The Urge to Create

I've always thought it very interesting that, right after I read something or watch something, the first thing I want to do is make write or record something of my own.

I've spent the last few days watching old Vlogbrothers videos, and right now the thing I want to do more than anything is to pick up my video camera and.... speak. Not about anything in particular, I want to make something.

I also watched both Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and Hounds of the Baskerville today, so I want to write fanfic about that, and the last few days before this have been spent reading Tinker Tailor as well, so....

So why does this happen?

I don't exactly have a poetic thought about how I want to add more to the awesome levels of the earth and decrease levels of worldsuck by virtue of my amazing art, or anything, I just want to.... create.

So tomorrow I will be doing some creation.

Writing again

The rush usually started somewhere in the middle of a summer month and lasted for about a week. It changed every year, and some years it simply couldn’t be predicted no matter how many seers were put to the task, and such was the case with the Summer Rush of 2008.

Savannah had prepared. She had a strange job with unusual hours and even more unusual tasks, and often it was impossible to be prepared, but right there in the job description were the words, “Do your best to be prepared for every eventuality.” So she did. She had a first aid kit in her kitchen, bathroom, and car; she had three bags packed at any given moment for hot, cold, and mild weather; she had a will on file that she updated every so often; and she was locked in a special room the day after the rush started.

The room itself wasn’t very special. It was the spare room in her apartment, meant to be a second bedroom. There was a bed, anyway, but it was a simple one that Savannah often neglected to change the sheets of. There were windows that she covered with wooden, custom-made frames. There was a desk that was absolutely covered with butcher paper, markers, and enough food and water to last her the week, if she remembered to eat. 

So, yeah. Writing. Look at that. 

365 Day Challenge + Day 1, Sherlock

So, I am going to post something here every day this year.

....Who am I kidding? I'm going to fail within the next week.

But I shall try, starting with this announcement.

--

What do you know about Sherlock? You're probably thinking Sherlock Holmes, the great detective that could see your whole life story in a glance and did tons of cocaine. You might be thinking of the movies directed by Guy Ritchie.

I'm thinking of the BBC Series, directed by Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss. The one with the amazing, enthusiastic, embarrassing fandom on Tumblr that I am privileged to be a part of. For a year and a half, we have had three, 90 minute episodes.

But today, we have four. In three weeks, we will have double the amount of canon.

Needless to say, I am staying off Tumblr because people refuse to tag their spoilers and I already know too much about it. Summary and review is coming tomorrow, I guess.

Quilt Count: 5 and a bit.
Sherlock Episodes: 4

A few lists

Things I find romantic:

• Hand holding (mostly, can be platonic)
• Cuddling (mostly, can be platonic)
• Sex (mostly, can be platonic... though I admit it usually isn't.)
• Getting married (yeah okay this is pretty much romantic unless it isn't.)

Things that I find platonic:

• Talk about ~feelings~ (bffs do this all the time)
• Exchange gifts (what the hell is a romantic gift anyway, I buy flowers for my mom and that is not romantic that is platonic stupid stupid stupid)
• Be there to support one another (duh)

Things I think are mostly BS:

• ~soul connections~
• ~love at first sight~
• ~one true love~
• ~looking into other people's eyes and seeing what they are feeling dude body language cannot be read in people's pupil dilations what the hell. except maybe for if they are aroused. but then again their pupils could be blown because of a natural response to a lack of light because you are leaning in waaaaay too close.~
• As an extension of the above, kissing with your eyes open. 
• The whole "this other person is the center of my whole universe and I do everything for them" thing. It might work for some people, but not for me, because-
• The idea that sex or romantic relations make two people somehow into one whole. what. Just because they are together does not mean they are the same person. They prefer different things and think different things and have had different lives, even if they happen to live together now. 

Things I know I am:

• Pansexual, tending towards feminine pronouns
• Cisgender

Things I know I am not:

• Asexual
• Heterosexual
• Homosexual
• And frankly I'm pretty sure bisexual is a misnomer, mostly. Though I wouldn't know, not being a bisexual. 

Things I suspect I am:

• Aromantic. Maybe. I sure read a lot of schmoopy fanfic for an aromantic, if that's the case. Which I think it isn't. 
• Bad at understanding other people. I always have been, and frankly most people don't help with this at all, what with their daring to have mainstream interests....

Savannah and James. Drabble.

James was grateful for the invitation, as he didn't have much of a home at the moment. His landlady had been less than impressed to discover that he had swathed the walls of his bedroom with blackboard paint, he had insisted that it could come off, and they had learned together that it could not, in fact, come off. And then she brought up a load of cardboard boxes and told him that he had a week to pack up all his weird future gizmos and get out of her building.

