Revenge of the Pants

Revenge of the Pants: "Love won't save you, Padme. Only my new pants can do that."

Dreadful things come out of the deep...

Writing group was...

Well.

Things were going swimmingly with one new passer-by (primarily a poet) until this blonde horror of a lawyer came in and proceeded to run off at the mouth and attempt to take over the group. The woman needs a) a better hairstylist, b) not that much coffee, c) probably some meds [oh, right, but she said she can't have any because it interferes with her creative process], d) something more like a twelve-step program and less like a writing group, e) to stop dissing herself so harshly, f) to stop dissing J's humor's saleability so harshly [especially because J probably won't be selling to the drug-addled audience this horror comes from who'd take offense], g) to stop pushing her pet fix for the perceived problems after the author's shot it down, and h) to just STFU already.

This was the consensus of the after-hours gang. Many Anguished Silent Glances were exchanged during the ordeal; we've now banded together in common defence against the horror and the rest of the group has been deputized so that they feel free to tell her that (in terms as diplomatic as they can muster) if she comes back and does the Babbling Horror thing again.

I hope the Babbling Horror didn't scare off the new poet.

My session as group leader? Disaster. I really need to learn how to deal with verbally overspilling people assertively but not aggressively. garnetdagger might not have been overkill by the end of it, but by the end of it, it was really too late.

(I so wish meacu1pa had been there, if only so she could share properly in the follow-up snarking.)

Mending Fences...

I went over to figment0's after writing group. We talked about this, that, and the other -- and of course it took four hours for us to get babbled-out enough to even think about getting sleep.

I'm sure I've mentioned this part already, but it still feels like things with Darkside have been reset. I talked somewhat about that with Figment, and mentioned that this was actually not the second chance -- it was the third chance.

( Magic vs. the mundanes... )

Don't blame me, blame my muse.

If only I had known it was going to be one of those days. But, alas, I had not thought to look out the window. The air settled to the ground in a thick brown haze. But I am an Angelino. I kept on breathing.

(no subject)

Work. Ow. Get a real job, does that mean I get paid in imaginary $? bored. V comes back sunday