(no subject)
Kath used to give me unholy amounts of grief over writing fan fiction.
Now, she loved my fanfic, and would praise my writing skills often to the point of making me uncomfortable. But she would also lament that I didn't have the drive it took to make the transition from fan writer to professional. "You're just never going to do it," she'd say, usually accompanied by a melodramatic sigh and sad shake of the head. She liked her theatre, did Kath.
So, last night, after I finished vanquishing the dreaded Adverb Monster and putting the final spit-and-polish* on my submission for Ruins, I walked out into the entry hall where I keep Kath's photo on a bookshelf, right next to a Day of the Dead figurine of a skeleton typing feverishly away.
I stood in front of Kath's picture, smiled...and gave her the finger.
I'd like to think she would have appreciated the gesture, and that somewhere, her ghost is cackling its ectoplasmic ass off.
*At least, I hope to Christ it's the final polish. :P
Now, she loved my fanfic, and would praise my writing skills often to the point of making me uncomfortable. But she would also lament that I didn't have the drive it took to make the transition from fan writer to professional. "You're just never going to do it," she'd say, usually accompanied by a melodramatic sigh and sad shake of the head. She liked her theatre, did Kath.
So, last night, after I finished vanquishing the dreaded Adverb Monster and putting the final spit-and-polish* on my submission for Ruins, I walked out into the entry hall where I keep Kath's photo on a bookshelf, right next to a Day of the Dead figurine of a skeleton typing feverishly away.
I stood in front of Kath's picture, smiled...and gave her the finger.
I'd like to think she would have appreciated the gesture, and that somewhere, her ghost is cackling its ectoplasmic ass off.
*At least, I hope to Christ it's the final polish. :P