One thousandand thirty-three words today, none of which were for the stories on which I intended to work when I sat down at the keyboard. Instead, I wrote these thousand-plus words of Dreddfic:

Triage in the Dirt Breeds a Whole New Disease--A Dredd Fragment )

Yes, because this exactly what I need to be doing now when I have three other unfinished longfics on the table.
This is a scene that wasn't so much cut as curtailed. It wanted to stretch like taffy, become a story unto itself, and though I love some of the imagery, it had to be nipped in the bud.

He'd come home still reeking of cordite and blood in spite of three showers at the precinct, and locked himself in their bedroom )
As everyone knows, I love me some tangents-backstory, bits of communal history that inform the present, glimpses into personality-but this one was too much, one bend in the road too many.

Motherfucker, the girl mutters, and Flack smiles. Brooklyn is all over her mouth. )
I was going to pontificate on the news that World Wide Pants, David Letterman's production company, has negotiated an independent deal with the WGA, but I'm lazy, and besides, bad weather is closing in. Instead, I give you the scrapped beginning of Et Tu Part VI:

It's All Wrong, The Fact That He's Sitting Here )
To prove I'm not just faffing about with the Dannyfic about which I've been moaning for several weeks, here is a bit I scrapped because it was leading the story down an unnecessary tangent about how Louie taught Danny to smoke.

Mark All Your Memories With Marlboro )

Now I'm going to try to steer a frantic, giddy Dannybun over the final hurdle.
Here is an excerpt from Et Tu Part II. It's off in a manner I can't yet define, but I don't want to delete it until I understand the problem. It might be that present tense narration is simply more difficult to sustain over the long term, or it might be that the POV is wrong. If that's so, I'll need to scrub the entire chapter. If I do, I'll post all 3,000 words here to be preserved in the amber of the Internet.

Maybe, Maybe Not )
I finished my [ profile] lyric_ficathon fic today, which gives me seven days to edit and polish it. Since it is for a ficathon, I can't post it until the 1st, but there are no prohibitions against an excerpt, so here:

Lullaby )
Here is a deleted excerpt from my latest cracknum opus. I may cannibalize it for parts later, but the tone was hinky.

All Gone Wrong )

And a final pimp for The Five Stages of Grief-Bargaining
I took pictures around my apartment complex today for my REL1300 project, and if the photo processors at Walgreens don't screw me like the monkey-rogering nincompoops at CVS did the last time I asked for a digital photo disc, I'll have a picture of myself to share with the flist sometime this week.

Aside from the photo shoot, I've written 1,200 words of the Flack/Stanhope vignette, which brings its total to 10,742 words. If I don't need to leave the house tomorrow to drop my disposable digital camera at the Walgreens, it will be finished Monday. If irksome academic duty calls, it will see light Wednesday. Tuesday is my midterm exam, and since I have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn to meet my professor in his office, I'll likely be in no mood for fandom participation that day.

Apropos of nothing in the preceding paragraphs, my Roomie and I were eating at The Loop a few days ago and enjoying a pizza when he suddenly said, "Oh, no. What the fuck do you want now?"

I turned in my seat to see who had incurred his wrath. It was the President.

You know, "What the fuck do you want now?" is not the first reaction a President should inspire.

Lastly, since it's not done yet, another snippet from the untitled Flack/Stanhope vignette:

She wasn't soft anymore. Now she was hard and jagged, all angular joints and fleshless bones. )
I was rummaging through my fic folders after NCIS and found an early draft of September When It Comes VII. I had originally intended it to be from Grace's POV, but try as I might, she never gelled in my mind beyond Greg's lovesick perception of her as his beautiful, fiery, battle-scarred siren of the arm crutches, and so I set her aside for the time being. Eventually, Conrad Ecklie knocked on the door and asked for a few words, and I obliged him.

I don't want Grace to be cast entirely by the wayside, though. After all it is her story-hers and Greg's, that is, reflected through the ever-shifting prism of everyone else. So here is the opening scene as I had originally envisioned it:

She had been working at her laptop after Greg left for work, the taste of him still rimed on her lips as she tapped at the keys, salty and tart and tinged with the wistful summer sweetness of tomato.  )
Nrgh. I finished my exam and conquered my nasal lurgy just in time for my uterus to stage its monthly escape attempt. I feel gross, smell worse, and am currently plotting how best to smother my napping roomie because he won't stop snoring. I have spent the vast majority of my day ficcing and staring vacuously at Court TV, A&E, and the History Channel.

