I still feel wretched (I think it's a reaction to something at work because it's kinda locational) but at least I'm having happy, or rather unhappy fic thoughts, which makes me happy. Relieved, more like. I thought I'd lost it on Monday. All of it. I really had.
Of course it's only really bad Robin fic I'm attempting, not that last great LOM fic which I only have a week to finish (oh dear). This RH fic isn't working either. I like the plot well enough, it hits enough of the actual texts with nods to a few 'inspired bys' along the way (including old DH himself) to make me feel it isn't a complete of work frippery, but it's the dialogue I can't crack. Usually, that's the easy part, once I get the voice it'll write itself, but the scripted dialogue is so stilted and dire I just can't get a handle on it. I try to use their normal speaking voices, but I still end up with something horribly wrong, and I suspect reading Jane Austen is not helping with the exaggerated formality of language. The only character I can write for is Keef. He's just too easy. Guy, too. I've got some great lines for Guy. But the rest? Blah.
Meanwhile, I've got no problem with Northern and/or 70s coppers, having many tv and book hours under my belt in both, it's the effing plot that's come a cropper for poor Sam & Gene. The moment I excised one scene I thought a little too dark/controversial for the swan song, such as it will now be, the whole thing has just collapsed and unless I can think of something new to prop up the sagging middle section the whole thing will just fall over. Grump. and I want to finish it before the last episode blows it to pieces like (insert Hollywood FX of your choice). Gah.
Everything else is going to hell in a handbasket. Everyone here is either in gallows mode or running around like Chicken Little. I even dreamt my father was telling me to stop whining about the job sitch, and I'm sure you concure, but as I said, we'll all frightened. It's not just me, it's everyone I know, no matter what size of chair they sit in. So this was what it was like to live in Europe in the Thirties, waiting for the axe to fall. Not fun.
Also, still no joy with the non travels to my Aunt. Apparently the bus doesn't run any more and there are no flights. This is proving problematic.
And my newly removed friend has seemingly decided that absence does not make the heart grow fonder. Much should be thankful that Robin doesn't have an email account.
So that's the state of play right now: don't know if I'll have a desk next week, distressing emails, everyone is all sixes and sevens, and I'm in trouble for working too hard.
Oh yes, and fic, to which I usually turn when this spun out, is strongly resisting my needy embrace.
All up, not good. Aside of course from seeing Ricky et al on Wednesday. That was mighty fine.
And watching tv. Watched Blackpool last night. I meant to go to bed early, and tried to, but between the heat and humidty and the bang crashiness of the household and neighbourhood I just gave up and watched the later screening in bliss. I love David lots, too. I really, really do. And not just as an actor, I think he's a bit of a sweetheart in RL, too (at least 600 hours of video diaries and the like give that impression).
Also watched some Bones and maybe I was just tired but I actually got really, really caught up in one episode. Actual tears. Oh dear. When this show suddenly get good? Ah well, the next episode was a bit iffy and obscenely derivative, but the show has cerainly gone up in my estimation, and I'm not even up to my beloved Mr Fry yet (when worlds collide, eh?).
Also, when the bus was trawling along past the mostly headless dummies that line George Street (and they used to be all headless, which I found amusingly macabre), I noticed that one was wearing Jez's hideous stripey shirt and another front up in one of those Bobby Brady shirts so beloved of Jonas in GHost Squad, and it began to slowly dawn on me that I should probably put down the disks and step away from the dvd player with my hands in the air.
Nuh uh. Not gonna. It's the only thing I have that's keeping me going, even if I have to watch them in the tiny dark hours when I'm not working, watering, weeding. washing etc.
Oh, and I'm still annoyed that my attempt at a Kaiser bootleg sucketh muchly. Mind you, AP caught a glimpse of it and was most put out that people appeared to be clapping all the way through the song and not waiting until the end. Oh dear.
Small wonder then that while reading Emma I find Mr Woodhouse cringingly all too familiar. Really, really. I never knew Jane Austen knew my grandmother ;)
I Second That Emotion- Blackpool
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All Sparta the plan
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