After pausing for an hour to reflect on this, James had begun to put books in a box. Books, heavy things. Far too cumbersome. Back home, he could carry thousands of books with him without breaking a sweat but now barely twenty fit into a single fucking cardboard box and they weren't all the same size and how could he jam the last one in when they're all so anomalous?

He realized that he was effectively homeless at the same time as he threw a paperback novel across the room in frustration. Then he burst into bitter tears and collected the book, whispering apologies.

He had somehow torn a page out of it. A page out of a lended book. Savannah had written on the page, a silly little doodle of Mrs. Vimes being heavily pregnant. (He had to admit that it was far more fun to write in old fashioned books than it was to highlight words in the books that he knew.)

Savannah had written her phone number and address in the cover of the book.

"Hello," He said.

"Hello," she answered. "Who's this?"

"James, from the café."

"Oh right! I lent you like half my Discworld novels. How are you, man?" (Bordering on twenty-five, she still acted like everyone she met was her best friend at some sort of frat party. She was also exceedingly dramatic and had a way of making plain things like loaves of bread hilarious.)

"I, um. Tore a page out of one."

There was a pause. An extremely long pause. "James," she said at last, "Your life may depend on how you answer the next question."

James relaxed.

"Which. Book. Was it."

"The Fifth Elephant."

"Son of a whore, I will murder you when I get back," she said pleasantly. "How bad is it? Will scotch tape do? Also, why did you tear a page out? I realize that those books get intense, but seriously now."

"Tape'll be fine, I think. And... I got thrown out of my apartment."

Savannah paused again before whistling. "I didn't know you had it in you, Jamie. Where are you staying now?"

"Well, in the apartment. I have until the end of the week."

"You have anything in mind?"

"Not... especially, no. Do you know someone?" He asked hopefully. Savannah seemed to know everyone.

"Yes, me. I bought a new place and there are three frickin' bedrooms in it. There's- Oh, shit, gotta run. Like, now. Sorry. Call you back."

--

I should not write things at two in the morning. 

Conflict

I have issues with conflict. Serious, serious issues. I hate conflict, or at least losing conflicts, and that comes out in my writing in a few serious ways.

Serious ways in which it comes out in my writing:

1. Every. Single. One. Of my characters. Get along perfectly. All the time, every day, they are BFFs. One of them makes an off-color joke? No worries, they have the exact same sense of humor (mine). 
2. My characters are ridiculously prepared for preposterous things that happen to them. That is bad and also not good, in that WHERE IS THE PLOT, WHERE IS THE STRUGGLE. 
3. I cannot come up with logical solutions to conflicts. An aborted plot line ran like this: "Benny gets kidnapped, the team freaks out, Benny frees himself and calls them from a phone booth, they are relieved." Anything that involves more than one or two characters working together escapes me. 
4. All my plots basically suck. 

This will burn the heart out of you.

If uploading things from my camera wasn't such a colossal pain in the neck, your eyes would be graced with the wonders of Aerosol Pancakes at this moment. And not just any Aerosol Pancakes, but Chocolate Aerosol Pancakes.

What is a Chocolate Aerosol pancake, you ask?

Why, it is just like a regular Aerosol Pancake.

And what is that?

Wellll, you know the cheese stuff, or whipped cream? It's like that, exactly like that. Only pancake batter. And it isn't all fluffy like whipped cream. It usually isn't as fun as the cheese stuff. It's more... drippy. And actually pretty delicious after you realize that there is a subtle difference between the dark brown of 'this pancake is done' and the very dark brown of 'this pancake is TOO done and needs some aloe for that sick burn.'

You don't have to mix it or clean up the bowl afterwards. All it takes is a few seconds with a hot pan. I am going to hell for advocating this.

Also today I ate a whole pack of orange Milanos with Sam while we struggled to find our Sim a man. His name? Mike Hawk. His hypothetical divorced wife? Yuraq Hunt. There were MANY jokes about this. Bad jokes. Terrible, terrible jokes.
Hey, come meet Mike Hawk!
Mike Hawk really wants to change clothes.
Mike Hawk needs to pee.
Once, I played a guitar with Mike Hawk.
Step one: I put Mike Hawk in a box.

SPEAKING OF COCKS. Guess who has a girl friend?
I'll give you one hint: It is me. I am confused as to how this happened and what is happening and what will happen, but whatever, I suppose there will be someone to make out with on this roller coaster ride?

Also, bisexuality invisibility is stupid and those who believe you can only be attracted to one gender are stupid.