Iiiiiiiit's a writing meme!
What's the last thing you wrote?
Original: "Notebook of Genuine Lies", a short story for my Creative Writing class
Fanfic: " Alright", a Dracula fic.
Was it any good?
Original: Yeah. I'm still not quite done tweaking it, but it's getting there.
Fic: As good as it ever is.
What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?
My mother still has, somewhere, the original of this story: "Once upon a time there was a pig, a cow, and a bunny. There were all friends." It was written on a PacBell memo cube when I was four, or thereabouts.
Write poetry?
Not if I can help it.
Angsty poetry?
Definitely not anymore. I have crapload of it from when I was twelve though.
Most fun character you ever wrote?
Original: Either Sal, the straightest cross-dressing con-artist spy ever (MM), or Prythanor, the villain who couldn't die off because the heroes weren't worth reading about (SoT).
Fic: BEDIVERE! Or Mordred. Or Seward. Or Zara. Or possibly the Apocalyptic Horsepersons collective.
Most annoying character you ever wrote?
Original: Valilah, the fortune-hunting would-be fiancee (DC).
Fic: Holy crap, I wrote so much DF crackfic back in the day I have no idea.
Best plot you ever wrote?
Original: NaNoNovel '07 (MM) or projected NanoNovel '09 (A&L) have the best potential if they get finshed.
Fic: I've always thought "The Red Dragon and the Firedrake" (Arthurian/Westmark) was one of my better stories.
Coolest plot twist you ever wrote?
Original:
Fic: " A Barber and His Neighbor" (Sweeney Todd/Les Mis) or " Friends" (Dracula).
How often do you get writer's block?
Frequently.
How do you fix it?
Either letting it run it's course until inspiration decends, or SHEER FORCE OF WILL AND DEADLINE PRESSURE!!!
Do you type or write by hand?
Yes.
Do you save everything you write?
Most of it. Occasionally if I know I'll never do anything with the crap I just typed I'll close Word without saving, but it's very rare.
Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it?
Frequently.
What's your favorite thing that you've written?
I really don't know. I'm so critical of my own work it's hard to say.
What's everyone else's favorite thing that you've written?
I don't know. OPINION POLL! WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN?
Do you ever show people your work?
Not the original stuff until I;m absolutely sure it's ready for another set of eyes. However, my fanfic is all over ladybedivere without shame.
Who's your favorite constructive critic?
Erm...no one, as yet. Edward?
Did you ever write a novel?
Started many, completed none, as yet.
Have you ever written fantasy, sci-fi, or horror?
All ove the above, I think. Maybe not Sci-fi. Can't remember.
Ever written romance or teen angsty drama?
Plenty of the former, a touch of the latter.
What's one genre you have never written, and probably never will?
I have never actually written a Western. I don't necessarily plan on doing so, but never say never.
How many writing projects are you working on right now?
Decline to state. My calculator doesn't display that many digits anyway.
Do you want to write for a living?
Sure.
Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper?
Not yet.
Have you ever won an award for your writing?
...I don't think so. I've gotten perfect grades on college essays though.
Ever written something in script or play format?
All the time!
What is your favorite word?
Coffee?
Do you ever write based on yourself?
I try to avoid doing so overtly, because it's awkward. I have have a couple of minor characters in a couple stories who are me in other guises though. Yay self-insertion cameos!
Which of your characters most resembles you?
Aside from the ones intentionally written to do so? Either Julia (FwB) or possibly Aunt Kitty (A&L). I know which characters I'd like to be more like though.
Where do you get ideas for your characters?
Anywhere and everywhere.
Do you ever write based on your dreams?
When I was thirteen I wrote a very disturbing story about a very disturbing dream and called it "Death and the Maiden" after the subject matter. The craft itself was crap, but the idea still haunts me to this day. Someday I'll fix it.
Do you prefer happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers?
All of the above, but in different circumstances. Mostly, I just like the ending to be appropriate to the story.
Have you ever written anything based on an artwork you've seen?
Yep.
Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
Why do you think I've never won NaNoWriMo?
Ever write something entirely in chatspeak?
I can safely say no.
Does music help you write?
Sometimes.
Are people surprised and confused when they find out you write well?
No. I write in very much the same way I talk. They're more surprised to hear that I write FanFic, until they find out all my primary fandoms are 100+ years old.
Quote something you've written:
"The Painter" (written September 2005)
In the glaring light of the day they were separate, two individuals within the milling crowds which filled the streets. He sat at his corner, with his palette and brushes beside him, painting the scene of his mind’s eye. Sometimes a bird flew across his canvas, or a carriage galloped; other times a cathedral would look over it, most often a vase of flower grew there; after all, the flowers would put food on the table. The crowds liked flowers.
A bustling street away, she was at another corner. She danced her way between the tables, plates and drinks balanced on her tray. Mostly there were gentlemen at the tables, waiting for meat, waiting for wine, waiting for her. She would avert her eyes, as a girl should, but she knew they still stared. Gentlemen are, after all, still men.
Sometimes the streets would seem to clear, and they would glimpse each other. He would catch her long auburn waves in the corner of his vision; she would feel the piercing blue of his eye. But then the crowds, rushing about their own lives, would again full the streets, and the two were pulled back to their own tasks.
In the flickering glow of the candlelight they were lovers, young fools trying together to survive. She would cook a meager fare, or tuck her long skirts up at the sides as she tidied the garret. He would continue to paint, painting the flowers he hated. The crowds liked flowers.
As the weather turned colder, the café was less crowded. She huddled inside, waiting for patrons, waiting for work, waiting for bad news. There were not as many people out now on the streets. Sometimes when she looked out the window she saw him, blowing on his finger to keep them warm and still painting.
The rain came. He began to stay home, and she would bring him candles to last through the dreary days as he painted. Day and night they burned in the garret room, a false warmth in the clod. Eventually, she came home in the middle of the day. She had a cough, and few gentlemen came to the café in the cold. She would go back in a day or two.
After an eternity, which rich crowds called winter, the dark and cold and rain disappeared. The milling crowds again filled the streets, and gentlemen came once more to the café. They were not there. It was on what the crowds called the first day for spring that they saw him again. He sat at his corner, with his palette and brushes beside him, and a small portrait of a woman. The crowds called it beautiful, but he never said a word; he was busy painting flowers. The crowds liked flowers.