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I signed up for yuletide this year. In a semester where I have three papers to write as finals. Clearly, I win at life, and planning.

I've been watching Supernatural lo these last few weeks, and while it is awesome, I stand by my assertion 2 years ago, when it first aired, that it is not as awesome as Buffy. Nothing ever will be. I found my standard for amazing TV around 1999. And now it is all a gradual decline.

Off to finish up hw. Something about a major breakup for Communications. Except that I don't date, ahhhh! Fun.
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I can no longer watch a movie without picking out symbolism, seeing the foreshadowing. Perhaps that's how I know that I'm a grownup. To come of age is to recognize the myths we were taught.

Like this movie I've been watching nonstop, Yossi & Jagger. There's this scene in the very beginning where the soldiers come back to their base and the power has gone out, causing all the meat to spoil. They bury the meat, and have a mock funeral for it. It's supposed to be a humorous scene, but in the back of my head I was already wondering if that meant that they'd be burying a soldier later on. I had a bad feeling about it. Never mind that I already knew how it ends. From the very beginning, the signs that something bad would happen were there.

That's because all stories are similar, basically. And it's only a matter of finding the basic story. That's why English is so simple, to me. It's all themes and symbolism. And it's written in everything.

I just wish I should enjoy stuff properly again.
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1. Never write in the first person. The very best way to prevent addiction to bad habits is to never start doing it at all. Don't start smoking, don't eat the first bite of Nutella, don't start writing like Anne Rice. Just don't do it.

Write in the omnipotent third person instead.

2. The most annoying thing about writers is when they leave their story as Untitled. Always, always always title everything you write. Names give identity, and reason to make fun. You wouldn't leave a child without a name, would you? Stories are kind of like children. They need names too.

3. This one's not about writing, really. Ma Vie En Rose is a wonderfully cute movie about a little boy who thinks he's a girl. It's Belgian, which is why I think it's good. If it were made in the US, it would suck.
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“Family” can be defined in many ways. Tell us about a typical meal shared with the people you consider your family.

-Bard College application question #3.


Gus Peterson has the best college application essay. Finally, something good has come out of having the most complicated family ever. This makes up for his father showing up drunk for his junior high graduation. For that one time Justin picked him up from school and someone asked if he was Gus's boyfriend. For always having to explain about his lesbian mothers. For having to explain why they always have free passes to Disneyland through Hunter, his not-uncle's adopted son. How Uncle Mike isn't his uncle at all.

This question makes up for all of that, because writing it will be the easiest essay he has ever written. )
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A friend was talking yesterday about how she doesn't want to grow up, if growing up means getting married and having kids. That's what grownup is in Ukraine. That's what it is everywhere.

Thing is? )
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Myspace is the axis of evil, of course. And the cause of many social problems and random kidnapping.

The fact that I'm listening to Jet's entire new CD on myspace though? Is pretty rad.

That is all.

...
High school's almost over, and I'm beginning to be able to see next year.

Let's pretend for a moment that we're grown up.
School is not a battleground.
That we're adults, with barely balanced checkbooks,
overdue library books,
and bitter exes.

Let's pretend that we have several sensible suits in our closets.
A couple of pairs of clunky work shoes.
We have a favorite bar where all the waitresses know us by name.
A desperate coffee addiction.

We sit in funky cafes, eating a cookie as big as our heads.
Discuss Chaucer and public policy.
Writing habits and snow days.

I'd take a boy I really like to a bookstore,
and show him my favorite places to sit crosslegged, reading.

Boys would be more mature, of course.
Less awkward
Less 'hey my friend likes you'
More floppy hair and tingly extremities,
Glasses and Midwestern accents.

Let's pretend that we're closer to finding someone.
Perhaps not the Brian to my Justin.
The Ben to my Michael would be nice.
Hunky professors, wire-rimmed glasses.
Someone who makes me want to be a better person.

Next year, baby.
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I went to bed a few nights ago and there were 5 reviews on my [livejournal.com profile] dare_challenge fic. It was perfectly fine, and five was good enough for me.

I checked today and there were 23.

Holy shit, man.

...

It's kinda nice.
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Sometimes little snippets of books that will never be written pop into my head. I know they're supposed to be books because they don't make sense on the small scale. Only when woven into the overall fabric of a larger book would they make sense. Never a big picture, an easy flap copy summary. No. Something random that makes me wistful.

There's no money in writing. I want things that require money, like a house of my own [where all the cups match, and there is a large sunny kitchen] and peace of mind.

So. I won't even think of being a writer.

And yet. Sometimes I kind of want to try.

