iesika

I write everything out longhand in notebooks before I type it. I have a huge, heavy box of notebooks in my closet which I dig through from time to time. I’m about to consign the two-notebooks ago book into the box, so I’m putting some stuff up here for posterity. The last notebook is…somewhere in my room. There are two mostly finished fics in it. I should probably find that. This notebook has two partial Tim-Meets-the-Arrows fics in it which won’t be posted here, because I’m going to try to do something with them. The bits posted here aren’t going anywhere, because they are crack. Or porn. Or sometimes both.

See, I have this problem with plot. I’m constantly making up premises in my head (which all start “The one where…” when I write them down). Lots of them don’t even make it to the notebook. For example, I am currently tossing around the one where someone at Kon’s school gets gay-bashed, and he joins the newly formed LGBT club to protect them/solve the crime, and gets hit on, and invents an out of town boyfriend who is sort of Tim. So when they all go to prom together as a form of protest, he begs Tim to pretend to be his date. (This one hasn’t hit paper yet. But it is developing a plot and may someday actually become a story, unlike these:)

( Time Travel! )

And!

( Identity porn! )


And!


( Time Travel! With identity porn! )

Went to the neuro-opthamologist today, who was unable to tell me anything conclusive but had 10 vials of blood drawn for various tests. She was very nice, though, and answered all my questions that could be answered at this point. I went to her on my usual eye-guy's referral, and had to drive waaaay out to the outskirts of town, almost to Scottlandville. The hospital was really neat, though - it's in a rather poor, predominantly black part of town (Baton Rouge has been a predominantly black city for quite some time now, but it's very segregated, and nearly all recent development and expansion projects have been in the more affluent white parts of town). What makes it really cool, though, is that it's a co-op. The hospital is owned by the doctors who work there - who are mostly young black professionals. My doctor, for example, is one of four M.D. sisters who own a stake in the building. The area needed a hospital, and nobody wanted to invest, so the doctors got together and did it themselves. I learned all this from a series of posters and photos in the halls and waiting room, which made for much more interesting reading than the out-of-date Parent magazines. 

Before and after the doctor thing, I was at the bakery boxing hundreds of pies for Thanksgiving. This might have sucked more if they hadn't informed me halfway through the day that I got to pick two of the pies and take them home. Yay for free pie! I got a pumpkin cheesecake (omg so delicious!) for my birthday, too, so I'm making off pretty good. All the goodies will be traveling up to Bastrop (or Rayville, not sure yet, probably depends on my cousin's chemo schedule) for the holiday. I picked a strawberry-cream-cheese and a key lime pie. They are also, apparently, giving us a turkey and a bottle of wine for xmas. This would be more exciting if I ate meat or drank wine.

As for mad urges - aside from my mad urge to play Oblivion again (which I can't really do, because my computer is broken, and the one I get to use doesn't even have the DVD drive required to load the game, let alone the horsepower to play it), I was thinking today about how desperately I would like to write something, and how little time and, apparently, ability I have currently got for such. Everytime I sit down to write something, I go blank, and it's killing me. So I'm going to babble a bit about the story in my head right now in the hopes that this way I can't forget about it by the time I have a moment to myself. Feel free to not read it. It's pure ramble/brainstorm.


ETA: For the love of Pete, eljay, how many times does your crappy spellcheck need to tell me that you don't know what a Lupin is?