Not-Work

Jun. 5th, 2009 09:40 pm
lykomancer: (Can't Hear You / Too Awesome)
Yesterday, I went 40 minutes on an elliptical machine and 10 minutes on a stationary bike. Got my heart rate up to 169 or so within the first 5 minutes and held it there; worked up a good sweat.

I am not sore at all today. No lactic acid burn in my muscles at all.

Jinya and I walked to the park and back. She was the one complaining she was tired.

Damn, that even impresses me.

I kick ass. Yay.



Contemplating some changes on my wanna-be novel. I've slacked off on it for two weeks, but I'm still thinking about it. I need to brain-storm some more.

Stuck at 700 words on my fanfic, too. Where the hell that's that going, I have no idea.



My container garden is growing! My carrots and chives look a little pathetic, but I think I just need to move them into better sun. My salad greens are doing pretty good. The strawberries aren't thriving, but they're still producing a handful of berries per week.
(The petunias are thriving like mofos. I can't figure out why they're doing so much better than everything else; they get the same water and sunlight. WTF.)
lykomancer: (Doesn't play well with others)
Look, people.

This is really quite simple.
I do not write for you. I write-- rather selfishly, I'll admit-- for me*. I think that this is more or less true of most writers, of fanfic or of original stuff. Now, don't get me wrong!; I love having an audience and I love the praise, and compliments and comments on the fics I post definitely spur me to keep writing...I won't deny that. And I would love more constructive critiques; I don't mind valid criticism about flow and POV and ICness and word choice.

However...
There are some things that are just rude, children. I generally give my readers a lot of information before they get to the actual fic, which includes pairings, rating on a simple G-NC-17 scale, heads-up on spoilers, and warnings about possible squicky things such as bondage, blood-play, incest, snuff, etc. Yeah, read it before you read the body of the story (which is, inevitably, under a cut after the information header).
Read it.
And if you don't like what you see there, or think that you can't properly appreciate the story and respect what I am trying to do, then skip it and go write your own damn story that is what you want to see and read.

DO NOT read the story and then tell me that it was all wonderful except for... I wrote it as I wrote it, and there are no exceptions. I could understand this more if people could give valid reasons for their except for...'s, but they don't; they just whine that they don't like something because it isn't what they wanted to see/read, the way they would have written it, what they want it to be. You know what? Tough titties, kids. My story. Mine. If you want something else, then you write it and post it in a public forum for me to critique, mmm-kay?
It's just fucking rude. If you aren't interested in reading Elricest, DON'T READ the fic that is labeled as such and then bitch about the fact that the author had the audacity to write it.
If you don't like the third party in my threesome, don't read it! Or go write your own.
You don't like the fact that an author used angst as a plot-device and you wanted fluff? Oh, its a tragedy, isn't it?
DON'T read a work and then leave a comment telling the author that (basically) "It was good as long as I overlooked this huge major part/point of the story."
RUDE!

I have other things I could be doing. I don't have to share my writing with you guys. I don't even have to write in the first place. Neither do any of the other talented writers in the fandom.
If you can't appreciate a work for what it is and only want to see what you want in it, stop wasting your time reading my stuff. I assure you that your lack of readership will not break my heart.

I am not saying that all comments should be complimentary; if you've got a problem with something, then comment on that, too, but it damn well better be a valid and realistic critique. I'd be more than delighted actually to run through a serious criticism thread if anyone really wants to do that for one of my fics.
What I am saying is that if you don't like what I write for personal taste reasons, then don't take it out on me. This is not my problem, and it's irritating to get comments that address issues of taste. The fics are labeled; you can see the contents before you dive in... You don't go to a restaurant and taste the bass and then whine because it's fish, ok? That's just stupid, and it's not the cook's fault that you ate what you don't like.

I say all of this because I have suddenly seen a bloody proliferation of the "except for..." variety of comments lately, both on my own works and on other authors', and I thought I'd step in for Miss Manners on this one.
In short, it's fucking rude, and I don't want to hear it/see it. I retain full right to flame anyone's sorry asses for pulling that kind of shit.

KTHXBAI.

___
* The exception to this is when I offer to write drabbles specifically for someone on their request, in which case I am writing for them, obviously.
lykomancer: (Sanctified)
I go to seminary.
Seminary, for those of you who don't know, is a graduate-level theological school for the training of priests, ministers, and/or rabbis. Yes, I am training to become a Unitarian Universalist minister.

While I am sitting through my three-hour long classes about God and the Bible and religion, I find myself strangely inspired. I think of all sorts of dirty, lemony, slashy, cream-filled FMA yaoi stories, plots, and pictures.

