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

02.03.04 - 9:18 a.m. AN open letter to the fucktard who kept me awake last night with your freakish noises at 3 am An open letter to the psycho FREAK who was banging whatever the hell you were banging right outside my window at THREE FREAKING AM IN THE MORNING. QUIT IT, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO FREAK, WHOEVER YOU ARE!!!! Dude, I know I go to bed way too late sometimes, and I totally get that's my fault. But when I am finally IN BED and I CANNOT SLEEP because some INBRED MOTHERFUCKER is banging something against something else outside in front of my building, I get pretty goddamn pissed off. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP, ALL RIGHT? No love, me [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.30.04 - 5:05 p.m. someday, I may write a story called that I did another commentary, this one for Reasonable Men, the missing Snape-Lupin conversation from OotP. *** Titles I want to use some day: Lacuna Metempsychosis The Vig Hard Eight What Is and What Should Never Be Fell on Black Days Let the Circle Be Unbroken If I Should Fall Behind Rust Never Sleeps As Is Fugitive Motel Ghost of a Shark Poison Years Gah. My brain is totally fried. I have a whole list, and now I can't remember them all, and some of them were not even song titles. *snerk* Titles that tempt me but are probably too punny/obvious: Mad Dogs and Englishmen An Englishman in New York The Whole of the Moon Of course, considering I just posted something called Daddy Dear (about Harry's father issues) and am writing James/Remus/Sirius smut called Stag Night, I don't know why I've avoided the dog and moon titles so assiduously. *snicker* I just want to go home. Or to the parents', as the case may be. I'm not looking forward to the train trip, though once I'm *on* hte train everything's fine. Just... the getting to Penn is such a hassle. It wearies me. I'm printing out stuff to edit/write, but you know I'll end up vegging to the iPod. I need to load up more music on that thing. Really. I've been slack about it. Sigh. ~victoria link [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.26.04 - 9:07 a.m. me talking about me. how could I not love it? There's this whole commentary craze sweeping fandom (or, at least, the corners of fandom in which I lurk), wherein authors write about their stories the way writers, actors and directors etc. talk about their films on a dvd commentary track. Basically, it's me talking about me and my stories. How could I not love that? So far, I've done three: Something Borrowed, When It Alteration Finds and Thirst. It's fun and interesting, and I will probably do Nothing Like the Sun, as well. And maybe, if so inspired, Soiled Dove. If I can remember that far back. Do oyu realize it's been three years -- three years -- since I posted that story? Gah. Time flies. In other news, are we sure today isn't Tuesday? I had commuting irritations that lead me to believe it is. And work is going to be irksome today, I have a feeling. Gah. ~victoria link [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.23.04 - 1:58 p.m. Friday Five! Haven't done a Friday Five in a long time, so... At this moment, what is your favorite... 1. ...song? Ghost of a Shark, Tom McRae 2. ...food? Pizza 3. ...tv show? West Wing 4. ...scent? Ginger Essence from Origins 5. ...quote? Oh, this could change at any given moment, but here are three I adore: I'm saying you got a darkness. You, Tim Bayliss, you got a darkness inside of you. You gotta know the uglier, darker sides of yourself. You gotta recognize them so they're not constantly sneaking up on you. You gotta love them 'cause they're part of you. Because along with your virtues, they make you who you are. Virtue isn't virtue until it slams up against vice. So consequently, your virtue's not real virtue, until it's been tested. Tempted. ~Frank Pembleton, Homicide: Life on the Street You know, everyday I get out of bed and drag myself to the next cup of coffee. I take a sip and the caffeine kicks in. I can focus my eyes again. My brain starts to order the day. I'm up, I'm alive. I'm ready to rock. But the time is coming when I wake up and decide that I'm not getting out of bed. Not for coffee, or food or sex. If it comes to me, fine. If it won't, fine. No more expectations. The longer I live, the less I know. I should know more. I should know the coffee's killing me. You're suspicious of your suspicions? I'm jealous. I'm so jealous. You still have the heart to have doubts. Me? I'm going to lock up a 14 year old kid for what could be the rest of his natural life. I got to do this. This is my job. This is the deal. This is the law. This is my day. I have no doubts or suspicions about it. Heart has nothing to do with it anymore. It's all in the caffeine. ~Frank Pembleton, Homicide: Life on the Street Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees -- he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder. His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. ~The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald A quote that most suits my personality? "I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them." ~Jane Austen ~victoria link [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.20.04 - 4:36 p.m. Sext: the Percy/Penelope cliche fest Today's horoscope: Keep up your psychic shield, VICTORIA, because you will need it. People's comments may seem harsh, even though they may mean well. Your best defense against the critical tone of the day is to use other