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Before I forget, a final pimp for Et Tu IX.
If angst isn't your bag, may I recommend a hit of sweet crack?![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
musesfool has written a charming SPN/Muppets crossover called What Kind of Day Has It Been?. Sam and Dean do a favor for Bobby and find themselves enmeshed in the cheerful chaos of The Muppet Show. Just a sweet, happy, feel-good fic.
I wrote last night, though not nearly as much as I should have or wanted to. 327 words is better than none, but a paltry effort when compared to the 1,200 I usually log. I suspect my inertia stems from stage fright and a lack of enthusiasm. The former is common when I'm writing for someone else. I'm terrified that they're going to get their fic, eagerly open the painstakingly wrapped present, and wrinkle their nose as they pull out the fannish equivalent of granny garters or argyle socks. I want to do well so that my recipient doesn't feel cheated or saddled with me. It's absurd, considering that they can't see through the Internet, but I can't help the gnawing, nebulous, guilty suspicion that I'm a booby prize.
The lack of enthusiasm comes with every project and typically disappears as the ideas and themes gently pry the reins from my hands and lead me whither they will. In a day or two, I'll be merrily slapping the clay on the whirling potter's wheel and giggling in delight as the figures and their histories take shape under my hands.
Until then, I'm off to t00b the Internet.
If angst isn't your bag, may I recommend a hit of sweet crack?
musesfool has written a charming SPN/Muppets crossover called What Kind of Day Has It Been?. Sam and Dean do a favor for Bobby and find themselves enmeshed in the cheerful chaos of The Muppet Show. Just a sweet, happy, feel-good fic.I wrote last night, though not nearly as much as I should have or wanted to. 327 words is better than none, but a paltry effort when compared to the 1,200 I usually log. I suspect my inertia stems from stage fright and a lack of enthusiasm. The former is common when I'm writing for someone else. I'm terrified that they're going to get their fic, eagerly open the painstakingly wrapped present, and wrinkle their nose as they pull out the fannish equivalent of granny garters or argyle socks. I want to do well so that my recipient doesn't feel cheated or saddled with me. It's absurd, considering that they can't see through the Internet, but I can't help the gnawing, nebulous, guilty suspicion that I'm a booby prize.
The lack of enthusiasm comes with every project and typically disappears as the ideas and themes gently pry the reins from my hands and lead me whither they will. In a day or two, I'll be merrily slapping the clay on the whirling potter's wheel and giggling in delight as the figures and their histories take shape under my hands.
Until then, I'm off to t00b the Internet.
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