B.L.S.

So first I have to apologise because I've been avoiding blogland for the last two weeks. Not for any particular reason, except maybe I was feeling a bit over-blogified after last month's A-Z. I've not read more than a handful of posts in the last fortnight, and I haven't even attempted any blog writing for either of my blogs. Anyway, apologies for the absence... Bad Tara. *smacks wrist*

The 'B.L.S.' of the title is an acronym for 'Bitten Lip Syndrome' - a well known affliction that I'm pretty sure has affected each and every one of us at one point or another (B.L.S. is also rather apt because the letters form part of the word 'bullshit', which is probably one of the most common words I think of when suffering a case of B.L.S.).

*coughs* Anywho...

I'm a nice person. Really. I don't like conflict, I'm invariably polite, and I'd much rather zip my lips than spout a river of abuse. But sometimes I really wish I could be bad.  Not evil exactly, just a little more unconcerned about keeping things nice. Mostly I wish I could say what I really thought from time to time.

e.g.


At the supermarket...

Random shopper: Would you mind if I pushed in? I have a bus to catch.
Me: Oh, go on then, *smiles*

But what I really want to say is : Tough! I've been queueing for ten minutes already and I don't see why you get to be served as soon as you reach the checkout. *pokes out tongue*


At work...

Customer: Excuse me, but do you sell [insert ridiculously stupid product which you can only find on some obscure website]?
Me: No sorry, we don't. Have you tried [insert something as similar to queried product as possible] instead?

What I really want to say is: Yes we do! You'll find them next to the other items that nobody wants, on aisle three. *accompanied with an eyeroll*

Then there's the really persistent idiots who won't take 'no' for an answer. Generally they are sales people, but this isn't exclusive. While they're busy trying to sell you something that you'll probably never need, you keep trying to speak the words 'no thank you', but they won't let you utter more than a 'n'. Usually I end up putting the phone down, or closing my front door - which is rather rude, admittedly - but if I had my way I would string several curse words together and finish my tirade with a fairly loud 'now duck off and leave me alone!'

Unfortunately,  B.L.S. tends to strike me on these occasions (which, in the case of work-related situations, is probably a good thing, granted). Of course, logically I know that this is unacceptable behaviour, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish that I could have one day where my lips were free to form whatever words spring to mind. Without any dire consequences, of course. Maybe this mythical day would end with everyone's mind being wiped of the previous twenty four hours, thus ensuring that nobody would remember how obnoxious I was.

Man, that would be nice...



Image borrowed from here.

Leaving things half-finis...

No, there isn't a typo in the title of today's blog, it was an attempt at humour. I know you may not believe this, because a)I am a Typo Queen and b), well, it's not really funny. But it's the truth, so help me Aragorn (that wasn't a typo either, though to be fair it would be pretty difficult to to have 'Aragorn' as a typo for 'God'. Having said that, if you have Aragorn on the mind, anything is possible, so maybe it could have been a typo after all). Hmm.

Anyway,  what I wanted to talk about was my very bad habit of leaving things half-finished. This, I should also tell you, goes hand in hand with leaving things to the last minute. And also hand in hand (you may have to swap hands to achieve required handiness, or borrow a friend's extremities, you decide), with the tendency to dither, waste time, and generally procrastinate.

On Leaving Things half-finished....

These things could be anything, though then usually tend to be writing projects. *shifty* I have - wonder of wonders- actually completed no less than three longer length fan fictions. Now, three is quite a nice number, but when you consider that I have been writing fanfic for over four years now, three isn't an awful lot (and in fact, the very first fiction that I ever wrote and completed was short enough to be definitely dicey on the classification of 'longer fanfic').

To put it into perspective, I currently have two 'ongoing' (and I use that term loosely) fanfictions. One was started in November of 2007 and was supposed to have been finished within two to three months. *pulls familiar shifty face* The other, probably my personal favorite in terms of writing for it, was started way back in March of 2006 (you all know how shifty I am looking now, right?). The first fic should have been finished at least a year ago. I stipulated two to three months because I thought it would be fairly short, but I ended up writing more scenes that I initially intended, so the plot became too much for a shorter length fic. Still, two years later, I am only half way through....

My second fic, though, was always meant to be longer. Having a extremely soft spot for Remus Lupin (of Harry Potter fame), I decided to write his life story based on the little canon that we knew about him. I have him at nine years old at the start, and the plan was (still is, in fact) to take him right the way up until his death.  The really good thing with this story is that I get to be evil. *nods* Remus Lupin is definitely a victim, and not only because if his Furry Little Problem (er, for the few of you who haven't read these books, our Remmy is a werewolf, bless him *hugs Remmy*). The poor soul is also without parents, not to mention virtually friendless, and without any means to support himself in a world that categorically hates werewolves (poor thing, I mean honestly, it's not like werewolves are dangerous, is it? )

Still, even though I intended the story to be long-lasting, we are now three and a half years later, and Remus is still only 14. *does the shifty foot shuffle* It's also a mark of how long I have been writing this fic that the banner actually has my original HPANA username on there (complete with obligatory typo), when I actually changed my username over two years ago. *snorts*

And then there are the three fictions that I abandoned completely.  My bad. Very bad. It's an absolute pain in the arse when you get involved in a story only to have the author give up on it half way through. I KNOW this, yet I have still committed this cardinal sin.

