tierfal: (Matt - Bang)
INTOXICATED, for [livejournal.com profile] icequeenrex, Matt/Mello, Light/L, Mikami/Gevanni/Near.

Also known as the reason that two free hours from my canceled Theater 11 class did not result in my getting my Statement of Academic Purpose rewritten, also known as the reason my day epic failed and nosedived and has been added to the list of WOW I SUCK. So if you have any interest (and, y'know, time to get through 10,600 words), you should read it, if only to validate my stupidity. >_>

/shameless self-pimpage

raaaaaaar. )

tierfal: (Improving Life)
Let's see what I did today, shall we?

Because I heart LJ cuts.

(well, if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say) )

Also, early [livejournal.com profile] brigits_flame piece is early. I'm not sure why. Probably because the thought struck me, and then I was doing the Emo Thing all afternoon, and I decided to get one useful thing done while I was at it. XD



And for once, all that analyze-able stuff in it is intentional. O_o

And as the lights all went out
We watched our lives on the screen
I hate the ending, myself
But it started with an all right scene

- "Disenchanted" - My Chemical Romance -

tierfal: (L - Bewildered)
I wanted to wait until I had finished TEIN and be all like THIS IS VICTORY, but... yeah.  Instead I slept in until 11:30 this morning and then did some homework.  (All and sundry gasp in amazement, I know.)  Homework entailed reading the first hundred pages of The Tattooed Soldier by Hector Tobar for English, which is... good, but melancholy in a way that has really toyed with my head.  I probably should have thought about that before I accidentally signed up for a seminar entitled "Immigrant Narratives" -- practically all of them are extraordinarily depressing.

So I'm at one of those weird emotional places where I just feel gray, but I can play along and act normal just fine.  I think I almost laugh more enthusiastically when I'm feeling like this (which is more often than I'd like to admit), but it feels weirdly empty afterward.

Uhhh... Going to go see if I can force the little Matt-Mello drivel-fic I've had floating in my head since I started reading to coalesce.  Hmm.

I should really just slam-bang-smack out the last chapter of TEIN so that I can be done, but if the epilogue to that fic was dreary, it would just ruin everything ever. :P
tierfal: (Near)
So let's talk about Death Note fic. Because I want to.

First, pimpage that you MUST observe.

Alive by Alien ABC's
What was Lind L. Tailor's crime, and why was his case kept so secret? Wammy's House, the number Thirteen, and the month of October. Some ghosts are hard to lay to rest.

Why must you observe it? Because it is Halloween incarnate. Because it has a brilliant mystery gearing up to blow your mind, and because said brilliant mystery is poignantly encased in autumnal reverence, beautiful characterizations, and exquisitely adorable Wammy's fluff. 8D

Okay. Now let's talk about fic.

Useless Babbl -- Er, a Special Preview... )

In the non-fic-related sphere of whining, I keep going to bed at eleven, when my roommate does, simply because I have nothing better to do. This results in about nine hours of sleep. For some reason, I'm more tired than I tend to be with seven. Maybe nine's too much.

Over and out, loves.

tierfal: (Mikami)

Hopefully not TOO hardcore angst... I'd hate to bore you any more than is strictly necessary. :P

WHO IS THAT SEXY MAN IN MY ICON??  *waves flirtatiously at Mikami*

[livejournal.com profile] baronanriel: DX

Er, /gratuitous fangirling...

The Further Chronicles of Computerlessness, or, They Lied to Me )

So there's that.

Regular This-Is-What-I-Did-Today Uselessness )

OH I remember the other thing.  No, you're not free yet.

Why I Want My Baby Back ) 

tierfal: (Die Plz)
So a little wire connecting my screen to the rest of the laptop shorted.  It'll put me back five hundred bucks for a new screen, and four hundred for a used replacement.


Sticker shock had me at a loss, but some recuperation (and some consulation with [livejournal.com profile] baronanriel) has pretty much confirmed that I should at least ask if it'd be possible to connect an external monitor so that I can keep using it.  Because really, at four hundred bucks, I might as well get a new fucking computer, folks.

I'm going to send a plaintive email to my stepdad, too, because he knows things about computers and whatnot.  Yeah.

I don't know if I could even get them to do it, if I was going to blow the four hundred and run, because it sounds like they don't take checks, and my credit card limit is two hundred bucks.  Debit, maybe?  Hell if I know.

I'm going to work on that coping thing now.  I seem to have already weaseled my way into an indeterminate extension on the French essay (which I am PISSED to learn I have to rewrite anyway, because he changed the prompt AFTER I was up until three writing it Sunday), because my teacher likes me.

I think that parenthetical comment contradicted the content around it.

Anyway, I give the hell up.  I should cut my classes today and go curl up in a corner and write fanfiction, but I sincerely doubt I will.  I don't seem to know what's good for me.


