Woe and angst and whatnot! Tonight, for the first time in weeks, I cannot write fic! I will be away from my computer! It is the end of life as I know it.
On the other hand, I will finally be seeing the UK tour of ‘Spamalot’ (Whoo! Jon Robyns!), and I’ll be out of the flat and not on a computer 12 hours a day, which I really need to cut down on. Then tomorrow, dinner out in the evening. Then Thursday, out again briefly. All this socialising… better pace myself or I might swoon.
Mind you, that’s not to say I haven’t been writing already today. I have two stories underway (including the sequel to Waiting to be Cast), and just posted the latest of CE and a one-shot study of August called The Prodigal.
One day soon, this fandom will leave me a dried out husk, drained of all creativity. But preferably not before I finish my Rumpel and/or Belle costumes…
There was actual sleep last night! Not much, I grant you, but from 1.30 until 6, then 6 to 7.30, there was actual, actual sleep. Thank you for giving me a break, insomnia! It was very kind of you.
And just posted the final chapter of Not Quite Made in China. Now, back to crazy!Belle and some writing before my family invade for the next two days.
One good thing that is coming out of the fact that one of my neighbours is a bastard and is trying to kill me by keeping me awake with his awful, awful music (rly, 5 hours sleep a night is NOT sufficient for 3 nights on the go) is that it makes it so much easier to write a completely insane person.
I’m trying not to be concerned about this. I hope it doesn’t reflect too much on my current state. Still, since I may not finish today, what with family obligations and all, have a snippet of crazy!Belle:
The room is a prison but not a prison.
She’s not a prisoner. She. Belle. That name rings in her head, rings and rings, like a chime in the wind, and she knows it’s right. But there’s a cover on the Belle, a cover stitched in red letters that calls her Verna. The cover is big and shabby and it doesn’t fit her, like a teacosy on a teacup.
She knows she’s Belle, but sometimes Verna smothers her, chokes her, and she forgets what she is and why she needs to escape. She remembers hands and gold and a red rose that makes her smile, but Verna steals it all from her. Verna wants to keep all the memories for herself, and leave Belle with nothing.
- Guests - gone.
- Hair - washed.
- Rumpel collar - stenciled and cut out.
- Cravat - washed and de-limpified.
- Horrible Histories - watched. (PHILIP OF SPAIN! WHEE!)
- Jefferson fic - open.
I have another day off after today and now, I have consciousness. THIS IS AWESOME.
And just because I’m actually enjoying writing Jefferson (this really surprises me), here’s a quote:
Finally, Jefferson sets down the hat, unfinished, and descends the stairs. He can see a face peeping through the window beside the door, with large staring eyes framed by dark hair. A woman. Thin, frail, staring. She looks as mad as he feels every morning, and that intrigues him. He can’t approach sane people, because they’re too stupid to understand what he knows, but a mad person might converse like a sensible human being.
He only hesitates a moment before opening the door.
The woman, barely more than a girl, holds out trembling and grazed hands. “Please, may I come in?” she asks.
He looks at her. She’s dressed in clothes he’s seen in television shows. Scrubs. Hospital wear. Oh, good! A genuinely insane person! That’s quite refreshing. Her feet are bare, and he can see blood on his steps, and her arms and hands are covered with scratches. She has run through the woods in scrubs and barefoot. That speaks of a wonderful amount of madness, and he can feel the smile on his lips before he thinks it.
FIC: Brave New World
SUMMARY: Baelfire’s plan doesn’t go quite as he hoped.
SPOILERS: Up to and including The Return.
NOTES: This could end up as a series, but right now, I’m trying to resist. I don’t think my heart can take it.
Also, note to self, why do you always wear a white t-shirt on the day you are fated to eat bolognaise? Are you an imbecile?
So, sitting on the bus, minding my own business and the Indian version of Robert Carlyle steps on. And not just any incarnation - Dr Rush version. Right down to the shaggy hair, the stubble and the put-out expression. Even the clothes. I might have stared a bit.
That aside, am once more covered in glitter thanks to sister fibbing completely to me about the sparkle-content of Lush’s Twilight bathbomb.
Fah on real life. FAH I say. Today has been a day made of backsides and lots of them. Stomach pain and chronic insomnia meant 4 hours sleep. Subsequent wooziness meant walking into stuff, dropping stuff and generally being useless at work. Then got home to play online, was spoiled for Castle finale, then my computer broken. Then I spilled half a kettle of boiling water on myself. FAH. Early night, can haz plz.
On a cheerier note, though, 4 chapters of scarred!Belle are now written and will start posting ch. 1 tonight as soon as I have a title and a less burny hand.
You can just piddle off and die now, thanks. Also, take my neighbours with their bass with you. I should not be fully conscious and upright at 5.30. I should especially not be consoling myself for being upright with chocolate cupcakes.