The Day I Write a Post That Has a Clear Subject, We Will All Die From Flying Pigs and Frozen Hell
Official studies currently being conducted are indicating that the noise of the neighbours re-shingling their roof could only be louder if they were in fact re-shingling the roof of my soul.
Which, hey, is fine, it's looking a little grubby [1], but my sleep schedule has been corrupted by staying up all night when normal human people are supposed to be sleeping because I wrote a novel apparently.
Oh yeah.
So I finished with 53,642 which fell a wee bit short of my 6o,ooo goal, but still kicked the ass of what I wrote last year (36,ooo, by hand) and the year before (7oo, by suckage). I am still so beyond happy with what I did though so stfu awful writing coach of doom [2].
Unfortunately for my life, some quote-unquote friends of mine started a fanfic challenge community wherein they're only purpose for having me is to TORTURE my soul with most excellent prompts and then take whatever prompts I give them and turn them into 'evil!Sam is evil and puts his penis there (yes there!) because of his evilness!'. God forbid (apparently literally in this case) anyone have a healthy relationship. You know who you are and you know what you did. [3] So the rest of my life will be spent filling ridic prompts and giggling my ass off at doomful pinball machines, Supernatural Cardcaptors, superhero mpreg and singing FBI agents.
Career counselor appointment again today, will attempt not to lop off the man's head with a machete. Then scrapbooking with GGC and Big Bang Theory with the roommates the evening.
Wouldn't it be great/weird if I combined at least two of those activities? Scrapbooking with a machete? Career counseling from the characters from BBT? Oh the possibilities.
[1] Again, I think fandom is to blame.
[2] 'He's your writing coach' is the roommate's 'hilarious' way of justifying putting our most feral cat in my bedsheets while I'm sleeping.
[3] For the curious and for others who might hate me, here's A Little Taste of Heaven. You have been warned, of course, that it's totally NSFW and also unkind towards angels, Dean Winchester, my soul, the innocence of babies and kittens, and Sam fangirls everywhere. SO GOOD, but mean.
Which, hey, is fine, it's looking a little grubby [1], but my sleep schedule has been corrupted by staying up all night when normal human people are supposed to be sleeping because I wrote a novel apparently.
Oh yeah.
So I finished with 53,642 which fell a wee bit short of my 6o,ooo goal, but still kicked the ass of what I wrote last year (36,ooo, by hand) and the year before (7oo, by suckage). I am still so beyond happy with what I did though so stfu awful writing coach of doom [2].
Unfortunately for my life, some quote-unquote friends of mine started a fanfic challenge community wherein they're only purpose for having me is to TORTURE my soul with most excellent prompts and then take whatever prompts I give them and turn them into 'evil!Sam is evil and puts his penis there (yes there!) because of his evilness!'. God forbid (apparently literally in this case) anyone have a healthy relationship. You know who you are and you know what you did. [3] So the rest of my life will be spent filling ridic prompts and giggling my ass off at doomful pinball machines, Supernatural Cardcaptors, superhero mpreg and singing FBI agents.
Career counselor appointment again today, will attempt not to lop off the man's head with a machete. Then scrapbooking with GGC and Big Bang Theory with the roommates the evening.
Wouldn't it be great/weird if I combined at least two of those activities? Scrapbooking with a machete? Career counseling from the characters from BBT? Oh the possibilities.
[1] Again, I think fandom is to blame.
[2] 'He's your writing coach' is the roommate's 'hilarious' way of justifying putting our most feral cat in my bedsheets while I'm sleeping.
[3] For the curious and for others who might hate me, here's A Little Taste of Heaven. You have been warned, of course, that it's totally NSFW and also unkind towards angels, Dean Winchester, my soul, the innocence of babies and kittens, and Sam fangirls everywhere. SO GOOD, but mean.