Blind Spot Update - And Some Random Winchester Ramblings
Hi Y'all.
It's past the pumpkin hour here in Dragonsland. *yawn*
I has been WRITING tonight, people. And Sam, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy... my God, boy. I has been PLEASED with you tonight. Way to talk to a Dragons, you big lug. And normally, we is not so chatty, the Sam and I. I am finding, in this multichap, a middle ground with the Sam. I started out in Chapter One, shaking him by the front of the shirt, weeping into his chest.
"What is you saying?" I would sob. "Tell me what you WANT."
The Dean has long been a permanent resident on the Dragons's couch. He lazes about while I write, drinking beer and scratching himself inappropriately. We bounce dialogue, and he piffs beer caps at my head when I am wrong. "I would never say/do/wear/eat/have/fuck/kill that, Dragons. You can fuck right off with that shit. Now come here and have at it, you wild, hot, fiesty thing, you."
This is mostly how chapters get delayed. All the mental screwing of Dean that has to go on between scenes.
Point being, conversations with the Dean have always been fluid and tending toward mental and physical nakedity. I have struggled - chapter after bloody chapter - with the smallest insight into the inner workings of the Winchester Sasquatch. But somewhere around Chapter Eight, this CHANGED. At first, he just smiled at me in the coffee line at Gloria Jean's during the DEPLORABLE INTERNETZ DEBACLE of Jan '08. By Chapter Ten, he was BUYING the coffee. We were sharing a table and CHATTING.
And now? At Chapter Thirteen? He isn't lounging on my couch. But he's sitting politely at the end of it. He tells Dean to take his boots off my coffee table, and Dean just snorts, because the Dean's already got the lowdown on this Dragon and MAN ALIVE, she is a bigger slob than HE IS.
Sam doesn't piff beer caps at me when I am wrong. He's more of a quiet cougher. One of those annoyingly diplomatic people who correct you by planting seeds that sprout later as your own ideas. God, I hate people like that.
But it INTERESTS me. This process. And the new appreciation I have for the Sam, as a result of it.
*blinks, nods* I think I am done flogging this tangent. I must away to bed.
For interested parties, the ETA on Chapter Thirteen is the end of the week. I was hoping midweek, but what with articles and class and other such stuff, it ain't gonna happen. We got a lot to get through in this chappy, and again, you guys get FUCK ALL until the Dragons is happy with it.
*is surfactantly sorry, but fundamentally unapologetic*
Have a great week, flisties. Can you believe
chocca2 refused me passage to Cubaland in her suitcase? Baggage allowance limitations, she cites. Pffft. What kind of bullshit is that? I hope her mojitos are tepid and completely void of refreshment. *sulks*
It's past the pumpkin hour here in Dragonsland. *yawn*
I has been WRITING tonight, people. And Sam, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy... my God, boy. I has been PLEASED with you tonight. Way to talk to a Dragons, you big lug. And normally, we is not so chatty, the Sam and I. I am finding, in this multichap, a middle ground with the Sam. I started out in Chapter One, shaking him by the front of the shirt, weeping into his chest.
"What is you saying?" I would sob. "Tell me what you WANT."
The Dean has long been a permanent resident on the Dragons's couch. He lazes about while I write, drinking beer and scratching himself inappropriately. We bounce dialogue, and he piffs beer caps at my head when I am wrong. "I would never say/do/wear/eat/have/fuck/kill that, Dragons. You can fuck right off with that shit. Now come here and have at it, you wild, hot, fiesty thing, you."
This is mostly how chapters get delayed. All the mental screwing of Dean that has to go on between scenes.
Point being, conversations with the Dean have always been fluid and tending toward mental and physical nakedity. I have struggled - chapter after bloody chapter - with the smallest insight into the inner workings of the Winchester Sasquatch. But somewhere around Chapter Eight, this CHANGED. At first, he just smiled at me in the coffee line at Gloria Jean's during the DEPLORABLE INTERNETZ DEBACLE of Jan '08. By Chapter Ten, he was BUYING the coffee. We were sharing a table and CHATTING.
And now? At Chapter Thirteen? He isn't lounging on my couch. But he's sitting politely at the end of it. He tells Dean to take his boots off my coffee table, and Dean just snorts, because the Dean's already got the lowdown on this Dragon and MAN ALIVE, she is a bigger slob than HE IS.
Sam doesn't piff beer caps at me when I am wrong. He's more of a quiet cougher. One of those annoyingly diplomatic people who correct you by planting seeds that sprout later as your own ideas. God, I hate people like that.
But it INTERESTS me. This process. And the new appreciation I have for the Sam, as a result of it.
*blinks, nods* I think I am done flogging this tangent. I must away to bed.
For interested parties, the ETA on Chapter Thirteen is the end of the week. I was hoping midweek, but what with articles and class and other such stuff, it ain't gonna happen. We got a lot to get through in this chappy, and again, you guys get FUCK ALL until the Dragons is happy with it.
*is surfactantly sorry, but fundamentally unapologetic*
Have a great week, flisties. Can you believe
chocca2 refused me passage to Cubaland in her suitcase? Baggage allowance limitations, she cites. Pffft. What kind of bullshit is that? I hope her mojitos are tepid and completely void of refreshment. *sulks*