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I eventually moved the chains on my SPNfic yesterday, and it shows no signs of winding down. It's less than a third complete at 19,603, and if it weren't for the fact that I yearn with a young lover's need to fill in another prompt of my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn13 table, I'd heave its fat, cottontailed ass out the window. But no, I'm obsessed with the giddy pleasure and sated, post-coital, "I need a cigarette" satisfaction of seeing a prompt turn blue.
Dear God, I sound like a pregnant woman peeing on an EPT. My baby. What has fandom done to my brain? Any road, SPNfic will be set aside as soon as the second section is complete. I need to work on other plotbuns, and besides, myspn_summergen prompt will be sent on the 22nd.
When not taking dictation from a carrot-guzzling bun, I read a little Unfinished Tales of Middle-Earth. Christ, but Christopher Tolkien is a pedantic, insufferable bore. I nearly fell asleep during the foreword. His reasons for selecting the pieces he did might pop the buttons on his tweed trousers, but I couldn't give a damn. Nor would I give a damn if the knowledge came with a free side of piping hot cunnilingus performed by the elf of my choice. I just want to read the stories.
The bric-a-brac and bunting of story-building are only of interest to the builders, and often that interest is constrained further still to the works of their own craft. Readers don't care that you came up with the story in mid-poop or while engaged in a bit of sudsy fun with the shower wand. They just want to read it without you wanking furiously over their shoulder and interrupting the mind movie in their heads by scribbling production notes in the margins.
~deep breath~ I'm better now. It just makes me irritable to see someone trying so desperately to prove their genius with so many bombastic pronouncements. I don't care what you thought mattered, Christopher. I'm only concerned with what the story tells me, and I don't care that it mightn't tell me the story it tells someone else. Stop shoring up your own dubious claims to literary l33tness by cannibalizing your father's doodle pads.
OK. I'm really done now.
spn13 table, I'd heave its fat, cottontailed ass out the window. But no, I'm obsessed with the giddy pleasure and sated, post-coital, "I need a cigarette" satisfaction of seeing a prompt turn blue.Dear God, I sound like a pregnant woman peeing on an EPT. My baby. What has fandom done to my brain? Any road, SPNfic will be set aside as soon as the second section is complete. I need to work on other plotbuns, and besides, my
spn_summergen prompt will be sent on the 22nd. When not taking dictation from a carrot-guzzling bun, I read a little Unfinished Tales of Middle-Earth. Christ, but Christopher Tolkien is a pedantic, insufferable bore. I nearly fell asleep during the foreword. His reasons for selecting the pieces he did might pop the buttons on his tweed trousers, but I couldn't give a damn. Nor would I give a damn if the knowledge came with a free side of piping hot cunnilingus performed by the elf of my choice. I just want to read the stories.
The bric-a-brac and bunting of story-building are only of interest to the builders, and often that interest is constrained further still to the works of their own craft. Readers don't care that you came up with the story in mid-poop or while engaged in a bit of sudsy fun with the shower wand. They just want to read it without you wanking furiously over their shoulder and interrupting the mind movie in their heads by scribbling production notes in the margins.
~deep breath~ I'm better now. It just makes me irritable to see someone trying so desperately to prove their genius with so many bombastic pronouncements. I don't care what you thought mattered, Christopher. I'm only concerned with what the story tells me, and I don't care that it mightn't tell me the story it tells someone else. Stop shoring up your own dubious claims to literary l33tness by cannibalizing your father's doodle pads.
OK. I'm really done now.