Mar. 5th, 2010

grammarwoman: (Default)
MARCH! You came so quickly - I don't know why it surprises me every time that February ends so abruptly, but it does.

I love March; it's the beginning of spring's promise, an end-in-sight to the slog through winter. Don't get me wrong: I'm a total Scandinavian princess, as named by loving roomies of mine. Winter thrills and fulfills, recharges me in ways that summer will never replace. If I could combine the sunny long days and direct angles of sunlight of summer with all the snow and cold, I would do it in a heartbeat. While still providing, somehow, the flowers and crops of summer. But the endless grey days and early nights wear on even me, and I greet spring with a puppy's enthusiasm. (Alas, though, without a puppy's energy.)

Spring, and therefore March, is a wonderful runner-up, or rather follow-up, to winter. Spring flowers like tulips, hyacinths, daffodils, and especially lilies-of-the-valley are my favorites. My birthday sits at the end of March, and though I may attempt to cultivate a mom's zen for supporting everyone else's needs for the rest of the year, I take my birthday as a license to be a self-centered brat. It's all about ME, dammit!

Anywho, I am very glad to be safely into March, though I'm looking at this weekend with some trepidation. The Oscars are on Sunday, and it makes me sad. It used to be an annual festivity in my house growing up; I tried my best to keep it in that spirit in the intervening years. Now, though, I've barely heard of most of the movies, let alone seen them, and I've been exposed to the gross commercialism that motivates a lot of the decisions before and after. I miss those times of delighting in seeing all these fantastical celebrities dressed up and paraded before the masses, and catching glimpses of what I thought their lives might be like. Meh. At least with my DVR, now, I can speed through acceptance speeches of people who don't catch my interest, and pause for as many breaks as I want.

My links of interest have reached critical mass, so let me share them with you:

Accidental (but literal) cock-ups. Because who doesn't appreciate a good round of "How the hell did someone miss that?"

The obituary of Susan Elliott, married for 30 years to Denholm Elliott. Read this, and tell me why no one has optioned her story for a fantabulous movie. What a life she led! I want to have earned a zesty piece like this when I go.

Amanda Palmer's Evelyn Evelyn drama drama. I was really surprised that I heard almost nothing about this, outside of Neil Gaiman's blog. It has all the makings of a fandom kerfuffle - privileged appropriation of a disadvantaged (on multiple levels) backstory, intention outweighing objections, and so on - and yet, nada. Did no one else hear about it, or are we in outrage fatigue right now?

Twisted Disney princesses. Morbidly and creeptastically compelling artwork. It's the little touches that really do it, like Alice's delicate neck wound.

The 3 Types of Knowledge, AKA Nobody knows what the fuck they're doing. So true and so right and so "Why didn't I think of that?" My five-year-old Emperor is so prone to making confident statements of such inaccuracy, and being so resistant to correction, that I'm laughing even as I'm scrambling to point him the right way. I hope to be there when he gains awareness of how large the "Shit he doesn't know he doesn't know" pie piece is in his breadth of knowledge.

If my brain is still chewing on it later, I'll probably ramble on about postcards of insights from my id to be found in my original characters (enmeshed in fandoms like SG and NCIS) (not self-inserts, dammit!) and poke some more at my Mezzanine WIP that I want/don't want to post. I swear I'm not trying to be a teast about it. I just.....NYARGH.

Later, all, and have a wonderful weekend. (And if it's not an actual weekend for you - enjoy it anyway!)
grammarwoman: (Default)
Here's the thing: like some/many/most of you, I've been telling myself stories in my head since I can remember, usually stories inserting me into the movies/books/TV shows I loved, or RPF where I got to interact with my objects of crushdom. I never even heard of fanfic until, huh, the mid-to-late 90s or so? Sometimes I feel decades behind all y'all, which is so ridiculous considering I've had an email account since 1990. (I am utterly and woefully ancient.)

Every so often, the characters take off and become people in their own right, with full-fledged backstories and futures and feelings, FFS. They stand around in my head like they're waiting for the literary bus, chatting at me the whole time. At what point can you point and say, here this was me, obviously committing an act of grievous self-insertion, but now, wait, she's all growed up and her own original personal character, really truly?

Nattering on idtastic navel-gazing )

Why do the OCs have to be SO DAMNED LOUD )

It's like I'm waiting for the authorities to issue an authorial bull saying "You have our permission to suck...but we hope you won't."

*Razzer-frazzer* head. Why couldn't you just be content with churning out the stories, and stop demanding that I set them free?
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