Sep. 13th, 2008 03:58 pm
tierfal: (Die Plz)
I'm asking for it leaving my computer unattended when my brother's around.

Ryuzaki nodded once and set the puzzle piece next to its brother on the nightstand.  Light craned his neck to look.  The two would fit together.

There was something reassuring about the way that puzzle pieces did that—the way they slotted right in with those around them, they way they belonged with the others.

He wondered briefly when the marmosets would come. They were crucial to his plan, and their loyalty had proved unwavering during the Cute Woodland Creatures War. But now, a new possibility worried him. Suppose that the marmosets didn’t like people with vaguely Japanese names? Once they realized his, would they turn on their former master with their tiny yet vicious fangs and claws? Ryuzaki hoped not. No power on Earth could match the ferocity of a fully-enraged marmoset, not even robo-Hitler on crack.

The marmosets arrived, marching through the doggie door with ephemeral grace. The lead marmoset, Captain Snuggle, stood at attention.

“We bring tidings of a new war, human,” he squeaked, “The likes of which even you cannot imagine.”

...yeah.  Funny, yes.  But it also just kind of hurts.

And now my mom's off again about how great a writer my brother is, how funny his writing is, and how much he always makes her want to read his work.

tierfal: (Confused Jack)
I got tired and now feel lame.  I hate that.  Even ice cream didn't help.  Crap.  Fail.  FAIL.

In the realm of the not-lame, the first little bit is up on [profile] cataracta_u.  Most of it will be locked simply so that we have a database of our stuff, but there will occasionally be public stuff, which you can peruse and worship.  What will be the first words of the first book are up there for your perusing and worshiping pleasure.  Don't tell me you have better things to do, because I know you're lying, and it's only three hundred and fifty words.  Hop to it.

...or else.

Pizza tonight will make it better.  Because pizza has powers that the mind cannot even begin to comprehend.
tierfal: (Trust Me)
Which is what recap is presumably short for.  Too lazy to make sure.

Felt persistently and irrevocably lame today.  Reveled in it.  Wallowed.  It was good.  Still feel kind of lame, though considerably better now.  Last night my mom dislodged the house-alarm-trigger-thingy on the window in my and my sister's room, and said window is above my desk, ergo my stepfather's prospective embarking upon a mission to fix it required that I clean up my desk.  I'm hoping/assuming it only needs half of my desk, because that's all I did, but cleaning helped a lot.  I like cleaning things.  It's therapeutic.  Especially when there is obnoxiously loud music involved.  I got my hands coated in the potent desk-dwelling cocktail that is dust and eraser crumbs, and it felt amazing.  Didn't hurt that I also drudged up a standardized test score my mom wanted, which resulted in my rifling through a bunch of old test scores and feeling as though I might actually have some redeeming value.  Always good.

I try to clean up other people's rooms, too.  It's kind of a problem.  Ask [profile] eltea; she has fallen victim to this trend on many an occasion.

Need to get a lot of sleep tonight in preparation for an epic weekend.  Probably won't.

Also perfected the Gerard mood theme earlier, which similarly made me feel better.  There are now no doubles: every single mood is a completely different picture.  The 'redeeming value' aspect of that particular task is a bit more doubtful.

The moral of the day comes from our friend Howl.

You tell 'em, Howl.

Oh, yeah, also started the third part of the "Her and Me" trilogy today.  And by "started," I mean "created a document, stuck in two pre-written pieces, and edited a little."  Very exciting.  Probably will result in nothing but a lot of whining about writer's block, though [profile] eltea will likely receive the brunt of that, never fear.



tierfal: (Die Plz)
...back to bed.  To basics.  To the drawing board.

Heigh ho, Silver... AWAAAAAY!

...it is eighty degrees outside.  DO NOT WANT.

It always worries me when my mother's general jadedness and cynicism actually makes me feel better by putting my teen-angst-woes-stupidity-whatever into perspective.  Or maybe she just kills my soul in small ways, and without it, everything is rather lighter and more tolerable.  Souls are kind of overrated, if you think about it.


I just clicked through every single mood option, because I wanted to see all the Gerard pictures.  This is probably not entirely normal.
tierfal: (Confused Jack)
Titling my posts is usually the hardest part of writing them, oddly enough.  Or perhaps not oddly enough, considering how I am about concision.

Incidentally, I love how people almost invariably use "Brevity is the soul of wit" wrong.  Silly people, not understanding the context.  Right up there with "Wherefore art thou Romeo."

I did the "Brevity" monologue for an audition; it was the pwnsauce.  Because obviously I am an aged, self-important counselor to a king, so it was my forte.

If I was merciful, I would sever my fingers, such that I would no longer be able to type and annoy the lot of you unfortunate people on my Friends list.  You poor, poor souls.

