raven: (misc - we win)
Twenty-four hours, four cups of coffee, four hours of sleep, 7200 words and umpteen twitter status updates later, I finished my legislation take-home. Thank you, everyone who said nice things to me during the long, long night. And I am very glad I never have to do that again. I am still somewhat wrung out another day on - I do think, seriously, that a take-home is the worst of both worlds: with a three-hour exam you build up to it, you ride over it on a crest of adrenaline and suddenly it's over and you can sleep. With a paper you can take your time to know what you're doing. Instead you get the faintly panicky ill-feeling for a whole day, while your brain dribbles uninspiringly out of your ears and you find yourself writing twelve hundred words on "Is Congress hopelessly dysfunctional?" while the world tips around your head.

After it was over I stretched like a cat and prowled about my apartment for a bit, then rolled over and fell asleep fully dressed on the top of the covers, and then the Siren took me out for ice-cream and gossip and after that [personal profile] petra and [personal profile] thingswithwings appeared and were kind to me and my softening brain and took me for dinner. We had tapas al fresco with a surprisingly nice pinot grigio, and it was one of those perfect spring evenings laced with the perfect mixture of tired, happy and tipsy. We sat there through the sunset and talked about fandom and laughed a lot, and it was just delightful. At some point we got to talking about kitchen utensil AUs and Sad Fics What We Have Known and I remember telling T'wings she was the second person yesterday to talk to me about Draco/Neville, which was kind of delightful.

I dunno, I've been blessed in life by having a lot of fannish people to interact with in my daily life - because, y'know, sometimes you need that - but I don't always have the pleasure of talking about my writing woes to other people who write. At some point last night I was explaining tipsily that I am trying to write this story, right, and it was going to be short, right, and it was going to be a sweet little OT3 story, that was all, and suddenly I started thinking Things and now it's a story about ownership and feudalism and what. (T'wings says I am the second person she knew to have a problem with a silly little story turning into one about conceptions of ownership. I am delight.)

edited to add: has anyone, yet, invented an app or tool that will take a chunk of prose and change its tense from present to past or vice versa? I hate it when I realise that's what a story needs.

Speaking of delight, I think I need a nap. it's a beautiful sunny morning in Ithaca and in an hour I have to help the Siren carry all her minor kitchen appliances through Collegetown to the law school. I am sure this will happen entirely in a sensible fashion and there will be no laughing at or with.

Oh, and! For Remix, I wrote Distillation (the Anticlockwise Remix) (HP, Sirius/Remus, Peter), a remix of Connection Concotion by [archiveofourown.org profile] ineffabilitea, and while it is not the best thing I have ever written by a long shot, it is not the worst.

Naptime! Then appliances and paper-writing. I love the spring.
raven: (politics - this shit)
As predicted, despite the last-minute dashing about, no polling card came for me. I am still kicking myself hard for having been stupid enough to disenfranchise myself; so, you know, could we hold off a little on if-you-didn't-vote-you-should-be-ashamed and you-lost-every-right-to-complain-for-the-next-ever, because it's not that I don't agree with you, but I'm there in that place already, okay? I tried.

In other news, I have one exam down. As usual, I couldn't sleep till four am the night before and went for it with the barrelling force of will that sleeplessness entails, and you know, it wasn't the worst thing. It was a surprisingly humane exam - in form, rather than substance, with a hour's reading time, no writing permitted, to begin with, which is a genius idea because it forces you to think about what you're doing. Eight questions, most of them okayish, I missed the point of one of them entirely and there was another one I think didn't have a point.

(Seriously. It was the first question on the paper and I was finding it baffling, so I left it till the end and came back to it with about eleven minutes to spare. For the first eight of those I wrote a paragraph about nothing in particular, and with three minutes to spare I had a genius idea and wrote "Overbreadth!" Just like that! With the exclamation mark! And didn't deign to explain how or why or in relation to what the statute was overbroad, but you can't have everything in life. Baby E later confessed to having done almost the exact same thing, which was cheering.

