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oh hello f-list, newbies and old faithfuls, one and all

So I am stealing this from my darling featherfish because it is a very, very rad idea and also some of you are shy and I wish you wouldn't be because I really don't bite unless you're into that.

So without further ado, I give you:

In past Christmases, I have left an open invitation to write little fanfic drabbles for LJ holiday presents. I'd like to do that again this year, but this year I want to do it a little differently.

A GIFT FROM ME TO YOU

The Offer: Ask me to write something. Literally, absolutely anything. Give me a prompt for whatever you want... it can be fandom-related -- any fandom you know I have some little experience in, really really obscure ones that aren't technically fandoms... OR, it doesn't have to be fanfiction. It can just be some original idea for a situation, characters, anything you can think of. It can be porn or the total opposite of porn. I don't care. You can request as many different things as you want. The one and only rule is that it has to be something I can do in a drabble (a few hundred words).

The Promise: I will write all of them. Some of them might not be awesome and they probably won't all get done in time for Christmas, but I know that not all of you even celebrate Christmas, so who cares? But they will get written.

So that's a pretty cool offer, right? Give me some prompts, people! I want to write a bunch of stuff. Gotta stay sharp. Happy Holidays/New Year to everyone. ♥


Basically, give me anything.  Anything at all.  Poetry, pictures, art, dialogue, scenarios, songs.  It can be porn, angst, UST, crazy adventure time, friendship, fluff (lololol okay, I'll try), whatever. For a fandom or original.  Anything your darling little hearts desire. 

ETA: You are all fantastic people. Keep 'em coming.

Completed Storythings:

[scene missing]
Cutting Room Floor
Mama Told Me
Real Bad
Commedia dell'Arte all'Improviso
Plate Glass

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a western in four acts

I don't even know.   I decided to go poking at my unfinished NaNoWriMo thing but realized I'm still feeling pretty uninspired and meh.  So instead I wrote a weird all-dialogue story?  My logic is peerless. I know, I know. 

Also my life currently consists of: heat-sensitive colour-change nailpolish, finally actually owning all volumes of The Boys, blackout poetry and pouting (only partially seriously) about the fact that the rest of The Walking Dead won't be airing until next Halloween. 



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  • Current Music
    my way home is through you // my chemical romance
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Unfailingly



So I found this incredible online prompt generator.  It's just about the funniest fucking thing I've seen in a while.

And because I love procrastination and I haven't written any PWP in a while, I decided to take a prompt seriously.  No really.  I know, I know.

That prompt: A smart figment of someone's imagination fucks a comatose psychologist in Japan. They are master and servant. It must involve knives and mummification bondage.  I don't know how to write mummification.  So yeah.  I'm fudging that a bit.

I would encourage anyone else who's got a bit of time on their hands and a desire to write some pointless smut to take the challenge and show me what you come up with.

I might be doing a couple more of these because I have my eye on a couple other prompts.  Not too sure yet.  We'll see how it goes.  I should probably actually finish this first.





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FUCK YES

SO I JUST HIT MOTHERFUCKING 50,000+ WORDS
YUP
THAT IS ALL.
 
I am now going to go and make some fucking awesome martinis.
  • Current Mood
    ecstatic FUCK YES
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so, how goes the good fight?

It goes strangely, droogs.

I've got about 5,000-ish words left to write before I win, I'm nowhere near done with the arc of my novel, I'm full of doubts, I want to kill almost all of my characters in horrible ways (but can't if I want this thing to work) and haven't enjoyed writing any of the things I was looking forward to writing, instead spiralling off on tangents about wallpaper.

That said, I'm so glad that I did NaNoWriMo.

It snuck up behind my writer's block and got it by the neck with a garroting wire and I feel so much better.  I'm full of ideas, and unfortunately they're mostly for projects that I want to start once I've got All Things Buried tied up (more or less) neatly, but it feels good to be able to write again and even if I never finish this thing, I think that I've already kind of won.

Also, if anyone wants to read what I've got, I can send you a link to the Google Docs copy.  I'm dying for feedback like the great big attention whore that I am.  It's so weird to be writing and not have that instant gratification factor that doing fanfic and smacking a new chapter up every day and getting all sorts of comments gives you. I miss having people throw quotes at me and tell me what works, because honestly I'm quite clueless as to what works and what doesn't and it's got me terrified.
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nanofuckingwrimo

 

So I was planning on staying up all night and writing up a storm come midnight.  That did not happen.  At all.  I fell asleep sometime around 12:30 and woke up this morning screaming "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" because I got it into my head that I was behind. Sometime after that I drank a lot of coffee and 3761 words happened and I feel a little less like a slacker and a lot more confused about where I'm going with this in general.  Oh well.  C'est la vie.

And now I am going to go to class and pretend like I'm paying attention when really I'm jotting down novelshit in my margins.
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nanowrimo

So. NaNoWriMo. It's fucking coming.

Is anyone else planning on doing it? Because, barring unforeseen and tragic circumstances, I will be. I'm going to actually write in English this year and I'm shitting myself because I don't know if I can make 2000-ish~ words a day in a language I don't really get. What am I thinking? I think I just like pain. But I do have an outline and I honestly wish it was starting like right now because I'm still full of ideas and I want to go go go.

Talk to me bbs, tell me about what you're writing if you're doing it and if you're not doing it, tell me that too, so I can coax you into this fool's errand exciting, fast-and-loose approach to writing.
  • Current Music
    suffer little children // the smiths
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things that make me think this could be forever

Things that make me think this could be forever:

We have one great big communal pile of clothes. Today I wore your cable-knit sweater and your hideous moccasin-loafer lovechild slippers and you wore a pair of my flannel pyjama pants that rode a good three inches above your ankles and my navy blue peacoat. This is par for the course. There are some things that I don’t even remember who bought. And I’m okay with it.

I don’t have to make sense. I can say things like “I’m going to get that wonky initials thing after fifth and stop by Gorbachev’s on my way home,” and you know that means that I’m picking up the computer part you needed after my fifth class and then later I’m going to stop by the pawn shoppe where the owner looks a lot like Mikhail Gorbachev.

We play “guess which crime” in line at Starbucks. And we almost always agree. Except when we don’t. Then we discuss the finer points of why the man in the really ugly Fair Isle knit cap looks more like he would be the type to embezzle rather than commit insurance fraud. And you always make terribly valid points.

We just had a whole text conversation in Nadsat. And neither of us missed a beat.

Our epic prank wars. You made the greatest face in the whole wide world when the grapes fell from the ceiling and I still don’t know how you managed to get all those cups of water around my desk chair. My headphones must have been fucking loud.

Every so often, out of nowhere, we will come up with the exact same idea. And then we will be so excited to tell each other. And when we do, it’s always like, “Hey, I was literally just thinking that.” And it’s always the little details, the bizarre things that no one else could dream up, the completely-out-of-left-field random things.

You wrote a sonnet about my ass. A Petrarchan sonnet. About my ass.
(I am writing a villanelle about your cheekbones.)

We painted our nails glow-in-the-dark. And both immediately thought of how badass this makes handjobs in the dark.

We read books to each other in the bath. Sometimes it’s godawful porno romance novels. Complete with sound effects. Sometimes it’s Rimbaud. Or Kafka. Or Gaiman. Everything under the sun. Sometimes it’s shitty fanfiction done in dramatic voices. It’s not always in English, nor does it need to be. No matter what, when we get out, we always have pruny toes.

When I do senseless, stupid things like spending all day crying and watching Cold Mountain, you're okay with sitting there and just rubbing my back. And neither of us says a word. And somehow everything is okay again.