Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
Huh: the weather-related-screamies are actually well below their usual defcon level for this time of the calendar year. I think it may be because the weather has been so awful already for so long that the Brainweasels have been fooled into thinking that it must nearly be spring. Note that this is not to say that I feel good, exactly, when it's dark by 5pm, but at least I've arrived at "...this too shall pass" several months ahead of schedule...

We shall see if this relative equilibrium still holds when the temperature goes below freezing again.

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feeling: cautiously optimistic

George Did The Thing again, grargh. Evidence is starting to suggest that it's a throwing his hands up in the air "I CAN'T LISTEN TO YOU WHEN YOU'RE TALKING THAT FAST" sort of problem, for the most part, since thinking back the main commonality does appear to be that external input devices are piling up commands faster than he can take them in, IE I'm zooming the mouse around or trying to backspace over typoes almost as I'm typing them. Sorry, kid, if my own left hand had any idea of how to coordinate with the inputs from my right I might be able to help you cope better...

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feeling: aggravated aggravated

OK, well then, now that we've got the runup to Halloween, or as Inner Trevor calls it, "Let's All Be Racist To The Bloody Vampires Now Why Don't We Month", out of the way (there's a panel idea in that somewhere about the evolution of Acceptable Targets, I think), Muse has, sort of, showed up to work -- this was originally supposed to run into the next part of this scene, but in the interests of not sitting on what's at least half of a coherent thought for another three months, I've made the executive decision to run with this bit now as-is. So.

Trevor and Jason, Vignette #55: His name's Mick...Collapse )

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feeling: aggravated aggravated

The guidelines proper for Long Hidden 2: Hidden Youth are out.

2000-8000 words.

8 months.

I'm trying to focus on the fact that I put 3000-word "Ffydd" together in half that time, but man, have the nerves already kicked in and I've already got 100 words on the page...

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feeling: determined determined

The good news is, Muse has submitted what appears to be the opening line of the new story idea.

The bad news is, it's in second-person.

While this actually does happen to resolve certain difficulties the idea presents for telling this particular story in either first or third, I wasn't really expecting to have to go read Bright Lights, Big City as part of the research for this...

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feeling: confused confused

Pooooosibly have a better story-idea for the specific parameters currently under consideration than the previously mentioned one, research for which has basically been foundering on the rocks of "the basic data for this inquiry was never actually recorded in the first place", IE, 'Unimportant' People Are Unimportant. Fudging is one thing, but some of the black holes here are right in the middle of the bits that would show, which makes it kind of hard to start building the house of cards around them at all... Anyhoo. Onwards, upwards, off to the library again, oh, the horror. :)

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feeling: thinky

Still thinking aloud RE the previous entry: reading thus far has suggested that Cecily would have a cultural reference-space for the idea of young women's having some capacity to say "I would rather die than conform to your agenda for me"... namely the trope of virgin martyrs. Not altogether sure yet where that goes in the context of a (voluntary and same-sex) vampire conversion, but it's at least a thread to start pulling? *sigh* At least bricklayers would get to be out in the fresh air...

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feeling: confused confused

Despite the part where it is now noticeably getting dark earlier and earlier, my mood is somewhat improved from the previous post by the temperature having risen back above, oh, fiftyish. Hypothesis: my seasonal blahs are a function of how many layers of clothes I have to put on rather than raw light-levels. I'd move somewhere warmer, but I rather doubt anywhere does have a stable enough climate anymore anyway.


The Muse is... ticking away in the background, not unlike unexploded ordnance; the latest problem she's trying to drag home on the side is "hey remember you were thinking about writing up Cecily's origin story there's A Thing that could be relevant to submit that to", to which end she's already dragged home a pile of materials from the library. I keep trying to explain to Muse that the problem with Cecily is that she doesn't entirely know What She Wants As A Character, which makes it kind of hard to, y'know, protag with her...

Does "umm, not to be considered property?" sound like a hook to hang a plot on? I worry that my initial 'that'd never fly here' impulse is, once again, that "that's a girl's story hence not Artistically Valid but you can't give a girl a 'rather be hung for my own damn sins' storyline, especially without it going all rapey in one way or the other", and maybe there is a story in there just because of that resistance, but... Yeah. Kind of at the "oh god how does anybody word" stage of this theoretical project. Help me think out loud, here, guys...

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feeling: thinky

It must be autumn, the brainweasels are returning to their winter breeding grounds all tanned and rested and looking for luuuurve. The first round off the plane have been mostly B. agencyuus, which are the ones who go on about how if I can't actually even get things that I pay for, or for that matter get paid myself for work already performed, then ipso facto I must not actually exist and would I please stop taking up more valuable people's space. They can be identified by their loud plumage and mocking quotations of calypso songs.

It's going to be a long winter.

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feeling: depressed depressed

Particularly good roll on the Random Wildlife Encounters table the other day:

IMG_1138 IMG_1139

I made a reasonably serious attempt to apprehend it, on the theory that it was so out of place that the odds were someone nearby was missing it, but after it finally remembered that it was a bird and flew off (a good three minutes into my efforts), I looked it up and apparently it's one of those monk parakeets which can do perfectly well for themselves even in this climate. Still, one does have to admit it's an even better story than the random chickens.

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feeling: confused confused

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