Ok! I'd like to repeat that, just in case people missed it.
While my professor is up in front of the class yammering about Paul and Galatians and the Christ of Faith vs Jesus the Man and Augustine and so on, I'm busy scribbling down ideas in my notebooks that involve Edward Elric getting the crap beaten out of him by a pissed and horny Envy, the best way to incorporate Fight Club quotes into Greed/Kim smut fics, and how to finally get Wrath into the dirtier parts of Cat's Cradle.

I am so going to Hell.

(EDIT:
Tonight's new fic ideas--
1) "I'm gonna wash that filthy little mouth of yours out with soap!" Envy/Wrath
2) In Father Figure, it's clear that Envy shifts into Ed-form and jerks-off. Envy!muse feels like telling me more about that.
3) [profile] tsukiguujin and I did some playing together, and m'Envy!muse was inspired. He would like to...decorate...Edo.
4) After several hazardous negotiations with Kim!muse, we've reached some mutually satisfactory ideas of what to do to Greedo-san. ...it's a good thing he regenerates, that's all I got to say about that.
5) Just to assure that Hell doesn't reject me, I have considered starting a post-series Wrath/Al. O_o! WTF. Seriously. W. T. F.

Seminary = Where Jess goes to think about porn!
lykomancer: (I'm a work of art)
Ganked from [profile] tsukiguujin:

Ask me one question - any one - about my writing, then post this in your LJ so I can satisfy my curiosity about yours.
lykomancer: (I'm a work of art)
It's one o'clock in the morning and there is the taste of carmel and coconut in my mouth and my headphones are directing the jangling piano and nonsensical yet somehow pleasing Japanese lyrics of a blasphemous and bloody anime into my head. My fingers dance along the keys and I think yes, yes, this is what i need to have on my "soundtrack" for the rewrite of Blessed Be...
I wait until the end and then find "Easy Jesus", another clear pick, and listen as I write, wishing that it wasn't one in the morning, wishing I didn't have neighbors, wishing my roommates wouldn't be disturbed if I suddenly cranked the volume and began gutturally snarling along with the song.

/walking down the freeway and the moon is gone
talking to the stars and waiting for the sun
the moon is gone
the moon is lost
I see the blackness and the plastic neon cross/


All of my older stories are getting butchered in my head. Some of them I won't even pick up for fear of the damage I might wreak upon their helpless descriptions and paper characters, on the words stacked like squat little brick houses. I look at the cozy little cottages and I think no, no, this is all wrong. we need porthole windows and double french doors; we need another room, another floor, eaves and scrollwork and flying buttresses. you can't have flying buttresses in sturdy brick bungalows. what was i thinking?
There's nothing actually wrong with those houses; it just finally occurs to me that I might use those same bricks instead to build a castle or a tower or an obelisk, but just the same, they are good houses, and I'm afraid that if I tear them down I might not be able to build a castle and then I wouldn't have anything to shelter my story and characters... I wouldn't have anything but the idea shivering out in the cold and an unsorted crumbling pile of broken words.

There was yet another unidentifiable and unknown person who had friended me. I friended them back. I'm such a sucker for an audience.

I finally have some breathing time this weekend. I can finally catch up on my homework. I can go to the gym. I can read all those books I've bought recently and have not had the time to read (The Right to Write, Wolf Night, The Chronicles of Narnia). I can watch all the anime I've downloaded and haven't been able to watch.
I can write and write until my fingers ache and the screen is dirty and blurry to my weary eyes, catching up to all those thoughts I've been writing down and have not addressed.
And I will write and write and write. Reams of analysis and explanation and personal essay and memoir and horror and fantasy. I hope to have another ten pages of my new draft of Blessed Be (damn, that thing needs a new name! Any suggestions?) and thirty pages addressing other issues typed up by Monday.

You want an anime microfanfiction? Challenge me. Give me series and a germ of an idea, and I'll give you a story, 100-500 words. Any series you know I am familiar with; any genre (AU, WAFF, humor, crossover, etc.); any pairing (yes, even hetero. God, the horror).

Look out world! Jess's inner demon muse is chained to the oar.
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
-- Thomas Hobbes

...This is going to be a long and soul-searching bit of drabble. You've been warned.


I chose my title quote because, as some of you may know, I am plagued by despair. Whether this is a symptom of my chemical inbalance-caused depression, a result of my natural cynicism and anger, a healthy and normal reaction to this crazy, fucked-up world, a manifestation (along with apathy) of learned helplessness, none of the above or all of the above...I don't care.
(Although, for what it's worth, I'm voting on answer F) All of the above.)

