Again, I say, awww.
You may not have noticed that I'm being unusually boring, what with nano. Okay, maybe you have. That's because Livejournal is Temptation, and I'm avoiding temptation and all its offshoots, including sitting down anywhere near any fannish WIP while being assaulted by a truly disturbing number of completely pointless plotbunnies that I want to write right now.
But update on my life, as of today.
1.) I hate nano. More later.
2.) I have imagined out the John Sheppard presidential campaign, with his uberattack dog campaign manager, the ultra scary Rodney McKay who once got arrested for knocking out Geraldo on national TV. There's actually only two parts I wnat to write, which makes it easier to resist--the first, with his running mate Teyla Emmagen and former president Elizabeth Weir, being handed vicodin and rum as they watch Rodney singlehandedly yelling down a Republican crowd in New Mexico and scaring the other presidential candidate into crying hysterically, and the second, where Rodney and John are having a knock-down drag out about exactly what John is going to *be* as a president, since he was chosen more on his war record, good looks, straight male white Americanness than say, his stand on anything.
The second one is actually attracting me more, though I do want Rodney's disgusted commentary on the politicians of today. *sighs dreamily* Pretty.
3.) I broke down and rebuilt the rabbit fortress, which included removing the atrium and gutting the center out, which gives them more space and is a lot easier to clean. There's a single shelf running along the back for them to sit on and relax, which they seem to like, but I have yet to break them of their habit of shredding their newspaper floor. *sighs* It's so messy in there, and I just can't face it quite yet.
4.) I really hate nano.
Or actually, I don't. I just hate the way I have to write it.
I--okay, you who audience or beta for me know how I do this. I get out a lot at once, and the rest trickles in after I finish recovering from the burnout. Y'all, there's a *reason* I was a sprinter in track and field and not a two mile runner. And outside nano, where I had no time limits, I could do a lot at once and then recover at my leisure. I sprint, then I fall over gasping, then I get over it and sprint again. I'm restricting myself to *slow jogging" and I just--my rhythm is off, I feel unbalanced, and I figured it out; it's not because it's not fanfic--it's because this isn't how I *write*.
However, I have learned something intersting things, not least of which made me AIM a friend (also working on her own project) suddenly and tell her that the real problem is, I'm used to writing in plot-forwarding porn when I get stuck or bored. And it's *true*. And I'm sure she'd like to know the context of my stunningly out of context remark, but whatever.
One of the biggest criticisms of A Handful of Dust and Somewhere I Have Never Travelled was the fact that I was stuffing in sex scenes. Okay, in Dust, the biggest criticism ever was actually that I was oppressing and slamming Clark (seriously, I make him a god, give him a planet, and then put Lex Luthor willingly in his bed; what the hell else could anyone *want*?), but the sex thing came up fairly often. And it's true. I like writing it. I like reading it. And more than that, I like using it. Despite how it looks on reading, while writing, I needed every *one* of those sex scenes--each one had a differnet reason for being there, but they led into the next part, the next moment of emotional awareness, the way I set up the universe. I'm a girl, and a fanfic writer, and a slasher. All of these things make me like writing sex. But when I write it, I want it to do something. And it does.
The nano fic, other than the slow jog I'm doing since a sprint could mean I'd be burned out and couldn't make the finish line, does not allow anyone to have sex. Or to put it a different way, sex has no reason to be there. It'd be worse than gratituous--it would be awkward.
The more annoying--or less, depending on how you look at it--is that I know how it ends. And I even have a faint idea how to get there, though not particularly useful. It's--frustrating. I want a pony.
I want a *pony*.