Fishtanks, Scott Pilgrim and MCR.

So, Reece came over yesterday with three large boxes that contained my Christmas present - a fishtank with stand so that I can get axolotls. He even set it up for me. Which means I GET PETS. :D He's so good to me.

We then watched Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, which was actually quite good. Funny. He adored it thanks to it being basically his mind put into film form - lots of 90s video game references. It is a good movie, and that's saying something coming from me.

MCR... ah, MCR. I got the new My Chemical Romance CD today from my parents for Early Christmas. It is, quite simply, an amazing album. Punk with a little bit of dance on some tracks. A real anarchist theme. Catchy. Sad. Romantic ("Can I be the only hope for you? Because you're the only hope for me"). I'm on my third or fourth run through. Okay, MCR isn't for everyone - I know a lot of people hate them - but they're my favourite band, and they've really improved over the years. Danger Days: True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - I give it a 5/5.

It's been three years since I played music.

Yep, three years since I picked up my flute for the express purpose of playing again and sticking with it. I played for five years before I quit, and in that time (at risk of sounding conceited) I got pretty damn good. I spent a few years in concert band, first in primary school and then in high school as first flute. I was classically trained in high school. I have a collection of music that's reasonably impressive. I was good - I was playing Grade Five AMEB without ever having done AMEB before. (AMEB = Australian Music Examination Board, or something similar. Very fancy.)

And then, like many other things, I got bored with it. I quit. The conductor in band heda-hunted me for a while, and I was head-hunted again when we moved interstate, but I never got back into it. In the last few months, I've felt tempted to go back to it. Music has a power to it, a sense of release. You can stop playing but it never really leaves you.

So, yesterday, I got my flute and my sheet music out of my cupboard, sorted through it and resolved to get back my talent. I'm rusty, no doubt about it - I'm ashamed to admit I've got a fingering chart on my desk in case I've forgotten notes, which I have - but the sound is okay. I need to exercise to get my lung capacity back up, and need to do something about my poor arthritic fingers/bad circulation. But I can do this.

I've got three pieces out: one I know for certain I was playing perfectly before I quit (Chorale from Jupiter, from Holst's The Planets), one that's stunning and moderately difficult verging towards technically challenging (Sicilienne, from Pelleas et Melisande by Gabriel Faure) and one that I spent six months on with my tutor just to master the first half - the technical nightmare that is Hungarian Serenade by Victorin Joncieres.

I know I've got a lot of work to do - I'm working first on re-mastering Jupiter, and when I'm satisfied that I've achieved perfection with it I'll move on to Sicilienne, which is more challenging. And when I'm content with that, I'll resume tearing my hair out over Hungarian Serenade. Once I've mastered those three, it's off to the music store to get NEW SHEET MUSIC :D

I may post videos of the perfected pieces if you beg enough :P

The Christmas Season is Upon Us

It is, once again, December. And we all know what that means - Christmas. Decorations, carols, advent calendars with chocolate that tastes like Play Dough (I admit, I love the stuff) and entirely too much happiness for my liking.

I have probably said this before, but I hate Christmas. I can appreciate the reason for the holiday - birth of Jesus, etc. I respect it as a holy day for one of the world's most prominent religions - but I have no respect for it as a holiday. Christmas is really just a Capitalist's wet dream. The ideal money-maker. Tackiness, cheap nothings and 'Christmas spirit' - there's a lot of selling power here.

Really, it drives me insane. It's like Valentine's Day - a religious day being twisted to make money. There's only so much tackiness I can handle before I start getting pissed. Just *thinking* about Christmas sends me over the edge.

The Beginning of the End

So, I went to see Harry Potter today, with Reece. David Yates well and truly redeemed himself for the disasters of OotP and HBP. DHp1 was stunning considering how much it cut (weeks and weeks at a time were skipped, but it was necessary. The book just wasn't designed for adaptation). I had to explain a bit to Reece, who isn't a fan of the series and has never read the books. But I spent most of my time holding back tears. It was as emotional as the book - I positively bawled for Dobby, and as the film cuts off not long after that, it's painful to have to leave the cinema. Dobby's death was wonderfully done.

Everything felt right about this film, even the bits they added for dramatic effect. One of my favourite scenes in the film was actually an added one - where Harry and Hermione are dancing in the tent. Heartwrenching.

So yes, beautifully done, and I'm looking forward to see how Yates has tackled p2.

In related news: Reece managed to sit through watching me lose it over a Potter film, which he's never had to deal with before, and didn't run screaming. Therefore, he's a keeper. :P

Has anyone else seen DH yet? Tell me what you thought :)

A New Venture

So, I'm working on this new story, right? I'm kinda stuck on Hybrid (again) so I decided to start something else. I'm not sure if it's a short or a novel at this point in time. Probably a novel, knowing me. It's called Electric Angels, and my MC is Zillah Scordato, a twentysomething tattoo artist who just so happens to be a badass angel chick.

The issue I'm having is that I have NO FREAKING CLUE where I'm going with this. I've got this mental image of angels being totally badass with "wings" made of... kind of lightning. That's the image I've got. "Rawr I ZAP YOU, MOFO!" *shrugs*



That's how I picture Zillah. But... add tattoos.

But I need a plot. Right now, I'm writing crap. Seriously. It's BAD. But at the same time, I need to write it, y'know? There just so happens to be a distinct lack of purpose.

Guess Who's Back?

It has been entirely too long since I last posted, thanks to the rampant chaos of school. Well, I had my final exam EVER today, my graduation ceremony is in two weeks and I am FREE. TOTALLY FREE.

Therefore, I can now post regularly.

