I really can do it…

consulting-sonic asks the important questions

Speaking of shouting: “THIS IS THE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER READ IN MY LIFE. OH MY GOODNESS. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING THIS. AH. IT’S SO PERFECT.”

Not as loud but just as meaningful: “I adore this story. It is so perfectly their relationship that it just…it is. I don’t even know what to say. Brilliantly done. Thank you!”

(Since I got an email asking for the link to be made available publicly on here: AO3 and FFN.Same version, but the two sites are very different. I’m partial to AO3.)

It’s hard to write anything - be it for school, for fun, for work, or for publication - but to write something based on well fleshed out, well-loved characters…

it’s so hard, it’s almost impossible.

To put it out there, for others to see? I’d rather… I don’t know… suffer through something ridiculously painful.

Like putting it out there for others to see.

Are my characters perfect? NO. Sherlock feels like he’s more out of character than John, I kind of explain why he’s OOC, which makes it OK. A bit. John fluctuates from being as close to in character as I can get him to tying into the fandom’s head canon. That’s not terrible, I guess.

I put a lot of time into this. I dug in deep and pulled out aspects of my platonic relationships with my little brother, with the Duke of Stud, and even with J (thank you, bipolar meds *sigh*). I lost track of all the times I proofread it. I even made J proofread it. (And he doesn’t read. EVER!) I watched the show as much as possible. (Well, I substituted the unaired pilot for Reichenbach… There’s only so much I’m willing to do for my art. *grin*)

I can’t tell you how excited I am that I’m getting reviews - NICE ones, at that - but, I’m still waiting for a negative one, or even constructive criticism. Not that I want to get my feelings hurt, but it feels like a rite of passage, kinda.

Since I’m all focused on fanfic right now, my Cabin Pressure one has gone through the first round of editing. The Y-L-B issue has kind of been taken care of. Kinda. I still feel like it’s important to the plot in Parts 2 and 3, but I think I’m going to end up doing the same thing I did with the Sherlock fic and just ignore the last episode. It feels like a cop out, though. I still don’t know what to do… the cliffhanger is huge and it was the driver of the plot. After doing the first edit, I can take it out without too much damage, but, but, but, but… ARGH!

You think I would have learned after all the shit the Sherlock fic put me through.

*sigh*

Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.

truer words were never spoken

There are 3 major components to human sexuality: biological sex, sexual orientation, and gender identity.

Each of these 3 components offer multiple variables and the variables with which you present comprise your sexuality.

Asserting that any one set of these variables is any better than another is ludicrous.

LOVE WHO YOU WANT. IT’S ALL FINE

(Still celebrating the fact that DOMA and Prop 8 are dead.)

——

I have a phone screen today with a company based over an hour away from here.  They have clients that hire them for accounting duties and then they assign clients to their accounting staff… I’d be part of that staff and after some training at HQ, I’d be able to work from home.The pay’s not the greatest, but I think I can offset that by not having to commute.

Can I work from home? That’s the magic question, isn’t it?

I’m terribly lonely right now, but I’m also sitting on the couch, doing absolutely nothing after I do my few hours of job searching. Part of that is because I know I’m no fun right now (wicked, wicked, wicked, deep dark depression) and part of that is all the people that I’d hang out with don’t live around me. If I wasn’t depressed, I’d probably be doing some projects around the house. But I can barely get out of bed to get Guinness to day care… and the only reason he’s even going is because we prepaid in January for the year.

If I were working, I’d have contact with people. I’d have a reason to get out of bed. I know I have the discipline to work from home…

Let’s hope the screen goes better than that assessment earlier this week, because that completely set my mental state back quite a few notches.

——

Playing in John Finnemore’s sandbox and writing this Cabin Pressure fan fic is KILLING me.

The series is set in real time, so Series 1 took place in 2008 and it goes all the way through Series 4 which takes place in 2013. (The only oddity is that Arthur stated to be 29 in the first three series… Considering that Finnemore plays Arthur, you think he’d catch that. *sigh* At least that doesn’t screw up anything because I couldn’t remember how old Arthur was in Series 4 so I said he was in his early thirties.)

I have this great story, but the timeline fell to shit when I realized that possibly the most important part of my story takes place in 2013. Everything kind of hangs on the events of “Yverdon-les-Bains”, which is the last episode in Series 4. The other important parts I’ve squeezed in between series… Part 1 of the trilogy takes place in October 2009, Part 2 in 2011 (which - the way I wrote it - included the resolution of Y-L-B’s cliffhanger), Part 3 was scheduled to fit around Christmas 2012, and Part 4 was pushed out to 2014 to make something important make sense in the canon timeline.

