red dress photo shoot, short sands beach, york, me
Because I’ve decided against posting the entry I wrote earlier, you get my ramblings on why Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy can suck my cock…
I can’t believe my Cabin Pressure fan fic is still getting kudos.
I went back and read all three and they are complete shit.
(I can say that now… it’s been a year since they were published, and I now have ‘perspective’.)
I remember how many drafts those stupid things went through and I never thought I’d struggle so hard again to get the words out.
And then, I decided to try Harry Potter fan fic.
Five drafts in… three where Harry and Draco reconnect sober and two where Draco is drunk off his ass. After the opening, they all go off in VERY different directions, and each one was stopped when I got sick of writing it.
The problem is, I want to finish a fucking Drarry fic if it kills me. (Wait. That didn’t come out right. You know I can’t write smut.)
So. I’ve gone through all five drafts and picked out the bits I liked.
Drunk!Draco is definitely a keeper. He’s such a perfect representation of [someone] that I’m not willing to let it go, and there are a bunch of other things that are worth keeping. Like Draco’s reaction to having to read ‘Animal Farm’... also picked out of real life and makes me giggle every time I re-read that scene. Also: YOU OWE ME FOR THE FUCKING DRAGON, POTTER! (I know. That means nothing to you, but I forgot all about that scene in D3 and OMG. I was in tears. TEARS!)
I’m really liking my version of Draco. My head canon is basically that between 1998 and 2014, he’s changed a lot. The War broke him and Harry’s managed to put him back together. Draco loses the chip on his shoulder and… well, his journey is a lot like mine.
Unfortunately, Harry gets a lot darker in each draft. I didn’t mean to, but I suppose if you had lost your parents and then died, you’d be pretty fucked up, too. I wanted to explore mental illness from Harry’s perspective (PTSD, to be exact), and he keeps going to a very bad place. It’s hard to write. Painful, even.
I’ve got about 50 index cards with notes, draft and page numbers and I’m trying to sort them out and make some sort of sense out of them, and it ain’t happening.
The only thing I’m positive of is how it begins and how it ends. It’s the shit in between that’s fucking me up.