Dreams, Writing, and Brownies.
Holy shit, Kate Beckinsale was hot in Underworld. I've seen that movie, like, twelve times since it came out because it's good background noise. The first time I saw it, I thought that Selene was cool and all, but it kind of slipped past me. Now, every time I see the movie, she gets bumped up a notch. I think she's now about an 11/10 for cool and hot combined. I die for dark hair and pale eyes on men, and on her, combined with that skin and that deadly demeanor, it is simply devastating.
I only mention this because I dreamed about her extensively last night. Mostly kicking ass, but there was a fair amount of NC-17 going on. Nothing on the scale of the Mandy Moore/Jason Isaacs ponygirl dream, but you can't have everything.
I may be the geekiest person alive in that I have dreams in which I am one of my characters. Roleplaying or writing, doesn't matter.
Now that I have confessed this, it won't seem odd if I occasionally mention that I had a dream as someone else. And two of my currently-running characters are in serious love with Selene (and arguing over who gets which end, which is really disturbing to hear going on in your own skull, let me tell you).
The dreams were nice, anyway, even if Argent and Damon are at one another's throats over who she'd go for (neither -- she'd go for the Prof., but he'd be terrified of her). (I sound like such a geek-ass fangirl that it frankly makes me want to puke.)
Why don't I dream more than I do? Because, honestly, I don't dream that much at all. Not the kind that you remember.
I'm inclined to believe that it's because I spend four or five hours every day writing, and a couple of three days a week, I spend several hours roleplaying or refereeing a game, so my subconscious actually gets quite a workout.
It could also be that I am such an animal, and function daily on such an instinctive, unrepressed level, that dreams serve very little purpose as far as psychological overflow/expression of the repressed goes.
I really don't know.
Anyway, I've been writing a lot -- about two thousand words a day -- and am now done with Chapter 11. At this rate, in another month I will have finished the current project, and will be feeling suicidal. Now would be the time to hide the sharp objects.
I sincerely hope I manage to get another project on track before then, because I'm afraid of derailing myself or running out of steam. (Three locomotive metaphors in one line. Must be my train of thought.)
Last night was the Night of the Living Dead Writers, when I attended my writing group's regular reading session. Three good stories were read (one read by me, but not written by me, because M wanted to hear it read aloud), and I'm on top of the list for next time, when I shall debut Blades for the public. There were also some very good brownies apparently made by our resident Gorgeous Rich Published Author Guy With A Huge House. He can apparently also cook.
I'm wondering, if I put him in the basement, would the meter-man notice him through the window when he comes by? Because it would almost be worth the risk.
I was going to get my picture taken in my dance costume today, but the weather is rainy, and I'm quite sure that no pictures taken in the dripping, lightless Hell that is the outer world would come out. Not that I mind rain, this is just the really unpleasant kind, where it seems like the whole world has a runny nose.
I'm going now, hopefully to get some work done.
link
I only mention this because I dreamed about her extensively last night. Mostly kicking ass, but there was a fair amount of NC-17 going on. Nothing on the scale of the Mandy Moore/Jason Isaacs ponygirl dream, but you can't have everything.
I may be the geekiest person alive in that I have dreams in which I am one of my characters. Roleplaying or writing, doesn't matter.
Now that I have confessed this, it won't seem odd if I occasionally mention that I had a dream as someone else. And two of my currently-running characters are in serious love with Selene (and arguing over who gets which end, which is really disturbing to hear going on in your own skull, let me tell you).
The dreams were nice, anyway, even if Argent and Damon are at one another's throats over who she'd go for (neither -- she'd go for the Prof., but he'd be terrified of her). (I sound like such a geek-ass fangirl that it frankly makes me want to puke.)
Why don't I dream more than I do? Because, honestly, I don't dream that much at all. Not the kind that you remember.
I'm inclined to believe that it's because I spend four or five hours every day writing, and a couple of three days a week, I spend several hours roleplaying or refereeing a game, so my subconscious actually gets quite a workout.
It could also be that I am such an animal, and function daily on such an instinctive, unrepressed level, that dreams serve very little purpose as far as psychological overflow/expression of the repressed goes.
I really don't know.
Anyway, I've been writing a lot -- about two thousand words a day -- and am now done with Chapter 11. At this rate, in another month I will have finished the current project, and will be feeling suicidal. Now would be the time to hide the sharp objects.
I sincerely hope I manage to get another project on track before then, because I'm afraid of derailing myself or running out of steam. (Three locomotive metaphors in one line. Must be my train of thought.)
Last night was the Night of the Living Dead Writers, when I attended my writing group's regular reading session. Three good stories were read (one read by me, but not written by me, because M wanted to hear it read aloud), and I'm on top of the list for next time, when I shall debut Blades for the public. There were also some very good brownies apparently made by our resident Gorgeous Rich Published Author Guy With A Huge House. He can apparently also cook.
I'm wondering, if I put him in the basement, would the meter-man notice him through the window when he comes by? Because it would almost be worth the risk.
I was going to get my picture taken in my dance costume today, but the weather is rainy, and I'm quite sure that no pictures taken in the dripping, lightless Hell that is the outer world would come out. Not that I mind rain, this is just the really unpleasant kind, where it seems like the whole world has a runny nose.
I'm going now, hopefully to get some work done.
link