I return to this journal with a late post about my passionate love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer - the television series, not the character. Mostly it's a bunch of whining about Spike and Buffy - and partially about Angel. The titular character's only in there, I suspect, because she snatched a bunch of great lines during the series. Otherwise, my attention would be completely on the vampires. Because, you know, I've never been very good at liking the characters I'm supposed to like. 

Jumping on the bandwagon a bit late, I know! I just... woe. Got caught up, I suppose?


In other news: I am stupid. Though this probably shouldn't surprise anyone.

I hate rewrites. I hate them so much.

Can anybody tell me if, when you're rewriting, you rewrite the whole thing clinging to the previous general idea? You fix wordings that now annoy you in the scene? You throw your whole damn manuscript at a wall and step on it a few times until you like it better?

(SERIOUSLY. I was up all night typing up short character profiles -- thankfully there were only five -- and now know more than I ever wanted about the personal lives of my characters. Luzcre was married but left her husband out of (non-marital-related) boredom, Letifer stole his mother's spaceship and disabled the trackers in order to go back in time, and Darcie has an unholy appreciation for yogurt and muffins, occasionally in combination.)

NaNoWriMo last year was so much better. I had ten thousand words done in a day. This year: one thousand. A day. If I'm lucky!

On the other hand: the letter game with Pnutty may work out. I like the guy I'm writing. Even if he won't tell me what his name is.

[this is not really a heartwarming story of LOVE and HAPPINESS. It's more of ANGST and DOGS, which is very strange.]

( So. I had a dog. )

AUUUUUGH.

So the reason I've been off is probably because I have recently gotten highly and appallingly addicted to a video game called Final Fantasy VIII. It has a nice storyline, I like the characters, but god does it drive me insane.

I mean seriously, could I have picked up a game a little less dependent on Siren's Move-Find ability? (It's this ability that allows you to pick up on hidden magic spells and HIDDEN SAVE POINTS, which you otherwise cannot access, and it is driving me insane because I have to go through FIVE LEVELS OF MONSTERS to get my ass handed to me by a guy on a gigantic horse with sharp teeth. OVER AND OVER.

I love this game, but oh, it makes me suffer.

P.S. AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.

So Death Note is over.

I don't think 'disappointed' is even half of what I feel. There are no spoilers here, since I haven't read about 40+ chapters (in short, everything after the first arc, because the first arc's death just, er, killed me), but I've heard about the ending, have read the last page of chapter 107, and am feeling mournful.

Sigh.

Back to your regularly scheduled load of tosh and tripe. (Yes, my Internet was gone, and you didn't even notice, did you. You never loved me! I knew it all along!) Will be posting up fic-chapters soon, depending on what I feel like and how little I want to study for my AP Biology test. Have been hanging around math classrooms all day pining for lack of Internet, feeling the dearth of it even at school.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and called my mother at one. Er. Despite being at school. Not at all because I needed a ride or anything.

ME: MOTHER! Tell me what's going on. Is my baby all right? How are the wires? Are the basic lights flashing? Is she okay?
MOTHER: Ahahaha. About that. Uh. I want to tell you an interesting story.
ME: Will this interesting story make me want to go bang my head on a desk?
MOTHER: That is a perfectly possible probability. See, it's about this mother who kind of forgot to pay the bill for the--
ME: ...
MOTHER: Are you still there?
ME: A desk will not be satisfactory enough. I need an axe.

Of course, it got less funny when I realized that I have words that automatically trigger me into anger. I spent a lot of time with the Boy, which seems to suppress my anger and then bring it out into greater prominence when I'm no longer with him. This, of course, caused me to get upset with my mother, and vice versa, several times throughout the course of the evening, and thus I am no longer having such a good time, despite now having Internet.

*

On the other hand: I THINK I GOT THE FIRST CHAPTER RIGHT. FINALLY.

OMG.

I'm just so excited. It's been through four re-draftings, the first chapter alone, and I'm still high off of the fact that it's finally going right. The bit where Relant comes in is still a little rough, but I think it's going well, overall.

They gathered at the court of skulls, and the magician of shadows smiled.

Which probably sounds like a very esoteric introduction to a Yu-Gi-Oh fic, but hey. First line complete. And I am gleeful like nobody's business.

*

I return to the Internet, triumphant, and the AG server automatically goes down?

Dear Life,

BITE ME.

WITH LOVE,

Lasakura

P.S. Wait, no, don't bite me with love. Mind out of gutter! Just, er. THIS IS WAR.

P.P.S. And not that kind of war, either!

