SIX FREE HOURS. I think I'm going to try to work on my Big Bang story. That, or try for a fic for karaokegal's Halloween party (nothing like a last-minute costume), although I'm at once bombarded with ideas* and bereft of inspiration and/or something concrete on which to build a story. I've been kind of pathetically sad at not having a story for the party. Or in general. Prompts are still very welcome....
(*So far have considered: trying to finish the Ali fic segment; a story without Wilson; first person POV; emo; over-the-top purple-prose-type fic parody; Mary Sue; vampire!House; something with the ghosts of House's former patients; story in a fandom I haven't written in before; a rewriting of "Ethan Brand" with House or McKay (suitably spooky); and other stuff I can't remember. Nothing that has sparked any actual text, unfortunately.)
ETA: Ladies and gentlemen, we have an idea. Now to see how long it takes to write....
6:00 - 900 words
ETA: Example, now that the blog has been locked:
Click for larger image.
Thank you to thewlisian_afer for the alert.
ALSO. The fic my brilliant mysterious remixer (I am assuming it's the same person) chose for his/her story proper was "Dissonance," my first House fic and the one I secretly think is my best. I posted it a year ago this past Friday, and now on its anniversary there is this gift that takes the House/Wilson that simmered under the surface (barely) of the original's Wilson/Julie and runs with it. It's—I don't even know where to start, it's so good.
Seriously, I am the luckiest remixee ever. *tears up a little*
Now off to read many many other stories, none of which I can rec here till the author reveal, lest you figure out which ones I did. I will not even tell you the fandom(s) in which I wrote. Mwahaha.
Now go check out the awesomeness!
All I have to say is: OMFGDavidHallberg.
Actually, I have a lot more to say than that. I'm pretty sure you're all sick of hearing about my trips to the ballet -- or at least sick of hearing me wax lyrical over certain dancers -- or possibly it's only my co-workers who feel this way -- but you definitely will be after reading this -- so it's all behind a cut today. ( Death and Greek gods. )
And moving on.
synn's back from YaoiCon and I'm off to Philly with my mother and sister for a day to visit a great-aunt I haven't seen in probably 10 years. She's been terrific to my mother since she (my mother) was a kid, is now old and wealthy and ill, and is apparently preparing to fill our car with boxes upon boxes of stuff -- china, pottery, painted eggs, who knows -- to keep it away from her son-in-law, who she's convinced is going to take everything when she and her husband die. Should be a fun time.
Fortunately I have Jonathan Lethem for company, in the form of Motherless Brooklyn, which features a detective-hero with Tourette's. Makes for interesting reading when he keeps randomly yipping or shouting stuff like "EatmeBailey!" (or, my favorite so far, "Eatme-stringjoke!"). It's not funny, really, and Lethem isn't intending it to be. The way Lionel describes living with the syndrome reminds me of having a chest cold where you feel the urge to cough, try to suppress it, succeed briefly, then descend into desperation as the urge builds, losing concentration on what's going on, perhaps seeking escape in shifting your position or breathing differently, until the inevitable cough explodes; the urge recedes, but you know it'll be back; and the cycle continues. It's like that for Lionel in the book except instead of a cough it's verbal or physical tics, which get worse under stress. My manager's son has Tourette's and she's mentioned how when he comes home from college he lets loose all the tics that've been building up until he relaxes after about a day.
Aside from the condition itself, or rather because of it, Lionel makes for a beautiful read on account of the language games he's forced to play. Every time he hears a new word or strange phrase he tumbles it over in his head and comes right back with a handful of variations, one-two-three, in wacky combinations and always rhythmic. In the tradition of reading any good writer's work, my thoughts are starting to rock to his cadence.
Off to Philly.
What are my chances for being able to afford this at the end of the 10-day auction?
ETA: It's up to $165 plus shipping, and a few hours to go. With a detached front cover and missing title page, probably not worth it. Sigh.
ETA: Right -- so it went for $847. Never mind that.