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I ramble because I can
Have given myself the day off from being productive in any way at all. Admittedly, this decision was rather forced on me when I accidentally stayed in bed all morning. I then had the happy idea of sprinkling cinnamon on my coffee (nice once in a while, even if you wouldn't want to do it every day), only I accidentally tipped rather than sprinkled and it was really rather over-cinnamonny. I think I prefer my coffee to taste of coffee, really.
I was really tired last night, after a stressy day, but I had to stay up until one in the morning to watch the repeat of Buffy (we're still in Season 6 in this here backwater), which I missed on Thursday because of my evil job. I tried to tape it, but the video was obviously having an off day - it said 'Noooo, I don't think so...' It wasn't the best episode ever, but still, I find myself hovering over those great lines of dialogue like a magpie, wanting to pick out the shiny ones and take them to my nest. Or something. It's like being a kid in a sweetshop. A kid and a magpie in a sweetshop. A kid and a magpie in a sweetshop with a bull, who's saying, "I'm bored. Can we go to the chinashop now?"
Er... yeah.
So, after drinking my disgusting coffee, I wandered over to CTB to see the fun. Ah, nothing like a whiff of battlesmoke in the... early afternoon. La la la. One thing I wondered though. Why do so many people seem to believe that there is somehow a different set of rules for writing about sex than writing about anything else? That when you write smut, you can start writing badly; in fact, you probably should write badly. Why should making someone feel sexy be any easier, or demand a lower level of skill, than making someone feel sad, or frightened, or amused? Personally, I find it more difficult to write about sex than anything else, which is probably why I don't do it very often... :)
In my last post I described a Mr L. Greenleaf of Mirkwood as 'blonde'. Mr Greenleaf would like it known that he is indeed a male of the species, even if he is the prettiest, and should therefore have been described as 'blond'. Thank you.
I was really tired last night, after a stressy day, but I had to stay up until one in the morning to watch the repeat of Buffy (we're still in Season 6 in this here backwater), which I missed on Thursday because of my evil job. I tried to tape it, but the video was obviously having an off day - it said 'Noooo, I don't think so...' It wasn't the best episode ever, but still, I find myself hovering over those great lines of dialogue like a magpie, wanting to pick out the shiny ones and take them to my nest. Or something. It's like being a kid in a sweetshop. A kid and a magpie in a sweetshop. A kid and a magpie in a sweetshop with a bull, who's saying, "I'm bored. Can we go to the chinashop now?"
Er... yeah.
So, after drinking my disgusting coffee, I wandered over to CTB to see the fun. Ah, nothing like a whiff of battlesmoke in the... early afternoon. La la la. One thing I wondered though. Why do so many people seem to believe that there is somehow a different set of rules for writing about sex than writing about anything else? That when you write smut, you can start writing badly; in fact, you probably should write badly. Why should making someone feel sexy be any easier, or demand a lower level of skill, than making someone feel sad, or frightened, or amused? Personally, I find it more difficult to write about sex than anything else, which is probably why I don't do it very often... :)
In my last post I described a Mr L. Greenleaf of Mirkwood as 'blonde'. Mr Greenleaf would like it known that he is indeed a male of the species, even if he is the prettiest, and should therefore have been described as 'blond'. Thank you.