rose between the thorns
Feb. 21st, 2005 12:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Dave put the three fishies in their separate bowls directly beside one another. (The Fooshie Palace is nearly complete, but not yet.) The result was apparently rather humorous.
Al, a bit logy from his time in the infirmary (he was on antibiotics), when dumped back into his little bowl, sorta swam around looking listless. Until suddenly he caught sight of the female in the bowl next to him.
His tail went 'foom' into its full extension. His lower fin went 'foom' into its full extensions. And his gill covers went 'foom' into a full-on flare. He then proceeded to undulate back and forth along the edge of the bowl.
The female, tentatively named Fooshella, thought this was great. She spent the rest of the evening alternating between watching Al display, and watching Gibson display on the other side of the tank. Highly amusing.
Tomorrow we gets a tank filter and finds some sort of method to support the Fooshie Palace so that it'll actually, well, work. Something rigid but waterproof? Like, dowels, only made of plastic? I dunno; I'm pretty well stumped.
So I watched the Daytona 500. It was fascinating. I've never watched any Nascar before. But now that I've read a few of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
killerwhaletank's little stories, I am thoroughly intrigued. I am also much less lost when reading her journal now that I know who the hell these people are. (I was quite disappointed that Kasey Kahne didn't do better but somebody put him in the wall on the third-to-last lap, the bastards! Of course, my admiration of him is probably entirely inappropriate, given what I keep getting a mental image of him doing to poor Tony Stewart. Thanks, there, killerwhaletank; I think all new sports should be learned about exclusively through the realm of slash fanfiction. I was, myself, suddenly possessed with an overwhelming urge to read/write more of it. I will probably resist. But some of those boys are so damn cute.)
It was amusing, actually. The Club was dead, so I sat on the sink staring at the TV for about four hours. The final laps were approaching, so both the ladies from behind the counter came and stood behind the bar to watch (they'd been sitting at the bar but got too excited). They were soon joined by two airline employees, the ones who usually preside over the boarding of flights (stand behind the counter at the gate, etc), who didn't know anything about NASCAR ("the precautionary lights are on," one of them observed).
We're watching, most of us just barely understanding what's going on (but, I mean, it's a car race. It's not hard. We just had to listen to Tracey remind us who was who), but getting excited anyway. "Nooooo!" Tracey shrieks. "Come ON, Junior! Come on! No! Don't let Kurt Busch win!" She's actually hitting the TV screen to indicate which car is Junior's. (I get it, I get it, the one that says "bud", I get it.)
Someone behind us coughs.
There stands a customer.
"What what what?" Tracey says, wild-eyed, trying to recollect herself. She's a tremendous fan of auto racing, and indeed once got her father's Thunderbird airborne herself.
"Did you need something?" I inquire politely.
"Um," he says, "just a Diet Coke."
I pour him a Diet Coke, and immediately resume jumping up and down with the rest of the employees, all of whom are wedged behind the bar to get a better view of the TV.
The customer laughs.
Am doing a bit of desultory work on posting more of the epic-- I'm just thinking, what the hell. I'm not going to have much time to polish up the fanfiction any further than I have, except as the opportunity presents itself in exercises. I like to write it, it really is calming and affirming to work on, but I don't have time to edit it. So I'm just going to put up my beta fragments in as much completion as I can muster, and if I have time I'll write more and post it where it goes. I'll probably mention here if I update. For the moment, I've updated the overview page with very brief story summaries, and I added a whole lot more stories. I put the Valentine's stories into their chronological places on the overview page, though the slash ones are a bit A/U with regards to the rest of the stories as written, since I was still fighting against slashing anybody up until I gave in and did the Valentine's thing. (It was such fun...) So the other material predates that, and thus makes no mention of it.
Most of the 'fragments' are at least 3,000 words long and are in a reasonable state of polish, however, so they may be worth a read if you're a fan of the characters or the pairings or the setting or anything like that. I think many of them are good stories on their own. Though that might be vain of me. But at least they're long enough to have a narrative and some overarching character themes, I think.
I wish I had time to make it into a novel. But, in this format, it's sort of infinite. If I feel like writing about a certain part, I can just go insert it. It's a little like a collage, more than a painting; the continuity is not necessarily all there. And there are sections missing. But it's fun to write, and hopefully I'll be able to fill in my own gaps as time goes by.
I am terribly behind on Vikings Stuff, though. Am doing so much rewrite that Ch. 8 is stuck. Stuck. I doubt I'll be able to post on schedule, and this is bothering me. I don't know what to do, but am too tired tonight to do anything that involves original thought-- hence all the reposting of fanfic stuff.
Al, a bit logy from his time in the infirmary (he was on antibiotics), when dumped back into his little bowl, sorta swam around looking listless. Until suddenly he caught sight of the female in the bowl next to him.
His tail went 'foom' into its full extension. His lower fin went 'foom' into its full extensions. And his gill covers went 'foom' into a full-on flare. He then proceeded to undulate back and forth along the edge of the bowl.
