writer's whine

So I've been thinking about why I keep getting these niggling ideas for Lord Of The Rings fanfiction, and nevertheless have yet to actually write anything down.

One I took a moment to think about it, the answer was disgustingly simple: I don't know shit about the canon.

Yep. That's my big excuse. Too lazy to do the research. I haven't read the books in three years, and the reading I've done so far has shown me how woefully unprepared I'd be.

I'd say, "They were walking through Mirkwood toward the castle."

Everyone else would say, "They were walking through the meadow of [insert elivish stuff name here] toward the abode of the Elvish King Thurandil, where in this month of springe/fall/etc they were preparign for the tradional feast and celebration of [insert elivish stuff name here], in memory of the great story of [insert elivish stuff name here], as told in the Simarillion and the secret writings of Tolkein and other such ballads that certain negligent little fans are just too lazy to read, and certainly couldn't spell, even if they did see the movie plenty of times in the theater and now think they know stuff."

You see my prob? I'd have to do hellish research, because one thing I personally cannot STAND in other people, and much less myself, is writing fanfic based on other people's fanfic portrayal of events & characters, instead of on the actual events & characters in the canon.

And really, I just don't have the will to bother, or a story idea that's worth the work. Besides, I'd probably make it sound like Buffy. I'd have Aragorn going "Bloody 'ell!" and Arwen saying "Ew! Frogs!-- and hey, gay now!"

And lord knows what I'd do to Legolas. Probably something along the lines of "Sauron getting the One Ring would really be of the bad. We better make the killing now, before they get away! Remember, I AM THE LAW!"

::cough:: See? Nothing good would come of it anyway. I'm doomed to only Buffyfic until that series goes off the air completely. And I can't even do that anymore, as I've got next to nothing to say about it right now. Shit.

(no subject)

Meme from saava:

Favorite movie - Tough choice. The Lord Of The Rings. And yes, I'm cheating and claiming all three together, as it was all one book to start of with anyway.
Worst Movie Seen - Dragon Fighter. Watched it on SciFi channel recently. An embarrassment to the meager 2 brain cells I spent paying attention to it.
Last Movie Seen (in theater) - Chicago. Splendid-- everyone should go see it.
Last Movie Seen (on video) - Donnie Darko, as I recorded it from cable.
Most Depressing Movie Seen - A Simple Plan. It all starts small, and snowballs. In a bad way. A very, very bad way.
Funniest Movie Seen - A Fish Called Wanda. "Oh no! It's K-K-Ken coming to k-k-kkill me!"
Most Romantic Movie - Moulin Rouge. Because that was it's entire point-- romanticism.
Movie That Always Makes Me Cry - No movies "always" make me cry. But I've cried twice for Braveheart.
Movie Seen the Most Times - Hm... probably Sleepless In Seattle, or The little Mermaid. Or maybe Get Shorty. I can't quite remember for sure...

(no subject)

I went to visit my grandmother in the hospital today, after class. My dad had just arrived back home from San Diego, where he'd gone to see my brother's ship off, and we drove together. My grandma had been admitted yesterday, for the second time in a two weeks. This is the nth trip to the hospital in the last four years; we're not sure if she'll even be going back home this time.

As best I understand it, her lungs are failing. It's that and a hundred other things, but that in the end. This will be the second grandparent I've lost to tobacco in three years.

She was smoking cigarettes as much as two days ago. Her lungs are destroyed, eaten alive, after 60 years of it. If she'd stopped, she could have lived another 15 years, or more. My mother would have more than a meager 5 years grace time between losing her father too, and I wouldn't be reduced to a single grandparent.

A month or more ago, I asked my grandma something I never had before-- why she smoked. She gave me some bullshit answer, which boiled down too it's too late now, damage is done. She said "there's more to life than quantity-- there's also quality." That if she gave up the pleasures like smoking and candy and such, maybe she'd live another ten or so years, but she didn't think it'd be worth it.

All I could do was stare at her, and fight the urge not to burst into tears. Not to jump up from her couch and scream "WHAT ABOUT LIVING TO SEE MY CHILDREN, IS THAT WORTH IT? WHAT ABOUT BEING THERE ON MY WEDDING DAY? THAT'S NOT WORTH IT?!"

But I didn't, because that would have been unbelievably cruel, and it would have solved nothing. Because I was too busy staring at her wrists that were nothing but sinew and skin and blotchy red welts, too busy seeing the hunched, bent back of a woman who was once taller than myself or my mother, a beautiful 5'9" that I knew I'd never reach.