[What's another night all alone / When you're spending every day on your own? / Here we go...]

I feel so lost so much of the time. Nothing's right, even when nothing's wrong. I don't have any energy, any inspiration, any drive or goal other than-- most of the time-- finding out what in the hell is wrong with me. I feel restless and lazy and angry and apathetic all at once. I want to climb the walls, but not have to leave my bed.

[I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare / I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair /...and the world is havin' more fun than me]

I've gotten angry-- I suppose envious is a better word-- at others who seem to have goals and plans; people who at least sort of know what they want to do make me so damn mad. They don't inspire me; they infuriate me.
And yeah, I've gotten the It's perfectly natural for you to not know what you want to do... it might be that you don't figure it out until you're 25/30/42/60/dead. That would be fine if just wanted a plan or goal, but that's not how I feel; I feel like I'm wandering around missing some vital part of me, like an arm or my liver, but I don't know what's missing or how I can make the aching stop.
Another analogy: It's like when you see someone else do something you used to be an expert at, but now can't do...you can't grip a pencil to draw because of carpel tunnel, or speak out because it's a dream, or whatever...and all you can do is stand there, ripped apart with jealousy and longing and possessiveness, struggling to live vicariously through this other person and failing because they -aren't- you.

[I'll try to think about the last time / I had a good time / Everyone's got somewhere to go / And they're gonna leave me here on my own]

It doesn't sound logical. I know that. I'm not stupid.
But goddammit, I'm supposed to be doing something-- something important, something major. Something that would make a difference for the better in this shithole world for a lot of people.
I know that, too. I know it in my heart, in my bones and blood; I know it, and it is undeniable-- I know, because I have been trying to deny it for years.
There's a damned reason I am here, now, in this place, skilled in the areas I am, with the quirky charisma I seem to have...and I want to know what that reason is.

Hey, you'd be pissed too if you kept feeling like the butt of a really immature cosmic joke.
(Actually, I'm reminded of something like "Pin the Tail on the Donkey"-- I'm clutching the tail, blindfolded and dizzy, stumbling around the room, while god(s) laugh and occasionally (drunkenly) try to "help".)
The Universe should be glad I don't hold grudges.

[What the fuck is wrong with me? / Don't fit in... / How did this happen to me?]

What brought all this on? my faithful readers might be asking.
Short answer: the sermon this morning at church.
Longer answer: I'm been feeling even more out of whack lately... just nauseas with the feeling. And I've been thinking about it more and more, wondering where I'm actually going. It's been building. Then I went to church and the sermon was on daring to dream, doing the impossible, and how to handle it when a dream of the impossible takes over your life.

[We all know there's always something tearing you apart / It's always so much longer than you counted on / And it hits you so much harder then you thought / But you don't worry, you don't worry / Cause you've got soul]

*scowl, glare, middle finger at the heavens* ...fine! Fine. I'll play this game. I got nothing to lose but my mind anyway.

[Amen... Good night, amen...]

I will get my =fucking= M.Div., and I will get =fucking= ordained, and I will get a thrice-cursed congregation if I damned well have to.
Point me in the general vicinity and I'll do my best to give the paper ass his tail, ok?

Jess is playing ball with the universe, and she bloody well expects to win.

Ah, hai, so da. It doesn't quite follow the form perfectly but, here's my sestina for you. )

~"For as long as space endures
And for as long as living beings remain
Until then may I too abide
To dispel the misery of the world."

--The Way of the Bodhisattva - Shantideva - 8th century


___
...God, either Jenny's making waffles or I'm experiencing the olfactory symptoms of schizophrenia. I hope it's the former, for several reasons.

Moon Tears

Nov. 5th, 2004 11:26 am
lykomancer: (Default)
They say that the Coyote
howls because
he is crying for
his long-
lost lover.
I have to
wonder
sometimes,
when I tip my head back to
look at the stars and
wail,
what it is that
I am crying for.
lykomancer: (Default)
Jesus, I'm soaked in sweat for my little jaunt down here to the seminary. It's not even that hot...just humid and sticky.

Talked to Jenny last night. She's about the only person I know at this point who is doing well.

Then I talked to Wendy.
Wendy was my best friend in high school. We were inseparable; we hung out, we had lockers together, we were silly and crazy and a little weird. We kept more or less in touch throughout my early years of college, but with out phone humbers changing all the time, it was hard. I hadn't talked to Wendy in over two years before last night; I couldn't get in touch with her.