Also, the one where I missed the point was interesting to none but other people who care about constitutional law and the Establishment Clause, so I'm cutting it )

I could write here about how everything is making me cranky - I didn't get to vote! iTunes is refusing to let me listen to music I paid for, why didn't I just torrent it! USPS want to charge me $175 to ship my books home! migraine migraine MIGRAINE! - but maybe I just won't. The music I am trying and failing to listen to is "Sigh No More", the Mumford & Sons album, and I really, really like it. It's fabulous, affirming stuff - seriously, you can sing along and feel very definitive about everything - that sounds sort of like a cross between Dar Williams and the Gaslight Anthem. Like the Gaslight Anthem got on stage, anyway, with a trumpet and some string instruments, and tried to pretend they were an English folk band.

To alleviate the cranky, I have been reading aaaaaaall the Vorkosigan fic, as you've all probably guessed, so I will leave you with some recs so this isn't just a post about how I have a headache and my life is so unfair.

Aral Vorkosigan's Dog by [archiveofourown.org profile] philomytha
I mentioned this the other day, when I was still reading it, so this is the rec. I really, really enjoyed this. It's novel-length, about Illyan and Aral during the Escobaran war, and like I said the other day, it's sort of like a love story, only with a different kind of love at the centre of it: it's about how Illyan the neutral, human-computer observer finally takes a side, and why. It's about loyalty, and fidelity, and a kind of ownership. There's this scene in it, which I completely adore, where Illyan, exhausted, falls asleep on a chair and during the course of the night slips off it - and on waking, berates himself for literally sleeping on the floor by Aral Vorkosigan's feet. It's both hilarious and very poignant.

A Deeper Season / What Passing Bells by [archiveofourown.org profile] lightgetsin and [archiveofourown.org profile] sahiya.
Is there anyone left who hasn't read these by now? Regardless, they're great: both novel length, with many side-pieces and sequels. Miles/Gregor, going AU from Memory, and while they do wipe Laisa from existence they don't, to my delight, wipe out Ekaterin - she's there and her usual amazing self. My favourite of all the bits and bobs is A Place To Stand, a lovely, fascinating short story. (The funny thing is, these are all so good that I love them to pieces despite the fact I don't buy the major premise: Miles and Gregor are adorable, and no they're not that related, but I have trouble getting behind the pairing when the two of them are foster-brothers; effectively, they have the same parents. I mention this only in case someone else has the same hang-up and isn't reading for that reason.)

Warrant For A Day's Leave by [archiveofourown.org profile] jetta_e_rus.
Aral/Simon set shortly after the latter gets out of prison. Ridiculously sweet and heartwarming and in no way ignores Cordelia. I really liked it.

The Earring by [archiveofourown.org profile] philomytha
I read this and immediately recced it to [personal profile] gavagai, because omgyes. The author's summary is "Aral and Cordelia on a state visit to Beta Colony", which is true as far as it goes, but. Yes. Much love.

Oh, and while I'm here, I got three stories from Remix! Home (the don't look back remix), a remix of my story Pomegranate, which is about Uhura, and Amanda, and tells me things I didn't know about them.It's short and lovely.

And from Remix Madness: The Gardener (the Singing TARDIS Overdub), a remix of Sweetpeas, and I love this SO MUCH, it's about Rory and it's about the TARDIS, oh, so much love; and Be My Love (the first and last time remix), a remix of will you stay with me, will you be my love, and it's Doctor/River and again with the LOVE. I suspect these two are written by the same person. Time will tell.

Right. I need to go back to work sometime ever.
raven: Kira wearing a green tunic against a blue background (ds9 - kira in green)
Things that are making me happy today:

1. Sunshine. Oh, sunshine and spring! Is it only me who forgets it comes every year? Over the weekend, [livejournal.com profile] jacinthsong wandered through parks and by the river and under lush clouds of cherry-blossom. It was such a long winter; everything is so bright.

