November is not my shiny month. >_> Thus the dead silence.

Pfft, you hardly need to read the book to do the fic—especially where Tutu is concerned and artistic license rules with wild abandon. Plus, you know that whatever somebody else writes, no matter how fantabulous, will have you thinking “Oh, yeah, awesome, but I wonder why s/he didn’t…” it’s the writer’s curse; we are jealous breed of maniac. Possessive, too. So you might as well spare your therapist the buzzing and pick up the pen and skip down that merry yellow brick road, hi ho hi ho.

Seriously: allergies. Eye twitching. A mild, yet persistent, compulsion to bat things with a frying pan at the very mention of Kansas or rainbows.