*

( discworld drabble - don't ask )

So when a boy buys a book specifically so that he can taunt you with its possession, and then to lend it to you, if the aforementioned boy is someone you've been chasing after for, oh, ages, this is a good thing, yes?

...

:)

(After three years: progress has been made!)

P.S. I HATE YOU, ALL AP EXAMS. -studies-

Getting back into writing, possibly for fandom, but just in general? I guess?

Clearly I need much, much more practice, but alas, AP Exams, AP French, possible death ahead.

( dancing in the rain (974 words) )

In other news: I still don't know how to live without dialogue. The ending is like... D:

Just saw The Butterfly Effect for the first time, and am completely terrified of sleeping.

Easily freaked out, yes! I wish I had a guest. It's easier to sleep when you know there's someone nearby to shout for warning if you're suddenly confronted by a CHAINSAW MURDERER or something.

Yeah, you know I'm never going to be the type to go watch Saw. Or Se7en, for that matter.

-fear-

( fic-bits; planning )

I have decided since the beginning of April that rewriting is a mass of demons incarnate, and should be quartered, hung, and drawn. In that order, although I suppose the fact that we must hang the quartered bits will make it a bit difficult to have them torn apart by wild horses. Nevertheless -- I shall perservere! (On the re-writing bits, not the hanging bits.)

As of old, the characters are showing a disturbing tendency to hang around and talk and refuse to strangle each other and so on. I never had this problem in fanfic.

# OF WORDS ADDED TO REWRITTEN DRAFT: 33,000
# OF WORDS ACTUALLY REWRITTEN: 20,000

Because I'm clearly, um, a dirty-filthy cheater.

I need to take a break, possibly write some fanfiction, and stop studying for my AP exams. I don't *want* to take the AP exams.

Especially the French one, which I am cramming for all in one week.

Woe!

Murderous seething noises!

Fury!

Things being thrown at walls!

Abruptly yawning because I AM UP AT ELEVEN FINISHING MY CALCULUS EXTRA CREDIT (and was only slightly sidetracked by the Last Episode of Loveless).

This screams "second season!" So where the hell is it?

Will spoiler madly later. For now am merely content shouting WTF and scattering papers in small droves.

--

"Hoee~." His mouth held the smile, delicately. "I leave you for only a little while, and already you're in love again."

I've only recently acquired an addiction (completely tasteless one) obsession interest in Loveless. Mainly, this consists of bemoaning the fact that I am all caught up to the manga scans - yes, even the raws - released so far and there is no sign of plot resolution. (Thus: a very great desire to trap all my favorite manga authors in a small box and force them to draw all day is born. But I'm pretty sure it was lurking around in the dark all along.)

I'm sure it's not healthy to get this obsessed all the time. Reading fic until the break of dawn about the romance between a sixth-grader and a college student is a sign that my brain is breaking beneath all the stress about AP classes.

Although. Um. If you don't mind fueling my addiction you could always read it yourself, go rabid over it, and go track me down/write me some fanfic. :D

In other news, my father sent me a copy of The Tower at Stony Wood today. Insert your own gleeful squeeing noises here.

Edited Word Count: 11,000 and some odd. 140,000 to go in the given three weeks. Chapter One worked out badly and is still working out badly, but Chapter Two and Chapter Three have gone over well. I THINK I FINALLY FIGURED OUT THE PATTERN OF CONVERSATION BETWEEN KYANA AND SEDAIREL, OMG. -epiphany!-

The words 'oh shizz' come to mind re: the deadline of three weeks, except apparently shizz reminds certain of my friends of cheese-spread.

Maturity? What maturity?

*

Mostly, what bothers me about fic-writing is the funny. When I write conversations, they tend to ramble and wander off into places they have no right to be in ("do you think Relant would look better in a pink or peach tutu?" <-- originates from plotting vengeance on the riders who've kidnapped one of the main characters. This has not happened to me yet but I FULLY EXPECT IT TO QUITE SOON.) or they're terribly boring and straightforward. My characters want to talk to each other; they don't want to go anywhere. They're quite happy where they are, thank you.

Asaren especially.

Also, the funny does not work out even past conversations. Writing funnies feels like a set-up. How do you write a funny? Does it just happen to be funny, and you post it? Do you carefully set up this guy here and that guy there and the flying cream pie somewhere over there?

( some dubious lines )

This worries me. Are there writers who can succeed despite having a sense of humor that flows like a flat desert? Is it possible to live without the funny?

Life would be so much easier if I was a dog.

But then, some would say I am already.

*

Yes, I do realize the worrisome irony of worrying about the funny on April Fool's Day.