The thing is, it's not that I actively choose to abandon these stories, and it's not that I don't want to finish them, because I do, very much so. Obviously I am to blame, because I can't exactly blame it on someone else, but sometimes it really isn't my fault, I swear. Scout's Honour (okay, I'm not, nor ever have been, a scout, but you know what I mean). A good 50% of the blame can actually be apportioned to things that are out of my control. Lack of computer (this is the biggie), lack of time (some months more than others), and lack of ideas (you can't force a muse to appear, even with bribery, I tried) all contribute to the lack of writing. I could even add stress and depression to this, because I am a very up and down person who can experience quite scary mood-swings on a regular basis. The highs are very good, because they make me a little hyper, thus more inclined to write, but the lows are not at all conductive to story-telling.

On the other hand, there is also 50% worth of blame that still needs to be dished out, and I can't deny that this half of the problem is all down to me. You would be amazed at the amount of things I could find to do that would mean I could accidentally-forget-on-purpose that I am supposed to be writing. I've even been known to get the iron and ironing board out in order to put off that update that should have been written several days ago. *needs to have the word 'shifty' tattooed across my forehead).

I suppose that technically, it really isn't my fault as such. It's always been in my nature to dither and put things off, and it's a very hard habit to break. I have small breakthroughs now and again (NaNoWriMo was the biggest breakthrough EVER), but they are few and far between.  I'm trying to do better though.

Only, I've sort of noticed that this month is not going so well. I've not written anything at all in the last week, and I haven't managed to keep up with my blog.  Still, this is mostly because December is such a mad, mad month, and also because the hubby is currently off work so my computer time is severely hampered. I'm not too worried about it in actual fact. My fingers may be idle, but my brain is whizzing with activity, and I have managed to jot down plot ideas for the next two books in my proposed Fairy Tales series.  (Note that once again, my original 'original', Soul Identitiy, is on the back burner. One year I may actually write the darn thing, but seeing as at the moment my brain can only conjure chick-litty stuff, I'm letting that one stay in the dusty attic which is situated in the top left-hand corner of my brain for the time being).

Oh, and I forgot! I haven't 'not written anything at all' this month after all! I churned out two Christmas drabbles the other day. *grins* There, that's not so bad, is it?

Sooky Saps

I'm a great big cry-baby. *nods* I'm by nature quite cold normally; I'm not given to hugs and kisses (except with my kids), I don't cry easily, and I'm not someone who says 'I love you' on a day to day basis. My Internet Persona is the opposite; I hug and glomp people all of the time. It's not that I'm being false, I just don't find it easy to show affection in the real world. With the internet I can be as loving as I like without feeling embarrassed about it.

Anyway, to get back to my original sentence, I'm a cry-baby. But didn't I just say that I don't cry easily? To clarify, I don't cry easily when it comes to real life stuff. Real life sucky stuff may get me feeling down and depressed, but I rarely cry about it. But when it comes to movies and books, I'm a great big sob-machine.

I could name ten movies right now that had me turning into quivering wreck - heck, I could probably name more than that if I thought about it. A prime example is The Green Mile. Man, I cry buckets of tears whenever I watch that, it's pathetic. The first time I saw it, the story was new to me (I actually read the book a few months ago and thought it was one of Stephen King's better offerings), but as soon as Michael Clark Duncan's puppy dog eyes lit up the screen, I knew he was doomed (thus I was doomed too). I had a sore throat for the last twenty minutes of the movie because I was struggling to swallow my tears (hubby teases me dreadfully when I have a sappy moment). To this day I can't watch it without that lump forming in my throat.

Another movie that gets to me is Philadelphia. OK, the movie shamelessly stereotypes the main characters, but it's very effective. It probably helped too that Tom Hanks and Denzil Washington, two of my favorite actors, played the main characters. I can watch this movie almost to the end and I am fine. I'm even OK when Andrew Becket finally succumbs to his disease. It's that final scene that gets me, the collage of memories playing against the haunting tones of Neil Young's voice. Blubbering Wreckdom, here I come.

It's not only serious movies that get to me either. When Mufasa cops it during Disney's The Lion King, I cry more than the kids. And I'm actually too scared to watch Bambi, even though it's probably the only Disney movie I've never seen.

Moving on....

As much as I should have a little sympathy for fellow saps, I'm actually the opposite. There's nothing I enjoy more than making people cry. Wait, that doesn't sound right. What I mean is that I love making people cry with my writing. For all that I am a relatively cold person, my stories usually lean heavily on the emotions. I can be funny too, and with a certain degree of success, but making people cry is a specialty of mine. And I love it, I'm just evil that way.

I'll never forget my first big emotional fanfiction. I was responsible for many a person trying to type through a river of tears. Heck, when I reposted the edited version (me being a Typo Queen, edited versions are compulsory), I cried buckets myself. *snorts* I don't know how it's worked out this way, but I seem to have a talent for making people sob.

I guess it wasn't a surprise that my novel would end up being the same way. OK, it's not written yet, but Soul Identity is a tearjerker, make no mistake. (Yes, I'm being brave and publicly announcing the title, it's part of the 'if I talk about it, I'll write the darn thing' plan). I'm being sneaky though. The story is not going to be a slow builder, with a great big cry-until-you-die ending, instead there are bite-sized pieces of emotionally draining scenes peppered throughout, chipping away slowly but surely so that the ending should totally wipe you out, even though it's not actually a big climax at all.

At least, that's what I'm hoping for. Ultimately, my aim is to get people emotionally involved in the story, and if I can get them to shed a tear or two along the way, I'll be a very happy cry-baby.