2. The Indelicates' new album, "Songs For Swinging Lovers". After a few days of not really listening to it, I gave it the fair shot this afternoon and have spent a little while dancing around my room. I particularly like "Ill" and "Jerusalem", and this is where I would upload them as tasters, but! But, I don't have to! You can download the album legally here! Get thee downloaded and dance.

3. Related to the above - the dancing around the room, that is - I have written 1200 words of my remix, and I know what the rest will be about! Ditto [livejournal.com profile] lgbtfest - I'm really looking forward to it, and my wee story is nearly finished, hurrah.

4. [livejournal.com profile] shimgray returns tonight, with gin-shaped boozes for me. I missed him but mostly I like boozes.

5. Deep Space Nine! I finished watching it last night, and oh, oh, I have some thinky thoughts and a lot of flail and oh, Odo, and Kira, and Jake, I love them all so much. Why do I lose my heart to Star Trek, why. (There is a long and teeeedious post detailing my love in the works, I am so sorry.) [livejournal.com profile] jacinthsong and I spent much of the weekend shouting "Gul Dukat and Kai Winn ewwwww!" at each other. (Ewwww!)

We also spent a lot of time declaring everything in the world to be Nick Clegg's fault - Laura's lack of feather boa, my surfeit of employment law, the failure of my glow-in-the-dark nail varnish to glow in the dark, etc., which brings us to:

6. ...I have been invited, unexpectedly, to a question and answer session with Nick Clegg on Wednesday. I am going to go, but I have no idea what I want to ask him. Hmmm.
raven: subway sign in black and white, text: "Times Square / 42 Street station" (stock - times square)
I'm back in England, enormously sleep-deprived, Hong Kong was wonderful, have seen beautiful things, fragrant harbours and eclipses, was travelling for some godawful number of hours anyway before my flight was unexpectedly diverted through Bangkok, ended up in Dubai in eerie four am desert morning with muezzin calling through empty airport, I haven't slept in thirty-six hours, can you tell.

Anyway, quick-hit: for [livejournal.com profile] remixredux09, I wrote Counterpoint (Ecstasy, Fury, Revolution!) [PG-13, Slings & Arrows, Geoffrey & ensemble], for [livejournal.com profile] iamsab. Thanks, guys, for saying such lovely things about it - I will answer comments tomorrow when I don't have a brain somewhere on the other side of the planet.

(Oh, and! [livejournal.com profile] gamesiplay: I got your parcel! Having departed California, it mouldered in the English rain for days in the mailbox. But I got everything dry and thank you, thank you so much! I have City Lights stickers and postcards and books!

It may also amuse you to hear that I went through immigration finally in England this morning and was held back at the counter. So, you went to the US in 2008, they said. San Francisco, that's nice. They didn't take out your green form from your passport, did they. No, I said. Ring the US embassay tomorrow, said the very nice people, they think you're still there. Oh dear.)

That's it. I go to commune with my bed. Oh, my bed, my bed, I go to smoosh it and love it and write it sonnets on heart-shaped pink paper.
raven: (mash - last goodbye)
This was a great big teal deer about how I am cranky and hate talking to people and fighting the good fight against your own brain all the damn time gets really old really fast and my mother accidentally cleaned the bathroom with my towel and now I am one all-over psychosomatic itch. But I deleted it.

Instead. I am not Nixon. But tomorrow I am going to China.[1] In the meantime, [livejournal.com profile] remixredux09 has opened, and I will just pause to drop a rec for my remixer's story, Missing Hawk (the Anger Turned Sideways Remix), (M*A*S*H, gen). It's an elegant, taut little gem of a story, does well-articulated understatement without a whisper of melodrama. Much better than the original, and much more fun.

I need to go to bed, I think, before my crankiness becomes sentient. Back in a week, and I'm sure I will return a better person to be around.

[1] Actually, not for visa and currency purposes. I'm going to (the Special Administrative Region of) Hong Kong.


