Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

mmmm.

I sing the body electric, la la la. When I weighed myself at the gym today I discovered I'm officially at the lowest weight I've been in five years--one pound lighter than the lowest weight I reached when trying to get in shape two years ago. I'm going to mellow out tonight in celebration.

Also, for some reason just now I went back and looked at my first Sentinel story, the ridiculously named "Dystocia," and was surprised to find how much I liked it, elaborate language and all. I wrote it in one of my perverse moods--not so much perverse-kinky, though it's that too, but perverse in the sense of bucking a trend, in this case domestic discipline. This, and another much later Sentinel story, are rare examples of stories inspired on wings of irritation by people who ranted with deep self-righteousness about the EVILLLLLS of the domestic discipline genre. Basically, they were right--certainly every story I've read of that kind is quite creepy--but they were insufferable in their rightness, and the broader scope of their argument was something I always hate: judgment and dismissal of an entire genre, of an idea, instead of simply the poor writing. So I had to try and write it more or less well, not so much as a rebutting creed in fictional form as a challenge to myself. This first story pretty much missed the boat; the other attempt, "Strains May Float" (I just really suck at titles), got closer to my thematic goal of non-sexualized discipline, but...well. It was absurdly misguided in so many ways, I lose count, including my choice of episode script on which to base the thing. The odd thing was I poured tons of contextual research into that story--I spent dozens and dozens of hours looking up minute details about police procedure and equipment, for one. Sometimes I wonder at myself.

This post is composed of one hundred percent tangent.
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