Why are we only fools in April, anyway? And why do the French get seafood for April (poisson d'avril) while the Americans must make do with whoopie cushions?

V/Evey makes me cry in my heart.

Seriously, I have spent the past fifteen minutes going through all the sentimental scenes (hint: all of the musical scenes that aren't instrumental) and sobbing my way through every one. It may be that I'm just emotionally fragile today, or that I was an emo child in a past life.

I prefer to think of it as an appreciation of doomed love! and great hopes that there shall be no more of it in my future.

Doomed, that is. Love is fine.

-listens to Cat Power and bawls into dog-hair-laden blanket-

I do not care what Alan Moore said. It exists and it is doomed.

Now if only I had time to do anything but plan Biology presentations. -sigh-

MY ENTRY IS SO EMO. I don't even want to read it again. EVER.

If you don't care for my emo, if you only come for the fic, the squeak-happy amusement (Gods alone know why you would), don't forge ahead. The matter is private, personal, and having salt currently dripped into the blood.

I don't know what to do.

Yes, the package arrived, letter arrived, everything, and I don't know what to fucking do.

I need Greenie. I need my Yunguns. I need all the lurkers, the people who read and pass by, to tell me that I'm not a wingnut and to get on messenger, phone, something, somewhere private where we can talk for ages and ages and you can tell me that I'm not a wingnut.

Oh god.

I want to feel sick but I'm not sick so much as I am tired and sad. Considering I was happy, bouncing into the house, thinking my dad's present had arrived, so happy.

I would give everything to rewind the past half hour and not see the white, not find it on my doorstep.

The worst part is that I'm not even sure it isn't my fault. Everything says it is. And maybe it is but it's the way I work, dammit, and if that's worth nothing, then I shouldn't even be alive.

I plan to live. I just wish I could be sure of the same for everyone else.

Tell me you're there, guys. Tell me that even though I am an emo fucknut, I am your emo fucknut and even if I killed someone (I didn't -- yet) you'd look the other way and swear to the officers you never saw me pass you.

[edit: fucking private entry thing isn't working. GREENIE GET ONLINE.

edit edit: Nevermind. It's okay -- even though my private security thing still isn't working THANKS A LOT I.E. FOR GIVING OUT TODAY -- and I'm fine.

I love my friends. I really, honestly do. You guys were great. -snug-]

HELLO V FOR VENDETTA OWNS MY SOUL.

Main point: It could have been so bad.

Instead it was so good.

Oh my. All my gods.

[/end]

P.S. More coherence later. Right now: AAAH BIOLOGY HOMEWORK DEADDEADDEAD.

P.P.S. V for Vendetta is my GOD.

P.P.S. Am older now. Why am I regressing in maturity? Note: must sue God for negligence of proper growth.

So... yes, it's my birthday today.

I should feel happy. I don't.

I should feel regretful. I don't.

What I feel is like, basically, is a human being who has been told that she has aged a year in a second. It's a little disturbing, but mostly it makes me want to think and possibly write a novel in the next ten minutes. I feel like I've wasted the past year -- what was I doing the past year? Nothing that will get me a scholarship, nothing that will make me famous.

I was having fun. And sometimes, between sleeping and doing homework, I was writing, and writing was good, too. I like to think I've improved - just a little - since last year. Changed my style, perhaps. Grown a sense of humor the way some people grow eyebrows. Or bunions.

I was incredibly bitter yesterday because I'd gotten off to a horrible start in the week, the boy I fancy seemed to hate me, and I had a girl whose birthday was the same as mine. Actually, as it turned out today, about five people in my school have the exact same birthday.

I'm not special at all.

I don't care.

The point of it, I guess, is that I had friends who forgot my birthday, but who smiled at me and laughed and sang Happy birthday in the car as we drove to school after a breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, and...

Is this happiness?

Not quite, but it's a good day all the same.

(What I'm REALLY looking forward to is this Saturday, this Sunday. Hurrah for birthdays! Hurrah for V for Vendetta!)

(P.S. Birthdays are also apparently really good times to blackmail people. Thus: GIVE ME FIC, YOU FOOLS. FIC AND PICTURES.

...

For my birthday, the Birthday Fairy has taken away my morals. It is okay. I've survived the operation. NOW MOVE.)

Only eleven more days, and I will be a whole year older. How odd, how odd.

In the meantime, here are bits and pieces of a story I've given up on. I know what the story was supposed to do, but I haven't the faintest clue who Suz is. Anyway, watching Serenity has put me off of trying to write cyberpunk for a while. I don't think I can write like that.