The bit of fiction. )

And then some more. )
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People who know me in real life may want to skip this entry.

Just sayin.



For [livejournal.com profile] paddies, who wanted a fic about all the ways that two people could have sex without actual penetration. R, just to be safe. Brian/Justin.

Four Ways That Brian Has Not Fucked Justin. )
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Winter tomatoes, green-house grown
taste like juicy, bright red nothing.
No flavor, endlessly forgettable
always regrettable
once you pop a slice in your mouth and bite down to find
no sweetness, no long-forgotten sunshine
in the skinflesh
only deceptive color.


School today was like winter tomatoes.

I woke up, happy. I slept well.

And then sat through classes today and concluded that this day has been a complete waste of the effort to get out of bed. I learned nothing. I found no happiness in this day.

[Except for Physics, which is consistently awesome.]
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1. There was actually a point in Voldemort's life when he wasn't a megalomaniacal villian. He used to be more subtle. Once he read in a book about a fourteenth century serial murderer who left the same mark on all his victims. He thought it would be a wonderful thing, to leave his mark on every person he killed. After a few years of random murders, badly reported, there were copycat crimes. A witch in Bath who killed her husband cast a dark mark over her cottage, apparated to Belfast, and the murder was attributed to the same person who always cast the dark mark. She came back to England a few years later. When people ask about her slight brouge, she tells them she lived with a sick sister for a few years.

2. In the early days, they weren't called the Death Eaters. A novice reporter was sent to cover a mysterious death of a small-time business-man. She got her facts mixed up and mixed the murders up with a band of the same name that was playing that weekend. The name stuck, and to this day Voldemort insists that the name came to him in a dream. Severus knows better.


[The crux of the matter? is a great title for a story. i think i shall use it sometime. ]
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Original writing is my medium of choice because I want to incorporate tiny little details from my head into the larger frame of a story. Nobody cares about plain girls though. Nobody'd read my biography. I don't have much to say. So my mo is to make a reader love a character of mine first and then subtly inject bits of myself into the story. Which is what most writers do, come to think of it.

(Today in Latin, we translated a passage out of our ridiculously easy textbook. I went really fast through it. Other people had trouble keeping up. This is because I am comfortable with languages in general and proud of this fact.)
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Author: [livejournal.com profile] superren
Pairing: Lucius/Severus
Rating: PG
Words: A little under 500.
Summary: At age twenty-three and a half, Lucius expects to live a long life, filled with debauchery.
A/N: Written for [livejournal.com profile] jateshi in the I Didn't Get To Go to the Witching Hour Fic-athon.

What else is a disgraced man to do? )
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These are the days that happiness spills over the edges of me like too much tea.
...and maybe it would behoove you to save some of that happiness
Because you know that you will not always be this content
Time marches on, and seasons change
It is so humid now that you wish you could step out of your skin for a while
you give yourself freezer burn, holding bottles fresh out of the freezer
But you know soon you will come home shivering
and make tea every afternoon
in attempt to feel your fingertips again.
and love is not a victory march
it's a cold and broken hallelujah

Dementors.

Aug. 8th, 2005 08:30 pm
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Written in ten minutes at a prompt on [livejournal.com profile] saoni's journal. Posted here for pimpage at another journal. Does not make me an utter nerd. (I'm looking at you Shea.)

Read more... )
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Reading too much fantasy is starting to have adverse effects on me. After spending years of my life being spirited away to worlds more fantastic than this one, I get this funny feeling that my life path is all wrong.

If I were in a fantasy novel, I’d be a few years in to my Epic Quest by now. Instead of doing pointless Global homework, I’d be climbing castle walls, wielding a sword with grace and precision that can only come from years of practice. Instead of writing book reports, I’m heading to a great city, Rome perhaps, or Jerusalem, or Camelot. I’m expecting to find great things there, but I find that the journey is more important. I’ll meet a scholar who introduces me to all the great books I should read, and his good friend who spends most of his time joking around, and drinking, and chasing after women, but has some intelligent and insightful things to say, really. I’ll meet soldiers who tell great tales about the places they have been. People will speak all kinds of strange languages, like Greek, and Latin, and maybe Elvish.
And I’ll get lost at some point, and end up walking through a dark and gloomy forest. There will be spooky sounds, and I’ll wonder if I’m about to be eaten by something large and toothy. Maybe I’ll meet dragons, or witches.

Or maybe I will do none of these things, and instead stay home, and work hard on my schoolwork.

But the being in a fantasy novel is so much more interesting, and appealing. So I’ll daydream about that.
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