Write

I wrote 9048 words today. I need this book to be done so damn bad. #collapse

Tomorrow looks like this:

* child to nursey
* book
*lecture
*book
*short story for class submission by midnight (1500 words, or therabouts)
* collect child from nursery
*feed, play with and get ready for bed, said child
* book
*book
*book

If it goes that smoothly, this mofo should be done by Saturday night. Does it ever go that smoothly? AHAHAHAHA.

No.

But I can/will dream. If I have to stay up for the entirety of Saturday night, this draft will be done before I hit the sack that night.

And then I will WRITE ALL THE FANFIC and WRITE ALL THE OOMs and play ALL THE THREADS. It will be glorious. For a week. And then I will start editing.

OK BED NOW BYE BYE OMG.

Hahaha, prospective agent just got in touch with his direct email, just as he said he would, and a renewed expression of interest. Reassuring!

OK. I am going to go write more words.

*excited*

ETA: I replied to him, and now I'm all, 'what if that pisses him off 'cos he's busy?' etc. But on the whole, it would have felt really rude not to and it was only a very short 'thank you for getting in touch and I will certainly send you the novel when it's finished' sort of reply. So that shouldn't be annoying, right? Right. *chews lip nervously*

Omfg, I nearly, nearly just signed myself up for the Life on Mars Big Bang. And then I was all...I have failed spectacularly with everything I meant to do over the Christmas holidays, plus Uni work, plus essays, plus I'm supposed to be working on a book, PLUS I'm going to a writing festival at the end of March and will be meeting with an agent/book doctor there for opinions on work that I have yet to finish - I do not need to add to it all with fandom.



...but it'll be fuuuuuun. *unashamed whinging*

I am trying to tell myself that OK yes, after next Tuesday I have five weeks until the next essay is due and drafts of the BB aren't due until end of May, with final submission in July which is after my exams etc. So it should be doable, in theory. And the minimum word limit is 12,500 which I could do in a day, if I put my mind to it.

But then, you know. Logic doesn't apply to these things, right? They always take about ten times longer than you think. Writers out there? Help? I know there are some of you who've done Big Bangs before. Are they a massive stress or loads of fun or what?

*sits on hands*

Must. Not. Sign. Up.


In other news, I am going to this on Tuesday. And I feel a bit bad about it because while Eastenders/Holby City/Casualty/Doctors might be the 'flagship' shows (the BBC's own description, which makes me, quite frankly, WTF heavily) of the BBC...I don't actually like any of them. And...don't even really want to write on any of them though would not, of course, pass up the chance if offered it. (Which I won't be unless I actually apply for it of course, which...I don't see myself doing.) Anyway, point is - I am looking forward to it muchly but also feel a bit bad now that I'm taking up the place of someone who might really want to write for one of those shows and now can't go. Mind you, they didn't say there was a number limit so heigh ho. And any information on how to break into the industry cannot be a bad thing.

Speaking of writing, I should probably stop narrating passages to myself in my head and then failing to put them on paper, yes? I need to fix the dilemma I have when it comes to this stuff; it's difficult to think properly sitting down, so I wander and come up with stuff I know will work and then...I sit down and it disappears, or becomes jumbled. The answer is clearly to dictate it onto machine but I am literally phobic about hearing my own voice on tape (HORRIFIC) so cannot contemplate the idea.

I need to stop rambling and crack on and do things, not least a bit more reading for this sodding essay I screwed up the deadline on. Y HALO THAR VIKINGS. At least the topic is suitably bloodthirsty.  And also, hello there LJ and Beloved Friendlist! It has been far too long. I hope you are all fabulous. :D

(PLEASE, SOMEONE, TELL ME BIG BANGS ARE A BAD IDEA. PLEASE.)

Hee! My story Meridian in German!

OK, now I just have to finish the thing. But! MUCH LOVE to callisto24 for taking the time to translate it, and JessicaWrites (schjesska - I think?) for being her beta. You guys rock! *glees*

Bwhahaha!

The torture of Writer's Block (with commentary by the Inner Monolouge)!

