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tail-end-of-winter nostalgia
I love cold weather and will miss it when it goes. That said, I also love spring in Canberra, because not only do we get Floriade but the sheer garden-ness of the city shines through wonderfully when there are blossoms lining the streets and blue skies over the lakes.
Other things I am nostalgic for include WRITING THINGS SHORTER THAN 10,000 WORDS. This fic. It may not be the death of me (Manor House wins those laurels) but it's giving it a good try. My problem is that I start writing things in the first glorious fizz of enthusiasm for a character and then, a week or so later, realise that I refuse to compromise my WONDROUS VISION of personality meta by...leaving anything out. If I break a person down into their building blocks, I want to show you the whole process of putting those blocks back together.
Which is all very well for indulgent fanfiction about assassins, but doesn't bode well at all for the day I try my hand at serious long-form original fiction. KILL YOUR DARLINGS, FAHYE.
la la la la
says the 12,500 word fic
More seriously, for all that I'm whining loudly about how unpopular this will be with fandom because of the asexual protagonist and lack of kissing, I'm glad that I'm finally writing around the edges of my own ideas about love and loyalty and joy and their ability to exist in a context that doesn't acknowledge sexual attraction as overlapping with any of the three. It's also a choppier and more slippery prose style than I've used in a while, and when it's going well it's like gliding on ice.
Other things I am nostalgic for include WRITING THINGS SHORTER THAN 10,000 WORDS. This fic. It may not be the death of me (Manor House wins those laurels) but it's giving it a good try. My problem is that I start writing things in the first glorious fizz of enthusiasm for a character and then, a week or so later, realise that I refuse to compromise my WONDROUS VISION of personality meta by...leaving anything out. If I break a person down into their building blocks, I want to show you the whole process of putting those blocks back together.
Which is all very well for indulgent fanfiction about assassins, but doesn't bode well at all for the day I try my hand at serious long-form original fiction. KILL YOUR DARLINGS, FAHYE.
la la la la
says the 12,500 word fic
More seriously, for all that I'm whining loudly about how unpopular this will be with fandom because of the asexual protagonist and lack of kissing, I'm glad that I'm finally writing around the edges of my own ideas about love and loyalty and joy and their ability to exist in a context that doesn't acknowledge sexual attraction as overlapping with any of the three. It's also a choppier and more slippery prose style than I've used in a while, and when it's going well it's like gliding on ice.
no subject
That said, oh, gosh, I cannot wait to read your Natasha, she just sounds utterly fascinating.
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~
The size of her fear is such that it sparks another fear, an older one, a warning against wearing your anchors and your weaknesses on your clothes. So she sits on the other side of the SHIELD ambulance to where they've got Clint strapped under a sort of mat inflated with warm air, and, rigid with tension, she doesn't look at him; doesn't look at the grim young woman cleaning out the deep gravelly grazes on her palms; she closes her face up and stares out of the tinted windows at the lights of the city.
no subject