people's criticisms as constructively as you can to build a stronger framework to work from. Process this energy in a positive frame of mind, and use it to get things done. Hmm... haven't got much criticism yet today. Maybe it's waiting to hit me when I least expect it. That's never fun. *** So I've managed Percy/Penelope where Bill/Fleur left me completely confounded. I think that's because I'm a big Bill/Remus shipper post-OotP. If Sirius stays dead, of course. If he doesn't, then Bill can have his French bird. But sadly, I have plumbed the depths of cliche with the Percy/Penelope. I fear it's the only way the thing was going to get written, and really, in the young lovers/honeymooners role, it is sort of fitting. I have no grasp of Percy at all, which may be shockingly evident in this. We'll see... Sext May your love comfort me in accord with your promise ~Psalm 119:76 When Penelope’s owl arrives, asking him to come home for lunch, Percy has to force himself to concentrate on work for the rest of the morning. Since he chose the Ministry over his family, since he was proved so incredibly wrong, he lives every moment waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Penelope to leave him, for Fudge to sack him, for black-hooded strangers to arrive at his door, wands flashing green fire, killing everyone he loves. The minutes pass all too slowly, but eventually, noon arrives. Bells ring out from the cathedral as he makes his way home through the crowds of summer tourists, walking the few blocks instead of Apparating. The anticipation is bad, but still better than facing the reality that she’s leaving him. Finally, though, Gryffidor courage gathered round him like a cloak, he enters the small, cozy flat they share. It amuses him sometimes, in a blackly comic way he doesn’t think anyone in his family would believe he found amusing, that he of all people -- Perfect Prefect Percy -- is what Mum would call living in sin. But it doesn’t feel like a sin to have Penelope’s bright smile and warm embrace to see him off in the morning and waiting for him when he comes home at night. It’s the only warm, bright spot he has anymore. He tenses and looks around, expecting to see her trunks packed and ready to go, her face set in grim lines, her eyes dark with disappointment. It is the only expression he sees outside their flat and he’s become accustomed to it, though he’d hoped never to see it on her face. Instead, he sees the table, lovingly set with their best china, inherited from her grandmother. The bone white plates gleam in the sunlight; the blue flowers on the rims give the table a cheerful, spring feeling. The scent of chicken curry -- his favorite -- fills the air. Penelope is glowing, radiant, as she reaches out a hand and pulls him close. She kisses him and he basks in her love -- she has so much to give and he’s so unworthy of it. He returns the kisses eagerly, trying to pour every iota of love he has for her into this urgent exchange of lips and tongues, this silent language that still leaves him breathless with awe. Finally, reluctantly, she pulls back. “I’m glad you could make it,” she says, formality at odds with their passionate embrace. “Your wish is my command,” he says with a lightness he wouldn’t have been capable of ten minutes before. However lightly he says it, it is still true. In her, he’s found a loyalty deeper than house or employer -- one that reminds him of family, except Penelope is never disappointed when he doesn’t make jokes or caper about like a monkey. “Sit.” He sits and she serves him rather than putting the food on the table; he wonders at the change, but when he rises to help, she just tells him to sit again. She’s practically quivering with anxiety. He knows he’s not the most sensitive man, but even he can feel it. “Penelope,” he says, after complimenting her cooking, “is something wrong?” He infuses his voice with gentleness, they way he used to speak to Ginny when she was very young and frightened. He feels a pang that even she has abandoned him, but no, he tells himself he won’t regret his choice. If they can’t see reason -- Penelope’s voice breaks into his reveried. “... baby.” He blinks. “Excuse me? Did you just say--" She takes his hand again, places in on her softly curved abdomen. “We’re going to have a baby.” Her eyes are lit with love and hopefulness, sparking similar emotions in his heart. “Oh, Penelope.” The words are a breath, a prayer, a plea for absolution, which she gives him freely when she allows him to pull her into his lap and press kisses to her face and neck. He doesn’t care that they can’t afford it, aren’t married, are only nineteen, or that there’s a war coming which he can’t do a damn thing to prevent. His world telescopes to Penelope and the tiny life inside her, curled up safe in his arms. Pride is suddenly pointless. This is news worth sharing with the only people who mean anything, in the end. Mum will be thrilled, Dad, ecstatic. He allows himself the luxury of imagining the twins, Bill and Charlie and Ron as indulgent uncles, Ginny as a beaming aunt. He misses them. He can admit it now. “I was hoping we could tell your parents,” she says at exactly the same moment he says, “We have to tell my parents.” She kisses him again, and lunch is forgotten; their celebration is so much more nourishing than food. When he returns to work that afternoon, he stops by his father’s office for the first time in over a year. “Dad,” he says hesitantly, unsure of his welcome. His father looks up, eyes wary and shadowed. “Would it be all right if I -- if