( the adventure of suz and oranges )

Dear ---,

Thank you for submitting "Bonespeaker" to *magazinenameremoved*, but we've
decided not to accept it for publication. I though there was some
nicely rich language in this, and some interestingly dark undercurrents, but
I'm afraid I couldn't quite follow what was going on.

But we appreciate your interest in our magazine.

--*editorname removed*

-sigh- That wouldn't be my first story rejection. It's my third, actually, but I had quite a lot of hope for it. Although I suppose the "I couldn't quite follow what was going on" was to be expected. I'm very bad at making stories that make sense.

I just wish I could be certain that it wasn't flattery. But then... they mentioned on their website that their rejections tend to be simple form rejections, without personal comments -- so I suppose there's some hope for me.

Some. It doesn't heal the bite of it, but it does soothe -- a little.

Auuugh I was rejected auuuugh.

I will try again, I suppose. Unless a comment suddenly pops up from the middle of nowhere to tell me that I'm an awful writer and to subject others to my words again would be a crime.

...

Don't be goaded by that. Please. :P

---

Edit: It is a matter of pride, and sweetness, and a little of hatred: the reason why he conjures flame.

Who? What? STOP GIVING ME AMBIGUOUS FIC-LINES.

I WROTE SIXTEEN THOUSAND WORDS THIS WEEKEND.

All in one big chunk. -loving look at it-

Of course, it's unbetaed and therefore probably really bad, but it still makes me happy to look at it, considering I was up until six in the morning fixing all of it and finally collapsing into bed, only to realize that the mocha coffee I'd tried had made all my nerves jangle and I could no longer sleep.

I spent an entire weekend with only the company of my laptop to keep me sane while I battled the dread monster of Calculus.

Here's the other part of the second chapter, whole. Tell me it's workable, it's readable, it's not such a set up that you want to have me shot for writing it. :(

( chapter two: through tears and roses )

I know, IT COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY BITES, but the chapter titles are, I think, very good. All of them. (Of course they are, and it's a pity that no one reads books just to go through the chapters and their titles. Bah.)

I'm silly, giddy, a fool. I also have a presentation on T. S. Eliot tomorrow!

I wonder if she would assassinate me for presenting mine in French.

...

Well he did write French poetry.

So I have been writing, and I owe Dakor Pernfic again, which is tragic and sour and aggravating. One review for a chapter, and that one from Shae. Alas!

So I update, instead, my Rosefic, which absolutely nobody reads and/or reviews. The logic of this may escape you. It escapes me too, but that is hardly the point. I enjoy writing it, I will go on writing it, and best of all, I have squished City of Roses and Rebel's Rose together into one really awful book. It makes sense, but it doesn't prevent it from being awful. To think half of it - the "lyrical" half - was inspired by Eldest -- yecch.

Aha. Ehe. Most of this chapter was written while studiously avoiding Biology presentation-work. Does this make sense? Is it terribly boring? Overtly prose-y? I am rewriting the Darciebook and wailing judiciously at all the bits I loved best. Were they -- were they always this bad? How did you, reader, not claw your eyes out and threaten to spork me if I wrote more?

Ah well. All of life is a learning experience, up to and including the bit where someone sporks you for writing really awful fic.

( City of Roses - chapter two )

But I am not done with it yet! This is only the beginning of the chapter, but also the bit that worries me most. I hate it when I'm influenced by McKillip. I CANNOT POSSIBLY LIVE UP TO HER HERITAGE. DESPITE. YOU KNOW. THE FACT THAT SHE'S NOT DEAD.

So I wrote a drabble. :3 It seemed to occur on the spot, moment by moment, and may have possibly been influenced by reading too much Roethke.

Hmm. If I measured my time by school years (and not by how a body sways), I would be forced to conclude that this is my Year of Poets. First Pablo Neruda in a storm, then T. S. Eliot, for a fleeting time e. e. cummings (and then I ravaged my copy with capitalization corrections -- I know that they were deliberate and the point, but they still drive me crazy), and now Roethke.

In my defense, he really is excellent.

( 'He sees nothing that you are...' )

Nothing is finished. I cannot concentrate for long enough to finish anything. I must dedicate myself to the altar of the whooping cough and DEAR GODS I SHOULD JUST TAKE THE ADVICE OF MY ENGLISH TEACHER AND MAJOR IN ENGLISH.

GOD.

STOP GIVING ME BORING SCIENTIFIC COURSES.

(And then God probably says something terribly Stephen Crane-ish. See, Year of Poets.)