Now, two months later, she's like a paper doll, and instead of blotches on her arms where bruises flowered or tender vessels burst, the blood has spread under her skin from her elbows to the backs of her hands. She can barely hear and can't move her own weight and her eyes are kind, but listless.

And I stared at a small box by the side of her bed, watching a red bar of light rise and fall with semi-regular rhythm, like on a stereo system screen, and beside it a digital numeric read out. I asked my dad what the bar was, and he said it was a pulse indicator.

I've never seen a hospital pulse reading next to someone I loved before.

(no subject)

My mother just got home, from being at the hospital. She looked so normal and easy and composed, trying so hard to be in control, and she asked me to set the table for the dinner my dad was making. And I did, but I was standing in the kitchen just watching them talk when I just walked out and went to my room, and leaned against my door in the dark and started to cry, because right now all I can think about is being nine and a friend and I sneaking into my room where my grandpa George was sleeping during his visit, and sneaking around his body on the floor, because we thought he was just sleeping and we wanted to get the dress-up box under the bed--and it was early in the morning and an hour later there's people with a gurney and machines rushing in through my front door and my mom is crying and telling saying my friend needs to go home, and that my grandpa's had a stroke. It was a stroke that started the three-years it took him to die, half-paralized and mean and unhappy. And I'm thinking about my grandpa Roland a year and a half ago, lying like a white corspe in his bed while my cousins stand around, part of us knowing that this will be the last time we're all together with him, because he has cancer in his throat from pipe-smoking and now he's slowing starving to death, because he can't eat except liquid and he can't breathe.

And they've called but I can't go out to eat dinner now because I'm still crying because now my grandma Marge is in a hospital too, and she's going die soon, the woman who got me hooked on The X-Files and told me fantastic stories and was going to teach me how dianetics worked and had shook the hand of President Kennedy and never talked to me like a child even when I was one and taught me that chubby fngers are the hands of an artist like my mother and like her mother and in pictures was the most beautiful woman in a wedding I've ever seen.

And I can't stop crying.

(no subject)

from: http://www.galaxyofhealth.com/mar01/galaxykids.html


What are Tears?

IF you think of your eyeball surface as the windsheild on a car, your eyelids as the wipers, your tears are the windsheild cleaner.

When you blink, your eyelids enable them to 'wash' the dirt/irritants away. When you cry, it is simply an overproduction of 'tears'.

Your tears are manufactured in small organs above your eyes in the lachrymal glands and are slightly salty. While continually keeping the eye moist, the slight excess that isn't needed, drains via the tear ducts.

There are three types of tears:

1. Basal
This is the everyday type which keep your eye surface clean and moist.

2. Reflex
This type occurs when your eye is exposed to irritants such as dust or when you cut onions.

3. Psychogeno
This type occurs in emotional situations, like when you're sad or really happy.

*

And you want to know the real bitch of today?

I almost died on the drive back from the hospital, around 5 o'clock. A car pulled out insanely fast on a busy street and didn't look at us coming. If it had been going a mile faster or my dad had been less than a second slower in swerving, it woudl have crashed nose-first into my passenger side door, crushing me to death. I can see its bumper coming right at me if I close my eyes and think.

And until my mom mentioned it five minutes ago as a reason to still be a little glad, I'd forgotten about it entirely.

I'm just too tired of feeling right now.

Feeling heartbroken, helpless and out of control and scared, feeling black and depressed.

(no subject)

Feeling much better right now. Haven't cried in 3+ hours, and am bordering on cheering myself up. Just read some good fanfic, and that helped. Especially reading the newst chatper of starbaby's "I'll Fly Away", a long-awaited update.

Also cheered self up somewhat with watching the trailer for "Pirates of the Caribbean", a movie which looks like it could be very very cool. Look at the cast majors:

Johnny Depp
Geoffrey Rush
Orlando Bloom

JD is both unbelievably pretty, and a great actor. GR is a great actor, though not so pretty, but definitely entertaining to watch. OB is also unbelievably pretty, and seems to be a decent actor, but we haven't seen enough of him in big, visible movies to be sure-- but I'm confident.

Unfortunately, I don't know anything about the plot. But by the cast alone it has a lot of potential. I can't wait until a second trailer comes out, one that actually shows you what the actors will look like in character...