Speaking of fic, here be a snippet from "Glory Days," the Fic Gueraerobics 2006 prompt fic requested by [ profile] aureliapriscus. I knew Flack would crack and start speaking to me eventually. I just didn't think he'd be ten years old. Without further ado:

Don't You Gotta Be Older To Get Boy Privates? )

Alas, it won't be finished before May because I was lazy and overestimated my ability to type faster than a garden slug, but it is well underway.
I bring thee another culled snippet from TAGD V. In this passage, Danny Messer is musing on the tension between Flack's parents and his wife. I cut it because it was florid even for me and largely irrelevant at this point in the proceedings. Rest assured, however, that the Flack family dynamic will come up again.

The Cleavers, They Weren't )
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
( Apr. 20th, 2006 06:25 pm)
I managed 512 words of another Flack/Rebecca vignette, and now I need to revise what I've got of TAGD V. I don't know why, but I'd always thought Danny's brother was younger, and I'd written an entire segment wherein Danny was left in charge of Louie while Pops took care of "family business" and smacked him in the mouth for whining when Danny lit out for the basketball courts. Well, if Danny is the younger brother-and considerably younger, at that, if instincts are correct-that doesn't work. Based on the flashbacks in "Run Silent, Run Deep," Louie was clearly the alpha Messer, and Danny idolized him.

I also need to weed out 150 words of extraneous mush. Flack and Stanhope might lock lips under mistletoe at the staff Christmas shindig, but I doubt Messer would care, and even if he did or would, it has fuck-all to do with the plot at hand, which is a very crowded and tense waiting room. Just because it's pretty doesn't mean it fits. However, I am loath to throw anything away, even words, so here is the offending passage, preserved for posterity:

Under the Mistletoe, and Won't You Mind That Corpsicle? )

I'm also incubating an idea for an Alice Longbottom fic. Obviously, my affinity for HP is not entirely dead.
In honor of my 700th post, I bring you a fic snippet and a picture of Eddie Cahill sans shirt. The fic snippet is from an as yet untitled Flack/Stanhope one-shot, and the picture comes from the Eddie Cahill fansite, Behind Blue Eyes. I did, however, upload it to Photobucket first. No bandwidth thief, me.

First, the fic:

Social Graces )

And the mancake:

Image hosting by Photobucket

God bless America.
I wrote 1,242 words of Flackfic wherein he breaks the news of his engagement to his parents, but I'm not sure it's viable. It's from the perspective of Flack, Sr. as he watches his wife and son butt heads, and as of now, it's quite disjointed. I like the first three pages, but it's sparse and nondescript in terms of character development because I don't want to impart to the unreliable narrator an omniscience he cannot possibly possess as an outside observer. I'm going to work on fleshing it out, but if it doesn't look markedly better by tomorrow, I'll scrap it and rewrite it from Flack's POV, which was what I'd originally intended.

I also pounded out 785 words of Mulderfic. Since I'm working with the very limited knowledge of S1, it is more general on character specifics than I would like, but I'm confident that when finished, it will be able to stand among the astoundingly prolific and prodigious body of Xfic with no shame.

And now, fic sneak peeks:

"Darkness Falls"-X-Files

Darkness Falls )

"Home Fires Burning"-CSI:NY

Home Fires Burning )
Today, I stumbled upon Your Tax Dollars at Work, a TV discussion forum, and the subject of cancelled TV shows came up. Aside from the procedurals like CSI and NCIS, I don't watch much TV, but it got me to thinking about the TV shows I loved that were Old Yellered by the execs.

-Haunted: This supernatural show preceded Tru Calling and Ghost Whisperer by several years, but only aired for 6 episodes before disappearing. I assume that since the lead possessed icky manbits as opposed to soft, nurturing girlparts of simmering infection, it was condemned. The writing and music for the show were great, and the second episode, which features a ghost singing Linda Ronstadt's "Long, Long Time" still wakes me up in the middle of the night. Diana Flack from "Going Under" is, in many ways, a twisted homage to the episode. Interestingly, Eddie Cahill was scheduled to appear in episodes 7 and 8, but they never made it to air.

-Friday the 13th: The Series: Laugh all you want, but I loved this show. It had nothing to do with the horror movie franchise. It dealt with Mickey, who inherits an antique store from her late uncle. The curios are all cursed, alas, and Mickey and her buddy, Ryan, must retrieve and destroy them all. Hokey, yeah, but the UST between Mickey and Ryan was thick.

-Glory Days: I never saw this because TV was at a premium in the dorm common room, and it only lived 9 episodes before going toes-up despite rabid fans and some critical acclaim. It starred Eddie Cahill and Poppy Montgomery. Rumor has it that burnt copies can be had on certain Yahoo groups, but only if you know the password and agree to shave a yak's scrotum with your teeth.

And now, a snippet from September When It Comes VI:

It was in that moment, kneeling on the floor in his boxers with the sheets on his lap and snot dangling from his nose, that he hated Greg Sanders.  )


laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)


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