Apr 20, 2007 12:25
Dear Self,
No more exchange ficathons. Not ever. You don't do well with writing to spec and deadlines. You make yourself sick, stress out over whether your recipient will like the fic, and then should life make it impossible to finish on time, you hate yourself with the heat of one million suns.
Seriously no love,
Me
*
Dear Nathan, Peter, Mr. Linderman, Mohinder, et al,
I hope you all die when New York explodes.
Even less love,
Me
*
Dear Sam, Dean, Jared, Jensen, Bruce and Oliver,
OMG I miss you. I hope I can come home today.
*clings tightly*
So much love,
Me
*
Dear John, Rodney, Kara, Lee, John, Aeryn,
You never gave me this much trouble. I thank you for it.
XOXO,
Me
*
Dear Flist,
I'm sorry I've been absent. See first letter. Between family and ficathons, plunging headlong into the sun's corona is beginning to look like a noble way to die.
With luck, Nathan and Peter will cooperate and angst, schmoop and screw like good brothers in this final scene of the fic that's been breaking me and I will return today.
Until then, ♥
Me