No artz today
No art club this week and I've already posted the only things I've done. Feeling a bit pfft today. Yes, that sums me up: pfft. Might draw this afternoon cause my wee assistant from next door wants to visit and draw with Auntie Ros. Don't hold out much hope of getting much done.
Been poking about with writing but it's not flowing - not that it ever flowed, but at least I used to be able to produce something vaguely readable. Now it's so lacking in anything, it's frustrating. Want to meander into self pity *take breath* and, we're back. Poked about with drabbles, poked about with an attempt at a Primeval fic - but aside from one paragraph that I love, the thing is tosh in a basket of drivel.
The teeny wee section of joy (cause the chances of me ever writing this is miniscule):
"Becker, could you just-"
"No!" Becker snapped, slamming the door closed in Lester's face and hearing a muffled, "Good Lord!" and the sound of an armful of papers cascading onto the floor.
He was going to pay for that later, he knew. Now, though, he grabbed the nearest chair and slid it under the door handle.
Aside from that I have been pootling about with an old Harry Potter fic that is SO self-indulgent. My OTP in Harry Potter was never any of the main pairings, it was always Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood. Thing is, folks still read the boringly predictable pairings, but the obscure ones? Not so much. Not bitter or anyfink. No real point in writing it, really, but I pick away. Particularly proud of myself (sarcasm mode on) that I had Marcus make Oliver's little brother, Stuart, wet himself. He did deserve it.
Marcus had leant close to Stuart and was whispering ferociously in his ear, only odd words filtering to Oliver’s ears: Can’t hide, rip, fucker, sleeping. His own name, said viciously and punctuated by a jab of the wand. As the Slytherin spoke a patch of urine began to spread across the front of Stuart’s jeans and his face had turned a deathly white.
Aaaand...that's my self indulgent waffle over for the weekend.
Shall I just share some pics of why I love Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint? Why not. Pretty, very pretty.
Been poking about with writing but it's not flowing - not that it ever flowed, but at least I used to be able to produce something vaguely readable. Now it's so lacking in anything, it's frustrating. Want to meander into self pity *take breath* and, we're back. Poked about with drabbles, poked about with an attempt at a Primeval fic - but aside from one paragraph that I love, the thing is tosh in a basket of drivel.
The teeny wee section of joy (cause the chances of me ever writing this is miniscule):
"Becker, could you just-"
"No!" Becker snapped, slamming the door closed in Lester's face and hearing a muffled, "Good Lord!" and the sound of an armful of papers cascading onto the floor.
He was going to pay for that later, he knew. Now, though, he grabbed the nearest chair and slid it under the door handle.
Aside from that I have been pootling about with an old Harry Potter fic that is SO self-indulgent. My OTP in Harry Potter was never any of the main pairings, it was always Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood. Thing is, folks still read the boringly predictable pairings, but the obscure ones? Not so much. Not bitter or anyfink. No real point in writing it, really, but I pick away. Particularly proud of myself (sarcasm mode on) that I had Marcus make Oliver's little brother, Stuart, wet himself. He did deserve it.
Marcus had leant close to Stuart and was whispering ferociously in his ear, only odd words filtering to Oliver’s ears: Can’t hide, rip, fucker, sleeping. His own name, said viciously and punctuated by a jab of the wand. As the Slytherin spoke a patch of urine began to spread across the front of Stuart’s jeans and his face had turned a deathly white.
Aaaand...that's my self indulgent waffle over for the weekend.
Shall I just share some pics of why I love Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint? Why not. Pretty, very pretty.