mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

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but you know I didn't have it anyway

Oh dear. I diss one film and the big baby throws in the towel: Clive Owen to quit acting. No fight, old son, no fight.

Actually, if I didn't still love Clive from such BBC cop fare as Second Sight, I'd make some cruel but perhaps deserved comments about 'when did he actually start acting' but I won't. He was great on the BBC, but seemed to sleepwalk through his US films (imho), or maybe burning tv intensity just doesn't translate to the big screen.

Come back to the BBC, Clive, all is forgiven.

Meanwhile, I was right. A twenty year theory finally put into practice, and it works like a charm. I always thought I could chivy myself along in the writing stakes if I had a pic of said protagonist to kick it along, and I've tried pasting pics in my workbooks, and sticking pics on my door, but they just didn't quite work.

Yesterday, being peeved, I stuck up that pic of John right behind my PC, and it's right in my eyeline, and my gosh, I can't stop typing. It's mad, completely mad, and I'm loving every minute of it. It's a good pic to use, too, because it reminds me that Sam is a bitka, and not wet, thus saving me (slightly) from woobieville, because yea and verily, there's some rather gratuitous Sam whumping in the fic I'm working on today. Even by my standards. But I'm trying to make the crime fit the punishment. I think. Goodness knows, this fic is taking done diversions I'd seriously not planned. But if I'd known it would help, I would have stuck John there a month ago. More. I was, afterall, slashing the lads when I first read the one paragraph decription of the show, sight unseen, well over a year ago. It just screamed slash, and it delivered, by the bucketfull. Roll on season two.

Of course, you're wondering why I'm typing pr0n when I've got all this work I'm whining about? Because I'm trying to upload umpteen pdfs from this shitty pc to that shitty server and it's taking forever, and I've just enough mem left to open notebook but nowt else. So tippy typey it is. Not that there's much pr0n going on right now. That'd be cruel after all the bad things I've done to Sam so far (note to self: put the Wire in The Blood dvds down and back away with your hands in the air). Like that scene from Raiders, certain folks are going to be hard pressed to find places to kiss on the lad that don't hurt. Poor wee lad. [insert evil, cruel laugh here]. Dance, monkey, dance.

But don't yell at me for being mean. I've been dealing with three of the most notorious divas in the dept for the last three days, simultaneously (just one is usually enough to give one a nosebleed). No wonder poor Sam's being bounced from pillar to post in my fic as in "I don't see why anyone else should have a good time".

I tell ya, after those bitkas, working for Naomi Campbell sounds like a doddle.

I have cake. A mate bought a cake, because they know it's the only way to stop the swearing. Works. But now, weirdly, I have an old Bunnymen song stuck in my head. Third one this week. One of these days I must update my collection. I think I'll bypass cds and go straight to mp3s. Yep, all my Bunny stuff is on vinyl. I am that old.

Oooh, goody, been unfriended by someone else. How low can she go? Quite low, I should think. Don't challenge me like that (and you wonder why I worship at the alter of the Gene Genie).
Clive Owen to quit acting
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Tags: clive owen, gene hunt, life on mars, raiders of the lost ark, sam tyler

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