Apr. 26th, 2008 05:18 pm
raven: white text on green and yellow background: "ten points from Gryffindor for destroying my soul" (sbp - destroying my soul)
First of all: Humphrey Lyttelton is dead. He was eighty-six years old, but as people have already said, he was the sort of man who was supposed to live forever. Last night we were listening to old episodes of I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue, and laughing quietly and affectionately at dreadful puns -

(From what I'm listening to at the moment: "Knacker's yard" defined as "enormous underpants"; "palmistry" defined as "not knowing who your dad is" and "defunct" as "having one's sense of rhythm removed". I love ISIHAC so, so much.)

- and at the Rolling Stones' Satisfaction sung to the tune of Carmina Burana. Hurrah for Humph. May he wander through the afterlife blowing a cheerful trumpet.

Second of all: I have been in a gloomy, treacly mood for a couple of days, mostly characterised by a total disinclination to engage with the human race. Also by quasi-hysterical rage at the stupid people on the internet. I mention this to just account for my failure to be, you know, sane, or indeed, remotely nice to be around. Finals have this effect of taking up all your day's sanity-spoons so if anything else comes up, anything else about which you might reasonably be expected to show moderation and restraint, you just... can't. Instead you feel it all at hundred-decibel intensity and seethe and rage and shriek. For this reason, I am not linking to the things which are currently making me angry.

Okay, but I will have just one brief rant and then I will shut up. Er. Philosophy is an academic subject. I am oversensitive about it because I am about to sit Final Honour Schools in it, but this rant does hold all the time. It's an academic subject in itself. It has its own norms, mores and terms of art. It has a methodology. You cannot write emo ruminations on the nature of the word "soulmate" and call it philosophy. You cannot make assumptions about Plato's thwarted career-as-epic-tragedian and call it philosophy. Note that I am not saying you can't do these things. All I am saying is that you cannot do them as philosophy. The bad poets of the world should get their grubby fingers off my subject. Thank you kindly. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Third of all, and the actual point of this post. [livejournal.com profile] remixredux08 is over, and the reveal happened, oh, all of twenty minutes ago but let me face facts, I have no life.

I wrote: thirteen photographs (the via crucis remix)), a remix of train de la grande vitesse, by [livejournal.com profile] glass_icarus.

My brain is too fried to provide much in the way of substantial comment on the process, except that it was, as usual, marvellous fun. The original this time around was all of 521 words long, so it was more in the way of drabble expansion, using the themes of the original rather then the plot, if that makes sense and really at this stage I'm not entirely sure anything I say does, so. But. Yes. Marvellous fun. [livejournal.com profile] likethesun2 and [livejournal.com profile] absinthe_shadow guessed, exactly as they did last year, because I am distressingly predictable.

Ficlets and such to be distributed post-Finals. Hurrah for Finals, etc.
raven: (hp - tonks puff)
Was woken up this morning, as in, shifted out of eleven-am-somnolence, by text from [livejournal.com profile] chiasmata. She's in Bangkok. I have to admit my life is not so exciting at the moment. But, still. Last night there was an awesome [livejournal.com profile] pridehouse party of awesomeness, for which the blurb was: Saturday April 19th, 2008 1968, 8pm. Martin Luther King has just been killed. Tomorrow, Enoch Powell will make this speech. They're selling hippy wigs in Woolworth's, man. The revolution is coming, or possibly the apocalypse. So. In a feminist separatist lesbian commune off the Cowley Road, it is the Summer of Love.

I approved mightily of this. It was, indeed, the Summer of Love, barring the part where it was cold enough to see your breath and we had to build a fire in the garden. But there were beads and hippie clothes - I was wearing my second-favourite skirt, a Janpath one that's covered in elephants - and many many happy people of joy and wonder, and, yes. Highlights included the fire, which was blisteringly hot and made everything thick with pine-scented smoke; astonishing hippie lentil stew; [livejournal.com profile] jacinthsong's costume, which featured a burning bra adorned with the immortal words, [citation needed]; my telling [livejournal.com profile] absinthe_shadow that, you know, rhetoric is good, and um, so is linguistics, and I might be drunk, had she thought of that; recasting Gaudy Night with ourselves (I get to be Harriet Vane, I am better than everything); and the entire party dancing to the Indelicates until their heads fell off.