New icon, yay.  I made it a while ago, because I needed Brokeback Mountain closure, because that movie haunted my every move and thought for two weeks straight.  Flipping.  Amazing.  I was in a rut again this evening, so I decided maybe a new icon would make me happy.  Yay happies.  I heart Jack Twist.

I was going to get so much done today, and then I got tired, and when I get tired, I get depressed, and when I get depressed, nothing gets done.  So nothing got done.  Shizzlenit.  On the upside, I picked a good time to start getting lame and homesick, because I'm going home again this weekend.  *waves arms*  I made the conscious decision to boycott my English homework upon discovering that it was sixty pages of Emerson essays.  Yeah, not so much going to happen, thanks.

It's raining.  It was cloudy and gloomy all day, and then it started to rain.  I barely missed getting rather damp, because I was out getting food, and it was misting a little in that preemptive way that it does as I walked back.

So yeah.
tierfal: (Ronicus)
This icon always distracts me... I end up watching it a bunch of times.

Today I (think I) kicked the mythology test's sorry, lined-papered butt halfway to Hades.  I also participated in the discussion of Frankenstein, which I haven't finished reading.  I now need to write an essay on it, or perhaps a Romantic poet in our reader.  I mostly just want to write "No hable inglés" on a piece of paper and turn it in, but in addition to dooming my grade, that would be highly offensive, as my TA is Hispanic.


So everything went well until last night's two-in-the-morning bedtime, complete with lots of tossing and turning afterwards, caught up with me, and then I got all emo, per my tiredness pattern.  I've been so emo over the last month or two that I expect my wrists to start bleeding spontaneously.  Fer serious.  I need to get myself a My Chemical Romance T-shirt and move along.  (Amusingly/incidentally, [info]eltea went to an MCR concert last night with her brother.  Apparently it was pretty sweet.)  I will not, however, be dying my hair black.  As I discovered in a Photoshop project or two last year, I would look like hell warmed over with black hair.  Must be the pale-as-death complexion.  And the freckles.

tierfal: (Ronicus)
I've been tapping my foot trying to get rid of March for almost two weeks now, and last night (or, rather, this morning, while lying in bed attempting to sleep), I finally realized that I am absolutely not ready for Script Frenzy.

You see, what I have at the moment is one interesting protagonist, a few outlines of supporting characters, and a couple of scenes which may or may not be good, most of them hastily constructed around snippets of snappy dialogue.

This is not a movie script.

Certainly not a winning movie script.

Certainly not a movie script that is going to span a hundred pages and knock socks off, which is kinda what I'm looking for here.

I jotted scene ideas and little snatches of dialogue this morning (or, rather, this afternoon, since I didn't get up until 11:59), and I had... about eight scenes.  Many of which were follow-ups to smaller scenes before them.  And I drew one of those tacky plot diagrams from seventh grade, with the whole:
1. Exposition
2. Narrative Hook
3. Rising Action
4. Climax
5. Falling Action
6. Resolution

Yeah, didn't do me any good.  I don't have most of those things in any meaningful way.  Now, when I write books, and when I wrote my NaNo a year and a half ago, I didn't have much of that, either.  But I had a direction, at least sort of, and I had the leeway presented by a novel.  Novels can go on and on (and on and on), and provided that they're moving at a reasonable pace, you keep reading.  A movie can't do that.  When I wrote Gray Wolfe, i.e. my (apparently actually somewhat confusing) theatrical masterpiece of the summer, I had at least a vague idea about things like climaxes and so forth.  It worked out okay, though, like the "Her and Me" one, the climax there was too small and too quick to justify all the build-up.

All that rambling basically amounts to "I suck at plot outlines, and this time I need one."

I am needlessly getting that anxious-y feeling in my chest.  I need to go bang my head against a wall for a little while.

School is not going to be kind to me when I actually have to go back to it in a day and a half.

Good news is, The Gilded Golden Butterfly episode of the Backyardigans is among the best ones.  The kid who does Pablo's singing is angelically good.  We'll be very sad when his voice changes.  Yay for butterflies.
tierfal: (Blue Rose)
I really think I need to, you know, I dunno, not get on this ride anymore.  I think it's just that simple carbohydrates carry me for a while, and then I come plummeting down like a bird shot out of the sky, and go smoosh.

Yes, smoosh.

Or splat.

The weather has been disgustingly beautiful lately.  The sun's out, and the sky is robin's-egg blue tinged with this kind of whitish, misty layer at the bottom that I guess is either smog, clouds, or angel spit.  (Which is a funny image by itself, but I digress.)  The grass is a Crayola green, and everyone's going around wearing flip-flops and tank-tops and other things that rhyme and show a little more than you wanted to see.

Mostly I'm just sleepy.  I've been having issues sleeping lately -- first of all just getting to bed, and then sleeping once I'm there.  It is no good.  NO GOOD.  Invalid code; please re-enter.

I have homework that I should be doing.  Fer sure.

Have some pointlessly-melancholy crap.

April 2017



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