Shown to me by the rather marvellous arabwel - *waves at new buddy* - and it made me chuckle mightily. An example being...

Writer's Block is a weekly children's TV show for young and aspiring authors

since when do kids aspire to be authors? They all want to be firemen and ice cream truck drivers.

The show stars Oprah

why?

and her two friends Oscar Wilde

it's obligatory, but still...

and Pancho Villa

now there's just no excuse for that.

The show concentrates around the trio's efforts to start up a community theatre in inner city Harlem. But The Man is holding them down

Oscar Wilde's not a minority, but I think by now people will have already forgotten I mentioned him. Well, I suppose he's gay... Wait, hold on...

Oscar Wilde is a minority

fixed it.

They launch an all-out aerial assault against The Man by

I need that animated .gif of the black kid yelling "that's racist!" Where did I see that? Somewhere on the albinoblacksheep forums... fuck it, I don't want to have go find it.

Let's try just writing whatever I think...

I've just started writing a Harry Potter fic.

...someone kill me now. Please.

Title: Runner
Author: fightingthecage
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None really. The slightest indication that sex might have occured at some point but really none at all.
Summary: Someone's running
Disclaimer: The runner is not my property and I make no money from him (Yes, its Jack)

* * * * * * * *
( Runner )

This is just a drabble/ficlet - its taken from something a bit longer that I was writing this evening. It was going to be a birthday fic for wonsuitewhirled but it stops being her birthday in 90 minutes (I'm slow today)...and I haven't got on to the Tony parts yet. So - I'm sorry for being of the suckage today Mary, but I'll finish it ASAP and send it as a late gift when its done, OK? And I'm dedicating it to you anyway, cos its schmoop. :)

The term Legoland is nothing to do with theme parks BTW - its what some people call the headquarters of MI-6, because the building looks like its made out of lego blocks. :)

( Legoland )

Just something that occured to me a few minutes ago. Nothing major, a quick Jack/Tony drabble. *shrug* It's raining here. Meh.

* * * * * * *
Sunday Afternoon

Rain fell softly outside. It drummed a steady rhythm against the windows and created a gentle melody that enveloped the bedroom in its music. Its pace was matched by the languid, unhurried movements of the lovers that locked together on the bed. Sheets tangled around legs and arms, created bonds, tied them and freed them as they shifted gently, fresh cotton over smooth skin, soft fabric over hard muscles.

This was what happened on Sunday afternoons now. It had somehow become a ritual, an unspoken agreement that they were careful not to ruin with words. Excuses were made around midday and by 12:30, a doorbell would ring and then time ceased to matter for a few hours. Until it was over.

Usually the sun was shining and they would lie together afterwards, sweat coating their bodies as their breathing slowly returned to normal, fingers idly roaming over flesh or entwining with the others. They would drink in the heat that swallowed them and weighed down on them and somehow brought them closer - until it became claustrophobic and one had to move into the shower to wash the nearness away.

They rarely talked. What would they say? And today it was raining, warm rain that somehow brought more heat that the sun ever did. The moisture in the air hung over them as they slid over each other, flesh pressed into flesh, soft tongues licking gently over salty skin, tasting the sweat and the fire and the need that spilled into the heat around their bodies.

The rain fell harder against the window. Breath came faster now and the stillness was punctuated by quiet moans and ragged gasps as the sheets fell away and let them go, their bodies moving together in a practised rhythm that gave them what they needed, freedom from everything that caused them pain and freedom from happiness too. Some people were more comfortable in hell.

They rested afterwards, as they always did. This time it was a blond head on a dark stomach, it could just as easily have been the other way around. Fingers tangled in the silky blond strands and the breath was hot on his skin as it eased over the fine hairs below his navel. They listened to the rain as it softened again, fell back to its gentle playing over the glass. And Tony knew that this time he had to speak because his body wouldn’t let him say goodbye.

‘I proposed to her last night.’

A quiet rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and a gust of wind blew hard droplets against the pane. But now the water was inside, a single drop that slid onto his hard stomach and rested there without moving. He ran his fingers through the soft hair once more and as he sighed, he wondered whether his words would be enough to stop him from being here next week.