Also. [livejournal.com profile] slasheuse (who is a delight, by the way; a sweetly hilarious drunk and altogether lovely human) telling me and [livejournal.com profile] shimgray very seriously and apropos of nothing, "When you have children, I will come and exterminate them."

I flailed momentarily - actually more than momentarily - wondered about what and how and ohgod-the-fuck and finally settled on, "Why?"

"Because," she said, "they'd take over the world."


"Um. They would be really clever but not allowed near pointy things."

(It bothers me on many explicitly-defined levels that more than one person has independently reached this conclusion.)

([livejournal.com profile] slasheuse also phoned me later, at three in the morning, to tell me that a) [livejournal.com profile] apotropaios and [livejournal.com profile] osymandias had been Being Very Gay, and that the word "ejaculation" had been involved, and b) she had found a plum. Then she had thrown it away. It was not the plum she thought it was, alas. I stopped laughing when I started to worry about the possibility of an aneurysm.)

Um, yes! Joy, and dancing, and music and flames. While we were around the fire singing, [livejournal.com profile] apotropaios stood in the doorway and told me, "You know what I'm doing?"


"Being liminal."

[livejournal.com profile] lizziwig and I looked at each other and laughed ourselves into total hysteria. I should probably note that at the time he said it, he was wearing a very pretty green dress and looked bizarrely like Penelope Keith. It was that sort of party.

Actually, I did not start writing this post to tell the denizens of the internet all about my faintly ridiculous social life. I started to write this post to talk about [livejournal.com profile] remixredux08. I really shouldn't spend an entire afternoon on the archive - not that I was planning to do this, not at all - because, argh, work, etc., but briefly:

The story that was written for me was: The ACME Judgement Company (the Uncloseted Remix), and I love it. I was surprised - I forgot to mention M*A*S*H as one of my fandoms when I was signing up, and, well, it's still the archetypical small fandom. My original story was written in 2002 - ohgod - when I was fifteen. The less said about it, the better. The remix is long and thoughtful, plays with themes and langage with slow, effortless control that really shows up how young I was. I'm very impressed, especially as the odds are slim-to-none that anyone remembers the episode with Carlye, so you can read it as a piece of interesting original fiction and get lots out of it regardless. I like it, very much.

A few others I've read (undoubtedly, there will be more):

Every Farthing of the Cost (Dingoes Ate My Baby Remix), Buffy/Harry Potter crossover, Remus and Oz.
This is a remix of a story I have loved for years, so there is that, but this is a lovely story in itself. Slow, quiet, full of unspoken things.

Nothing Exciting Happens Here (the Feels Like Home Remix), Doctor Who, Rose/Sarah Jane.
Short and sweet. Lovely vision of Sarah Jane, too.

Goodbye (Strange, What Is Still Here Remix), Harry Potter, Harry and Teddy.
This is beautiful, and with perfect narrative voice.

My own story is, indeed, also up in the archive. There are clues in it indicating it's mine, both for people who know my writing and people who know me. Usually, I would offer a ficlet for anyone who guesses; this time around I will, also, offer ficlets, but rainchecked until May 28th, if nobody minds. Go forth and guess if you should so desire.
raven: text: "There's a full and very reasonable explanation that mostly does not involve me being drunk" (sbp - me being drunk)
I have my window open a crack. I can hear the sea.

.....aaaah. Okay. Sane now. Really.

Maybe not quite. But I am back in the frozen north (er - actually, it's a couple of degrees warmer than Oxford), and feeling rather better about life. The Aeneid was wonderful - more thoughts on it when said thoughts are something beyond "omgyay!" - and the week ended very very well indeed. And now, amazingly, I am home. I didn't particularly think about what I was doing this vac, mostly because my life ended with the Aeneid, and now I'm here and really rather quite surprised about it.

