iceinyourmusic | (no subject)

I know, on some theoretical level, that sometimes there are moments of some sort of lucidity, but in practice, it's mostly about days and places running together in an endless loop, where I have no idea what I'm trying to do, and why. and how. The most control I've had over my own life in the last few months was at five o'clock this last Sunday morning, when I was playing A Whiter Shade of Pale on the piano and A and T lay tangled up on the sofa and laughed like hyenas and I said, shut the fuck up, crazykids, I just need to wait for my left hand to catch up with the right one. - By which I mean that I've been trying to make decisions regarding this spring again, and also thinking about please finishing the still-unfinished secret santa fic. I must finish; I must; I've reached the point where it's fic or DEATH. writer's paralysis or no. (I suck. yeah.)

Anyway, it's not Return of the King, it's the epic love story of Merry and Pippin, right? And I could have done with a little less slow-motion, but, whatever. Pretty horsies plowing into rows of orcs, a few shiny elves here and there - I ask for nothing more.

In other news, the fic commentaries may just be the best thing since sliced bread, and I wouldn't really mind if everyone did a commentary on every piece they've ever written. I'm endlessly fascinated by the writing process, other people's as well as (or better than?) my own, and, mm. it's like someone just decided to open a whole bunch of jummy cookie jars and leave them on the kitchen counter - the ~~metaphor~~ simile (or whatever) (so sloppy!) was doomed before I ever started with it, but, my point is, my point is. You should be doing a commentary on something you've written, right now. other than that, I forget what my point is. was.

whatever.