The female, tentatively named Fooshella, thought this was great. She spent the rest of the evening alternating between watching Al display, and watching Gibson display on the other side of the tank. Highly amusing.
Tomorrow we gets a tank filter and finds some sort of method to support the Fooshie Palace so that it'll actually, well, work. Something rigid but waterproof? Like, dowels, only made of plastic? I dunno; I'm pretty well stumped.
So I watched the Daytona 500. It was fascinating. I've never watched any Nascar before. But now that I've read a few of
killerwhaletank's little stories, I am thoroughly intrigued. I am also much less lost when reading her journal now that I know who the hell these people are. (I was quite disappointed that Kasey Kahne didn't do better but somebody put him in the wall on the third-to-last lap, the bastards! Of course, my admiration of him is probably entirely inappropriate, given what I keep getting a mental image of him doing to poor Tony Stewart. Thanks, there, killerwhaletank; I think all new sports should be learned about exclusively through the realm of slash fanfiction. I was, myself, suddenly possessed with an overwhelming urge to read/write more of it. I will probably resist. But some of those boys are so damn cute.)It was amusing, actually. The Club was dead, so I sat on the sink staring at the TV for about four hours. The final laps were approaching, so both the ladies from behind the counter came and stood behind the bar to watch (they'd been sitting at the bar but got too excited). They were soon joined by two airline employees, the ones who usually preside over the boarding of flights (stand behind the counter at the gate, etc), who didn't know anything about NASCAR ("the precautionary lights are on," one of them observed).
We're watching, most of us just barely understanding what's going on (but, I mean, it's a car race. It's not hard. We just had to listen to Tracey remind us who was who), but getting excited anyway. "Nooooo!" Tracey shrieks. "Come ON, Junior! Come on! No! Don't let Kurt Busch win!" She's actually hitting the TV screen to indicate which car is Junior's. (I get it, I get it, the one that says "bud", I get it.)
Someone behind us coughs.
There stands a customer.
"What what what?" Tracey says, wild-eyed, trying to recollect herself. She's a tremendous fan of auto racing, and indeed once got her father's Thunderbird airborne herself.
"Did you need something?" I inquire politely.
"Um," he says, "just a Diet Coke."
I pour him a Diet Coke, and immediately resume jumping up and down with the rest of the employees, all of whom are wedged behind the bar to get a better view of the TV.
The customer laughs.
Am doing a bit of desultory work on posting more of the epic-- I'm just thinking, what the hell. I'm not going to have much time to polish up the fanfiction any further than I have, except as the opportunity presents itself in exercises. I like to write it, it really is calming and affirming to work on, but I don't have time to edit it. So I'm just going to put up my beta fragments in as much completion as I can muster, and if I have time I'll write more and post it where it goes. I'll probably mention here if I update. For the moment, I've updated the overview page with very brief story summaries, and I added a whole lot more stories. I put the Valentine's stories into their chronological places on the overview page, though the slash ones are a bit A/U with regards to the rest of the stories as written, since I was still fighting against slashing anybody up until I gave in and did the Valentine's thing. (It was such fun...) So the other material predates that, and thus makes no mention of it.
Most of the 'fragments' are at least 3,000 words long and are in a reasonable state of polish, however, so they may be worth a read if you're a fan of the characters or the pairings or the setting or anything like that. I think many of them are good stories on their own. Though that might be vain of me. But at least they're long enough to have a narrative and some overarching character themes, I think.
I wish I had time to make it into a novel. But, in this format, it's sort of infinite. If I feel like writing about a certain part, I can just go insert it. It's a little like a collage, more than a painting; the continuity is not necessarily all there. And there are sections missing. But it's fun to write, and hopefully I'll be able to fill in my own gaps as time goes by.
I am terribly behind on Vikings Stuff, though. Am doing so much rewrite that Ch. 8 is stuck. Stuck. I doubt I'll be able to post on schedule, and this is bothering me. I don't know what to do, but am too tired tonight to do anything that involves original thought-- hence all the reposting of fanfic stuff.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-02-21 06:03 am (UTC)And I totally agree. All sports that you don't know should be learned through the realm of slash fanfic :-)
no subject
Date: 2005-02-21 02:47 pm (UTC)>pity sex
Oh please yes. Please. Make it dirty and gritty, too. I'd contribute but I'm still not sure who everyone involved is.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-21 03:11 pm (UTC)He got hit in the pit, he got put into the wall, he was involved in that big pileup with Wimmer... Not that I know who those people are...
Man! But he finished, didn't he?
And the reason he's everybody's fanfic whore is that he's hawt. See my logic?
But I think he got fucked enough yesterday, don't you? Ouch.
My boyfriend cannot believe that I am trying to explain NASCAR to him. LOL. This is amusing.
But it's just so... macho. Yes.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-21 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-21 07:24 pm (UTC)Oh, I misread that. Excuse me.
But yes. Yes, indeed.