But. Pleasantly surprised. At nine o'clock this morning I got a text from my mother, to the effect of, am in Dubai, see you later. I am an awful person and had entirely forgotten she was there, mostly due to the pernicious effect of the Aeneid cast party the night before. It was drunken. That is a big surprise to everyone, I know. But it was also joyous and filled with happy people, and I had not eaten in days, and drinking was clearly the best idea ever. (I tried. I really, really did. I ate a sandwich and everything. In the afternoon, I was packing up my room with the windows open with [livejournal.com profile] chiasmata knitting and making soothing noises in the windowseat, and was being gradually consumed by maudlin. Because Balliol are not made of win, they want me to clear out all my crap. I, therefore, was putting away books, thinking, oh, won't have time to read much next term, I may as well take it home for good. Oh, god. Leaving Oxford. Please to not be getting me started on this always-cheerful topic.)

But, yes, yes, cast party. I participated in some glorious cocktailing, and now have adopted two more OULES children as well as Maria. And spent the rest of the evening curled up on the Couch of Lesbian Doom, so called because through a bit of syllogistic trickery, everyone on it was - here's the clever part - by definition a lesbian ([livejournal.com profile] osymandias and [livejournal.com profile] shimgray objected to this slightly, on grounds of being male, but they were both quite clearly wrong) and I was rather extravagantly rude to a gatecrashing sleazy boy drifting through the party (although not quite as rude as [livejournal.com profile] chiasmata, who was heard to wish quite cheerfully that his penis would fall off), and after that, sinking slowly into sleepy contentment. Ahhhh.

Yes, nine o'clock this morning, my mother was in Dubai, and by six, we were both in Manchester Airport, she sleepy and endearingly irrational and me sleepy and wearing the Cat Ears of Troy. (Because, er, everything that was involved in the Aeneid in any capacity has become the "X! Of! Troy!", said just like that, with pauses for dramatic piano music. My life has become constituted and defined by the norms and mores of a student bastardisation of Virgil, why do you ask?) She's been gone a month, and I've been away for three, and it was nice to wander back tonight and dazedly talk about nothing much. She informs me that I've lost weight. To which my answer is, um, I haven't eaten in days, this is hardly surprising. (Is it some sort of grand only-daughter cliche that this should be our very first topic of conversation? Sigh.)

And now I'm home, and feeling sane enough to sit still and write for the first time in a while, and it's funny, but I'd forgotten what absolute silence sounds like. Above the aforementioned sound of the waves - which are particularly clear tonight; it's rough, and the trees are mostly still - there's no sound at all. It's immensely soothing. (I mean, no wonder I get crazy living in central Oxford. I lived here for eight years before that.) And now I can write again, and am eating a little more, and I might even be able to do some work for, er, Finals. These are all good things. (Which is not to say I am not missing Oxford ridiculously. I am, and with almost comical immediacy.) Things I have wanted to post for a while, and not done so through being crazy busy:

-[livejournal.com profile] remixredux08! Hurrah, hurrah! I love Remix, and this is, frighteningly enough, my fifth year doing it. (And almost not; I signed up literally minutes before sign-ups closed.) I'm pretty excited about this year's - my author is intimidatingly awesome, in the good way, and writes about places and people and I really want to revisit. One thing I like is that I tend to have more fun with the writing each successive year - last year's effort was "Ways of Not Speaking (the Poetry in Motion Remix)",which I don't think I ever reposted - and that bodes well for this time around. We shall see.

