writing the external and the internal and did i mention that paper got an a-?

no more work at this hour. i am too tired to even notice all the little things like missing spaces between words, let alone to process at the content level, although i did have the ghost of an idea about how significant use of "my" (my Vulcan, my Captain, etc) really is. ie, not just a passing reference but an indicator of the way they operate. power dynamics, people. it's all about that lately. hm. it's possible that i have stopped entirely making sense.

was thinking--and also talking--about diff. between real fiction and fan fiction. getting pressure from real family to write real fiction which could submit some place to have published. and i could write it, i suppose, only i keep getting these plot bunnies for short stories in fandom. and also, of course, it's rather scary.

ANYWAY, fandom is partly so different because it is romance, and romance even more than other modern realistic fiction, as a genre, internalizes the conflicts that are external in science fiction and fantasy. every story has threads of external plot (happening in world, to character) and internal (mental changes within character--which isn't to say these aren't sparked by events. they are). my writing is some of the most intensely internal i know. i really don't usually more than briefly nod at anything going on outside the character's head, and this domlijah goes further than i have before in that direction. writing romance is thus somewhat easier: when the internal development is focused on, the story's automatically circumscribed by the character's head and, well, character. it makes it smaller. the same themes you might attack in sff with plots and events and things that could make a poor character-oriented writer like me lose her head are all wrapped up in metaphor and imagery and disconnected little thingies that all drift together to form a picture, hopefully. in sff, the greater emphasis is on the external conflict and development, usually, and it's an oft-alluded-to quality of it that not only does it emphasize the external, but it externalizes the internal. meanwhile, romance does the opposite, takes other issues and shrinks them and treats them only within the context of romance/interpersonal relationships/ one person's head. jumping into original fiction that WASN'T romance is going to be like jumping into the big pool from the baby pool. suddenly, the size of any given universe i create is much, much larger. sort of scary, not because, well, really scary, but because i'm baffled: where to begin? ah, there's the clincher. maybe i'll just beta for a few weeks until this blows over and i can write my arwen pov piece in peace.

piece in peace? ahahaha.

um. bed.

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what kitchen utensil are YOU?

mmmmkay. *nervous laugh* must read dracula today. down with plot bunnies. down, i say.

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the shrink is quite fixated on the idea that people i know online aren't "real" somehow. not "real" interaction. ok, not face-to-face, no. i was forced to play the Dippy Pop Psych Sesame Street cards to change the subject ("but i can't just REPLACE my friends because everyone is SPECIAL"). my god, woman. oh well. she isn't going to change my mind. lala.

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i'm contemplating calling in "sick" to work. as i feel. bleh. and have much reading and work to do, and the day seems to somehow be mostly over already. bitches.

what i really want is to write, not linguistics or lit crit, but fiction. possibly viggorli, possibly arwen pov, possibly original work. possibly a novel. possibly she-ra (BACK, plot bunnies, BACK, i say!).

i have greek and 60 pages of dracula before i can even start the two final essays, though. yeah, work is looking unattractive just now. i wonder how far in advance i have to call them. maybe that would make me too guilty. gaaaah, work and standing up. *mope* *kick*

the feel of home

school is out in a few weeks, and i'm going to be home. this thought cheers me, though i won't have my ethernet there. if i make two bs this semester, i suppose i can handle that, really.

i don't like it, but i have to acknowledge that i made a choice before the semester began to hold writing as at least as important as classwork, and i have really actually spent more time writing than on all my classwork put together this semester. it's not even as if i'm taking five classes; that's imbalance, folks. a b wouldn't be that bad. [you will get to remind me of this when i get a b.]

anyway, i'm going home, and by the time i get there i'm not going to care any more about grades. summer in alabama is very pretty. there will be roses in bloom, and fresh cilantro for fresh salsa, and earl grey brewed in the sun in glass jars, and laundry hung on the line. there will be boiling hot shade under the bamboo and the pecan and the oak, and clover in the grass, and big patches of sun on the library floor just right for sleeping curled up with my dog in.

i can't wait to go home. mmmmh, domestic happiness.

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i have had the greek book open for--it's just hitting 49 minutes. i've even reviewed some old stuff, but i haven't even picked up the pencil for the exercises due tomorrow. just the thought of writing Xenophon (it changes cases in greek, god knows what it'd be) makes me tired. let alone "who was a friend of." it probably comes out to some shit like "who, being a friend of__," or... gr! why? why can't i just make a c now and be done with it. like, take the average of the quizzes and forget the final. sounds spiffalicious to me.

i have a headache. i know i forgot my away messages, but as you can see, i've been quite busy. and still am. maybe the pencil won't burn me if i touch it.

[edit: and, one hour later, 12% of said work was done. fuck. i'm going to bed in half an hour regardless, stupid a;plsdfkja greek.]