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'sinner demon muse is chained to the oar.
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
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