-[livejournal.com profile] lgbtfest, run by [livejournal.com profile] penknife and my dear [livejournal.com profile] mireille719. I love this idea; it addresses something that's always bugged me, namely, the relatively small amount of fic out there that addresses, alongside slash, notions of queerness and gender and sexuality in fandom's fandoms. For once, my timing is fabulous - prompts have just now opened for claiming - and they really are pretty cool. (I came up with exactly one. I fail. Other people emphatically do not, the list makes very intriuging reading.) I'm not sure if I'm going to sign up yet; I really ought not to do more than one ficathon at one time, but I do want to take the opportunity to finish my Teddy-Lupin-is-amazingly-genderqueer story, which is currently festering at 2000 mostly disconnected words.

-(Also, a 9000-word-story, Star Trek, supposed to be for [livejournal.com profile] likethesun2's birthday, except not, because see above re: me failing, is festering as well, and that's annoying me because it was going so well. Again, we shall see, now I can sit still and, you know, construct sentences again.)

-My darling wife [livejournal.com profile] jacinthsong has divorced me on Facebook. This is a tragedy of epic proportions. It is epic and tragic. (More than the Aeneid. Yes.)

She does, however, have her reasons. Er. Um. In brief: I have a boy; I am as surprised as everyone else, believe me; it's [livejournal.com profile] shimgray; I am happy.

Right. To bed, to bed! In the morning I am going to the beach.
raven: (hp - remus in light)
Remix reveal, darlings! I can hereby declare that I wrote "Ways of Not Speaking (the Poetry in Motion Remix)", a remix of "Secrets, Lies and Guiness Pies", by [livejournal.com profile] gunderpants. And of course, [livejournal.com profile] likethesun2 was absolutely right. I promised a ficlet, and a ficlet she shall have.

It's been a good remix year, I think. I signed up because I haven't written a fic off my own bat since November 2006, and this is beginning to get to me; I mean, yes, depression fucked my brain up for three months, more or less, but I've been much better for almost three months since, and I want to write, I can write, I think, I just don't know why I haven't been able to. This way I haven't written anything truly original, but Remix kicked my arse into writing something. And that's good. I no longer hate the story as much as I did, but I can still see the bits in it which would have been better if I hadn't, er, written three quarters of it two hours before it was due. Even given that, the reason I had such difficulty with it is that well, I've already written this story. Remus, Tonks and Harry coping with Sirius's death - I did that with "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds", and I guess the challenge, here, was not writing the original story again but not writing Lucy... again either. Which I couldn't do, because [livejournal.com profile] gunderpants' characterisation of Remus is not like mine, and it was great fun, getting him down. (Fanfiction of fanfiction, in a way.)

And so. And so, and so. In other news, I have so much work to do right now it sucks beyond the telling of it. I just can't be bothered, which is never a good sign (neither is not being able to write, come to think of it) but I can't, and thus, it is all staying resolutely undone. I would much rather play cricket and go to OULES. [livejournal.com profile] jacinthsong and I have been cast as, I believe, Guard #1 and Guard #2, but Maria outdoes us both as the feminine subconscious to [livejournal.com profile] foulds's Sherlock Holmes. I have this sense that Jon and Maria would make very good masculine and feminine sides of the same person. At least, this is what I was trying to explain to the assembled masses at the pub yesterday - we were celebrating [livejournal.com profile] me_ves_y_sufres's not-birthday, with fannish talk, the not-revelatory-for-anyone revelation that [livejournal.com profile] foreverdirt writes gay porn and, later, a prolonged argument that led to [livejournal.com profile] vampire_kitten proving right there and then, in the pub, that 0.999... = 1 - with a quite stunning lack of success.

Cricket on the Master's Field and then OULES, yes! I guess, in the meantime, I should go and attempt to read something about... what is it? Why we still need a language of thought and cannot all be happy bouncy intentional realists. My Mind tutor, I feel the need to point out, resembles no one so much as Sam Vimes - [livejournal.com profile] kuteki, who appeared like the Ghost of Christmas Past in last week's tute, agrees - and thus I am rather scared of him. Hence maybe doing some work is a good idea.

I'm unsure on the etiquette of re-posting my remix in my journal. Right now I think not; maybe later for the sake of completion.

Back to thoughts on mind, yes.

October 2017

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