But we talked for about two hours, and I hung up the phone feeling terrible. She's tired and lonely and sick in spirit; she's stuck living in a place she calls "the land of the lemmings" at a dead-end Wal-mart job with no friends to hang out with and nothing but bad memories haunting her.
The Wendy I knew was bouncy and enthusiastic and silly through anything; she was like a force of nature. This Wendy is soft-spoken and reserved and hesitant.
God, it hurts me.
I'm going to call her back tonight and insist that she move out here. Tom wants her to, too. (Tom has a tendency to "rescue" people.)

I dunno... *sigh*

No word back from the closed captioning people, damn them. I start with Citizen Action today, phone canvassing, and damn, even though I need the money and I need the job, I really, really don't want to do this. I'm so tempted to just go home and say fuck it. I don't want to be on the phone four hours a night reciting the same phrases over and over to get fat-cat rich people to donate money while I can't afford a cup of coffee. Grr... why doesn't Barnes & Nobles or someone just freakin' call me back and hire me?

Still plugging away at my story. You know, the one with werewolf assassins and the Antichrist and vampire Jesus. It's going well, although the characters are not behaving as I think they should. (Though, this is hardly surprising, really.)

Right. I should consider heading out to catch my bus.
lykomancer: (Default)
Bubble gum universe and rock candy catharsis. ^_^
I AM in charge of my own destiny.

I sat down last night and wrote and wrote while half-assed listening to the BBC talking about the Portland, Maine, Catholic priest molestation scandal and the collapse of the archdiocese on NPR. It felt later than it was though it was only midnight, and things were ok, alright...I was cool and in my groove and there are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq-- I don't believe it no matter what lies Bush tells the media-- and my fingers pirouetted across the keys confidently.

Someday I will have a disk and I will show you what I wrote. It's puffed up and self-important like my fiction tends to be, but pay no attention to that and rejoice merely in the fact that it was written.

I came in this morning to register for my fall class here at United, and Sandi-- the sweetest woman on the face of the earth, I swear to God-- was charming and attentive and warm and friendly. She made me a cup of Earl Grey tea that was redolent with the scent of orange peel. I am enrolled in the basic intro class, and I can't wait to take Greek in the winter.

I have an interview this afternoon in downtown to do the same exact thing I did for the DNC-- fundraising canvassing-- only for a different political party (something to do with the late Senator Wellstone) and over the phone. I figure, it's at least another few days work if nothing else.

I am locked out of the apartment building. I emptied my jeans pockets last night and forgot to grab my keys this morning.

God bless Judith! Without her, Tom and I would without a doubt have a broken car and nothing to eat but the two dead rats in the freezer (Ossie and Mystic both died, and I have no idea what to do with their little corpses, so they are wrapped up in a Wal-Mart bag in the freezer). I might be house-sitting for her next week, and its surely the least I can do considering what she's done for us...

No word back on the closed captioning position, and I am crossing my fingers.
Please, Deity, You know how I need this. Please, please. Show me the love. Alleluia and amen.

I'm feeling better and better each day. I guess I hit the bottom last week and had nowhere left to go but up. Or else I passed it off to Tom, who's been steadily dragging lower for the last four days. I don't know what to tell him to make him feel better...I'm still jobless, I still don't have my paycheck, his car part still isn't in the shop, we own our living souls and first-born to Judith, we still can't afford such extravagances as milk, etc, etc.

*shrug* Yes, poverty can be reduced to some philosophical theory even when you are living it.

Oh, yeah. One more random thought. Everyone should read Marcus Borg sometime this summer. I just finished The God We Never Knew and let me assure you that it is brilliant. If you can't find that, he also wrote Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time, which I haven't read, but I'm sure is just as good.
lykomancer: (Default)
Bleg... feeling a bit better having digested on the way home. I swear, my body must think that I hate it.

Geez, I don't want to go to class tomorrow. I'll sell my soul to Satan, God, or anyone in between for it to be canceled. I kinda just want to sleep in, get up, write, and take breaks to pack stuff. (Yeah, one two hour class throws off my entire day. I'm weird like that.)

I realize that I have, like, a daily page limit. When I'm not writing a story, I have to write in here. If I am writing a story, I feel no need to. I'm only doing now because I haven't in a while and feel a little weird about it.

Speaking of writing, I have upped my smut to a trilogy. ^^;; I'll stop there. Damn walking! It makes me contemplate things. But it amuses me... )

*yawn*
I should probably stop this and go to bed soon.
lykomancer: (Default)
Looky, looky! I wrote something!
Y'all should read it and correct my hyper-snarky-bitchiness and innate crankiness and make it more acceptable to actually send to these poor bastards in Washington. Or suggest more stuff to add to it.

To Whom it May Concern )
Thank you for your time, and thank you for representing my views in politics,
Jessica Smoll

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