Everything in the first three parts references Y-L-B and I knew the reference didn’t really belong in Part 1, but I had to write the next parts to see where it would fit better. EVERYTHING in the second part happens because of Y-L-B,  but since the second part kind of needs to happen before 2013, I’m totally screwed.

The only good thing is that Part 1 is Martin’s story, which while dependent on Douglas’ divorce in 2009, doesn’t need Y-L-B in it. The only problem is that I like having Part 2 in Paris, and Paris was aired in 2011… I think I may have to find a new city for that piece of the story to take place in. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck…

Being unemployed right now is not good, but at least I have this to distract me and keep me busy. VERY busy.

You know you watch too much TV when…

twelve jammy dodgers… and a fez!

I had no idea I’d ever become THAT emotionally involved in a cooking show, but I’m sitting here crying at the finale of MasterChef UK.

I’m also starting to really get into Aston Martins. (Damn you, Top Gear!) I didn’t think I was really into cars - other than my beloved BMW 3 series - but I’m starting to really care about what May, Hamster and Jezza have to say about cars. I’m even getting less upset every time they insult Americans, the States, and Hammond. *grin*

It’s so bad, that every time they give a price in pounds, I’m doing the conversion to USD.

The sad thing is, I’m not really WATCHING the shows. I’m barely listening to them while I focus on my job search or fan fic.

I really think that I need to quit looking at local companies and focus 100% on companies with UK offices.

I guess I am really supposed to be in the UK during this phase of my life.

The magic question is how the fuck do I do that?!?

Blisters and rucking

i can’t wait for the freakin’ dvd to come out

My feeeeeeeeet hurt.

Apparently, I can grow blisters by just thinking about them.

Did another three miles today with my new friend. The rucksack, despite all the time I’ve taken getting used to it, feels really heavy. Maybe it’s the knowledge that it weighs 30 pounds and I’m thinking about how much that is with every step. Oh well. Three miles is three miles and it’s three miles more than I would have done on my own with or without the ruck.

Whatever. The GORUCK site says if you can run a 5K or do a Tough Mudder/Spartan/Warrior, etc. you should be able to handle the Light. I can almost do a 5K. It’s 3-ish miles and if I can walk it, I can jog it. The legs aren’t the issue. My legs have always been good at embracing the suck. Even with all my knee issues, I’ve always been able to count on my legs.

And it’s not a race, so that sort of endurance doesn’t matter.

But my arms.

My ARMS are a different story. They are probably (definitely?) my weakest link.

And that’s what scares me about the Challenge.

But. But. But. BUT!

I keep thinking the Challenge is this Saturday, but it turns out I actually have another week to stress over this.

Actually, I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

——

I wonder if this is how Douglas Adams felt when he was writing the The Hitchhiker’s Trilogy…

(For those not in the know - SHAME ON YOU - the trilogy actually spans five books.)

My Cabin Pressure fan fic was meant to be a trilogy: Martin’s bit, Douglas’ bit and the required happy ending. I am now at four parts because the happy ending required an epilogue. Or, to be exact, Arthur required a bit and he became the last ‘chapter’ of the trilogy which forced the happy ending out an extra chapter. It’s OK, though, because Arthur is BRILLIANT and my take on him is actually a lot of fun to write, even if he is a little out of character. A lot out of character. It’s not like the fic’s canon compliant any way.

I’m just going to be happy with the fact that it’s not crack, not PWP, and still lemon-free.

Long overdue, yet it feels too early to share.

When we first met, you were my everything. (Well, I say “everything”… We were in Jr. High. “Everything” was not much and too much all rolled into one confusing teenage hormonal package.)

On some level, even back then, we knew the other was broken, and we figured out a way to make it work and keep our distance all at the same.

It’s weird to see the past twenty-something, nearly thirty, years broken down into such a simple sentence.

But it’s true, isn’t it?

Our entire shared existence has been nothing but figuring out how to make it work and keep our distance all at the same time. I’m not going to spell it out for you. You were there. You know what happened.

The dance we’ve danced our entire lives… I have it memorized: the steps written on my heart, in my soul, in a language only the two of us know.

You’ve broken and put my heart back together so many times that I should hate you. I should stay away from you.

And God knows, I’ve tried.

Yet, you refuse to give up. To go away.

Yet, I refuse to give up. To stay away.

The last time you broke my heart should have been the last time. How many last chances can you give someone?

Too many?

Not enough?

But here we are…

Dancing our dance, like nothing’s happened.