get more intelligent than, "Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it."

Okay, I can answer questions and talk about why I did what I did, but I'm never sure that's acceptable in public. Do people want to hear me wank *more* about my writing? I mean, I'm (metaphorically) having it off at the wrist every day here and in the LJ about why and how I write etc. (By the way, I just adore that expression - "having one off at the wrist" - why don't *we* have good expressions like that? No, we've got "choking the chicken". Jeez. Lame, much?) Do people really want *more* of that?

I admit, when I send feedback, unless I feel I've done a brilliant analysis or been exceptionally gushing, all I hope for in return is a nice, somewhat timely, "Thank you."

I like to think I'm articulate and occasionally eloquent and that I have a way with words, but when sending feedback, that facility fails me spectacularly. and I'm not sure why that is.

Part of it is the wavering on whether to send crit, yes, and part of it is the difficulty of writing meaningful and non-retarded-sounding praise, because it's always much easier to tear something apart, or even to just focus on the things that didn't work, than it is to talk at any length about the things that did, especially if you can't quite pinpoint *why* they did.

And as much as I and every other author adores having our work quoted back at us, I have difficulty knowing how to respond. Sometimes I'm all cocky and "Yeah, I love that line! I'm so cool!" And sometimes I pretend to ignore it, and then I feel like a jerk because I didn't address part of the praise, and maybe I was supposed to.

And then when I write to someone, I'm never sure how much to quote or not quote. Sometimes I just do a blanket, "Oh, I really loved this. Thanks so much for sharing it." And sometimes I'll pick a line or two or three and say *why* they resonated with me. Sometimes I don't have time for that. Sometimes, I'd be quoting the whole story back. Sometimes I put my finger on why something worked and can babble. Sometimes all a story requires is a "Guh. Hot."

Sigh.

Is an everlasting conundrum.

And in another window, I just meant to type "wields a big stick" and typed "wields a big dick" instead.

Oy.

My head hurts.

~victoria



link

[current mood: headachy]
[current music: silence]
[random quote: I'm standing in a windy tunnel Shouting through the roar And I'd like to give the information You're asking for]

~*~

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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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