Picky Eater

My stomach's been rising up in rebellion lately. Votania says that I'm an incredibly picky eater.

Lately I haven't been getting breakfast. I've been coming home after school to get breakfast.

Today, Thursday, was a day for a salad after school, then ice cream, then random bits of very excellent catfish that Votania cooked, salad again, and I am trying to eat two burritos, because the salad was just not where it was supposed to be at. The lettuce was too old.

Right now my mind is more interested in playing with my food; my stomach is more interested in eating it. When I allow myself to become this hungry without eating, I have to drink something first, to convince my stomach that I'm actually going to eat, to allow me to even think of eating.

One burrito. Marx gets the other one. As long as I ate something, eh?

dada dodo

Family longer than I want to my computer is still out of us are in the converter doesn't even work. I sent a system might be, nor I don't want to listen to my father calls. I blame? Ralmathon to rediscover her, Dell, and ralmathon to my current job situation without, tonight. And ralmathon is my battle with Narcissa's help, the little green light on comments to rediscover her again.

I know what this means, at least some of it. I know who she is. To rediscover her again...

Back up

After a substantial rearrangment of the inhabiting bits of furniture, the little microharddrive workstation in my room is operational once more.

If I'd gotten anyone else, I would have been very surprised.

Which Character from Stangers in Paradise Are You?

You are Francine Peters. She is pretty much a typical American woman... she likes chocolate a little too much, and wants a husband, 2.5 kids, and a white picket fence. But her best friend Katchoo brings out different sides of her that normally would remain hidden. And though she will sometimes let people walk all over her, she always stands up for the people she cares about.

Furthermore, I'm Francine in a state of evolution. People can see me changing from who I was, into someone new. No one yet quite knows who it is that I will be when I'm done, but everybody knows that I'll be much happier as her. Except maybe Freddie. He doesn't like it much, except that he does...

The Notional 95,000 Word Blank

I have a novel. Well, a novel-in-progress. It's so close to finished that I can taste it.

So what's my hangup?

All the blanks.

It's a very picaresque novel, and intended to be so -- a series of short clips of rosalynde and company in motion.

I have a plot. I have characters. I have 413 pages of single-spaced 12-point standard font writing.

And it's been written over the period of the past seven and a half years, from September/October 1994 to the present.

This poses a problem.

When I started writing this, I was fourteen. My writing style has evolved from mudbrick to marble, or at least I'm hoping so. Maybe I could realistically expect granite. I've been going back as I write, and polishing things, and weeding out bad stuff, and adding in the things that need to be there for the plot to go. They were there in my head, but they need to be written down, so in they go.

Consequently, as the plot's changed at least three times over the years, there are old key plot points that are no longer valid and no longer support anything, well-polished, somewhat good examples of teenage writing, that need to be removed as soon as possible.

Much as I love Diane Swiftclaw as a character, and as much as I adore that scene on the holodeck of the alternate-universe Voyager, not to mention the thing with the gravity and the techs (*how* much voltage did I have flowing through that ... oh, right, it *was* a power cable in there for just that reason... hey, at least I had them using optical datacable!), they all must go. Diane Swiftclaw belonged to someone else before I teleported her sensibilities into that body, and that body is belong to the Star Trek universe. The alternate-Voyager is all mine because the official Trek creators would scream at what I'd done to make sure all the serial numbers were filed off, although the universe-tone with Pluto Station isn't. I can give that story the old Heinlein try sometime later, now that my writing skills have become mine once more. The L.A.S.T. concept is mine, and I could do great things with that. I'm thinking, put the boy scout from the Trouble into that ship and have him get in deeper...

By the time I have all the bits of writing that I need to remove removed, I'll have bazillions of gaping holes. The idea is going to be something like a Greek temple, the classic kind: a bunch of pillars supporting an overarching roof. I know what my roof is, both the material and the things carved upon it. I just need to space out the columns evenly, make sure they have design schemes that get along with each other.

And I need the body of my writing to be accessible to me! This is my main drive to get my computer back. Just before her cord died, I'd been writing some new things on her, ones that hadn't been backed up anywhere else yet. Yes, I probably could write them again. I just don't want to need to.

Breakfast in bed

...doesn't work too well if the subject gets up first.

Although she is glad that I put a shirt on...

California.

...A friend of mine wants to move there after graduation.

I shouldn't want to follow. Darkside, of course. I'd follow to the ends of the universe, should he ask me to accompany him.

Too many good friends I haven't seen in too long. Too many people I've loved, to lose one more. Too few people who know me that well.

He's used to moving as soon as he gets close to someone.

It still breaks my heart.