Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.

you are feeling sleeeeepy.

So, the S/X story is almost finished. I'd hoped to finish it by tonight, but still. This is very close. Three more scenes, I think. It's way more Buffy-centric than I'd planned, as I might have mentioned, and it feels...a bit lumpy. Oddly paced, as if it's speeding along properly, and then suddenly shifting into a slower gear. One reason for this feeling is because some part of me will always want such stories to be perfectly episodic, and they can't be--if they were, they'd be a hell of a lot shorter. So this would be, like, the director's cut of an episode. With Euro minutes. And maybe some queer-and-sassy Showtime minutes too. Heh.

I had several topics I'd meant to post about this weekend--combining story recs with writerly and readerly thoughts. Will remind myself now, with the hope of prompting myself later, that I wanted to talk about Rivka's "Switch" and story ideas in visual versus written mediums. And, what else--oh, Merry's new RPS story, and the question of why boyband fic is so rarely explicit. [Edited to add: a statement which I'm now told is so grossly wrong as to be laughable. Heh. Sooooo, we'll just leave my bizarre misimpression at that, at least until I read all the smutty recs that my friends intend to pimp gift me with.] There was one more subject, I think, perhaps relating to my own writing, but I can't recall it now.

Today, I read--skimmed for a good part--several stories in a series, which had been recced on BetterBuffyFics. It was slash, an unconventional pairing. I'd have been happy if it had worked for me, but aside from a handful of nicely ringing moments, it didn't. A lot of it felt off. It was as if the characters had been stretched a bit at the beginning, then a bit more and a bit more until they were thinned out and reshaped like Silly Putty, the impressed images of their faces becoming distorted. More or less recognizable, but warped.

And I wanted to say something, but I had that vaguely uneasy feeling--not about criticizing slash in front of non-slashers for the reasons stated above, but of not wanting to criticize the work of people I know, even quite, quite vaguely. I'm such a shmuck that way.

This long weekend has been kind of a slurried mix of good and bad. Drinking--again--and eating things I shouldn't be. Not getting to the gym. But also seeing Kat, which was just lovely, and writing a lot. (Seventeen straight hours on Saturday. Oy, my fucking back.) And I *did* clean my apartment after all, and do laundry, so that weighs in on the score of virtue.

Have to go to work tomorrow. Not keen on this. The problem with creative energy is that it has a way of unbalancing your life. My life feels as lumpy as the story I'm working on, changing gears all the time. It's a particular gift, to be able to ride the rhythms of one's life to a sustained balance, like surfing.

Must go now. Go and have spandery fantasies as I drift off to sleep.

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