we, I mean, Penelope and I -- if we visited you and Mum tonight?” His words tumble over themselves, his tongue stumbles over words, names so long unspoken. “Would it be--" his father blinks, then beams. Shadows drop from his face, and he looks years younger, but still so old and worn to Percy’s eyes. “Why don’t you come for dinner? I’ll tell your mother.” And then he’s enveloping Percy in a bone-crushing hug that feels like home. *** I may have to direct some Percy people here to see if they have any advice to offer. Unfortunately, all the Percy people I know are Percy/Oliver type people, so they may not want to help me. *snerk* If you have any suggestions, you can comment here Ah well. Such is life. Almost time to go home. He was born a pauper to a pawn on Christmas day when the New York Times said God is dead... And he shall be Levon and he shall be a good man. ~victoria link [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.16.04 - 9:34 a.m. what the fuck happened to global warming? And another update! My productivity would feel very... productive, if I weren't still staring at the not-quite end of BBB!Remus, and if the breviary fic and the amnesia fic weren't still in exactly the same places they were on Monday. Sigh. Okay, I did sort of swap out Bill/Fleur for Percy/Penelope, but I haven't finished writing that, and Dumbledore/McGonagall isn't going where I want it to. No, scratch that. I don't know where I want it to go, so it ends up being something utterly unusable, so I delete and go back to Albus stroking Minerva's hair and what the *hell* can they talk about that isn't the war or Harry or the school? Sigh. Anyhow. Update. Thy Sensual Fault: "Before Sirius, there was James." Written for the pornish_pixies "Learning by Numbers" challenge, in which one was supposed to write about someone with two or more lovers - comparing/contrasting them, etc. As believable scenarios go... I think you can make an argument that if James was going to secretly schtup one of his friends, and wanted to keep it a secret, he'd choose Remus (or Peter) and not Sirius, who couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. Which is probably a totally unfair characterization of Sirius. I think it depends on how you think the Trick came about. If it was just Sirius getting angry at Snape and blurting it out, then yeah, I'd say it's fair to say that Sirius, when under emotional stress, can't keep his mouth shut. Since that's the theory I tend to lean toward, I think it's a fair characterization, given his emotional outbursts in OotP (in PoA I think he can be forgiven for being desperately emotional and near-hysterical). So if he were excited or happy or pressed, I could see him saying something when James wouldn't want him to. Of course, that posits that James is simply using Remus, which isn't necessarily fair to James, either, but teenage boys (and girls) do strange and hurtful things to each other. So I think you can say it's emotionally believable in that context, and I think I got that across in the story, with Remus thinking James chose him because he'd keep silent, rather than because of any romantical love. *** In other news, we fought hard to keep it, but they're taking the cube next to me away from us and giving it to someone. *whimper* This makes me so very, very unhappy, I can't even BEGIN to tell you. *** There's still time to sign up for Remix/Redux II: Electric Boogaloo! (I also just like typing "Boogaloo.") You don't have to have an LJ, just three stories of more than 100 words and the willingness to see someone else muck about with one of 'em (and of course, the willingness ot muck about with someone else's story, as well). Sign up. You know you want to. *** Lastly, what the fuck happened to global warming? It's 6 fucking degrees outside, with a windchill of -20F. That just ain't right. ~victoria link [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.14.04 - 7:18 p.m. Site Update - Blackcest and Firefly ficlet Site update! Woo! Yesterday, I added my three HP war drabbles:Doomed to Repeat It, which features Lily and Hermione; Honor and Glory, about that sad bastard Regulus Black, and The Line in which my not-so-sekrit Snape->Lily leanings shine through. This evening I added Temptation Waits a Firefly ficlet in which River can't sleep, and Such Corruptions Out of Such Sweet Things, the nasty Bellatrix/Narcissa/Lucius thing. It's freezing in here. grrr... ~victoria link [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 01.13.04 - 3:39 p.m. real friends tell you when you're being an asshole You know, I think a lot of people have a different definition of what 'friendship' is than I do. I swear, in what universe is it okay to not call your friends on it when they act like assholes for no reason, and for it to be mean or unfriendly to call them on their bullshit when it's hurtful to others? I don't get that. And I don't want to get it. I mean, yes, my friends stand up for me, and I for them, but I also expect them to tell me when they think I've been a bitch or been unfair, or done something moronic, and believe me, I have no trouble turning around and telling them the same thing. Just blindly accepting bad behavior from friends is something you maybe do as a teenager, when you want to be in with the cool crowd, but as an adult? Grow the fuck up and grow a pair. *shakes head* ~victoria link [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. The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney. This site is best viewed with IE4+ | 1024x768 | true color | verdana | tables