Right now, I have not much at all to say. I've got Tim back, so I'm typing from the comfort of my bed. Which is wonderful. I've been doing as much writing as possible. I deleted five thousand words... ah, well.

I think that's all I have to say for now. This is mostly just a post to let my faithful readers know that I'm still kicking.

Plot Horribleness.

So, today, while working on Hybrid on my day off, I came to the kind of realisation that writers hate.

There is a hole.

In my plot.

A rather sizeable hole COVERING TWO MONTHS OF ACTION.

I damn near had a panic attack. But that's okay. Because Mire and I had an Emergency Plot Session that was interrupted by bits of evidence of our combined lack of concentration.

We are officially going to the HP themepark in costume when I get to America. I'm Bellatrix. She's Hermione. It's going to be AWESOME.

But yes. I have solved the Plot Problem thanks to Mire and no thanks at all to the Plot Monster. It has been solved in a most diabolical manner, of course.

And I have not much more to say... oh, I suppose I could talk about my mental instability. I have started going to counselling again (first time since I was fourteen) in an attempt to stabilise. So yeah. I'll keep y'all posted on that.

The Road

Ok, after the insane fangirlishness of my last post, I'm going to be More Sophisticated today. And make Mireyah hate me (love ya, Mire! :P).

Ok. Book review. The Road by Cormac McCarthy.

Set at an uncertain time, in the not-too-distant future (it is assumed), in America (mostly assumed), a man and his son walk south in search of warmth post-apocalypse. The Road is a chilling, mostly depressing novel that is also absolutely stunning.

McCarthy abandons a few conventions; there are no chapters, no names, no quotation marks, "incorrect" paragraphing and some words - such as "don't" and "won't" - are written minus apostrophes. If I can move past this - seriously, I've been known to correct toothpaste boxes - anyone can. It fits the story perfectly and makes it even more uncomfortable, which is exactly what McCarthy is after.

The Road is really a critical look at human nature as well as a bleak outlook for the future. There is no hope in this book. None at all. And it is hard to read - I know a lot of people in my class (we're studying it in English, okay?) had trouble because of the ideas in it. There is some... not violence, but things are inferred that send shivers down your spine. Even I was a bit shivery. People refuse to finish this book. But please, do. It's completely worth the stunning, shocking, heartwrenching ending.

Just... please, please, please, for the love of all things good and decent and terrifying in this world, read it.

Five stars, hands down. Just do it.

Whom Do We Love?

Today I shall share with you some Scottish Eye Candy. Specifically Ewan McGregor.


I mean... yum. Seriously. YUM.



*drools* Look at his EYES.



nom nom nom nom.



EWAN IN A TOP HAT. *is in heaven*



Oh my Lord he has scruffy hair.

So. Yes. I LOVE EWAN MCGREGOR DAMN HIM FOR BEING MARRIED WITH CHILDREN. *sigh* He's so yummy... and SCOTTISH... and he was Obi-Wan... and that guy in The Island... and (poor guy) Ian Rider in Stormbreaker... and he SANG AND DANCED AND WAS SEXY in Moulin Rouge and and and and and *swoon*

:D

Too Long

Ok, it has been far too long since I last posted. Sorry. You know how life gets sometimes...

However. Today, I have a TOPIC. *grin*

It is even of a serious, comment-on-politics-and-law kind of nature. I will not apologise for this. :)

Ok, I read in the paper at work yesterday that France has brought in a new law, making psychological violence a crime punishable by law. The sentence can be up to three years' imprisonment with a hefty fine (forgive me, I can't remember the exact value). SO basically, if someone is psychologically abusive (including threats of violence, manipulation... the whole kit and kaboodle) they can be imprisoned.

I'm all for it, personally. I wish Australia had a law like that three years ago. Having been a victim of psychological abuse at the hands of a boy who managed to control me completely for over two years, to the point that I attempted suicide out of horror for what I'd allowed to happen, I'm all for anything that would see people like that locked up. God knows they deserve it; no-one should be able to wield that kind of power.

But I am wondering just how effective this law would be. I mean, generally victims of abuse don't consider themselves a victim. I'm speaking from experience here; I never would have reported my ex. In my mind, at that time, I deserved it and it was my fault. So it would really, in most cases, be up to others to report the crime.

I think the French have done a good thing here. I think other countries should follow suit. But I just don't think it's going to work in practice. There are a lot of victims out there.

Intermittent Bloggishness

Ok. I have been being artistic in my free time lately, playing with Photoshop CS3 Extended. I also now have a deviantart account under my *gasp* RL name. Don't tell anyone!

http://thatmegankid.deviantart.com

And I get to write two essays tomorrow - one on an unknown question that will probably have something to do with endings of texts, point of view and reader positioning as a result of that. Man, I love English! :) And one for philosophy on this topic: "Is the exploration of the concept of utopia useful or a waste of time?"

*cackles*

Argh!

Hello, hello, hello my lovely stalkers! I'm sorry it's been so long, but Tim was injured. He got stood on. Not good for laptops.

Anyway, I'm kind of back now. I am in the fifth week - no, sixth. Oh Gods, already?! - of my senior year of highschool and pretty much already snowed under. Lots to do! But that's okay, because I'm loving it. I'm studying English, media, history, philosophy and Japanese... all arts and humanities. *grin*

And I've started looking at university options. I'm going to do a BA, with a double major of Literary + Cultural Studies and Screen Arts. 'Cause I'm awesomesauce like that.

Okay, that's enough for now.

No wait, it's not.

Okay, Reece insisted on the whole Valentine's Day thing. Let's get one thing straight - I absolutely despise Valentine's Day. So we didn't observe it as such, just went into town, saw (*cough*) The Wolfman (which was horrid) and had a picnic. Yeah, a picnic. It was very sweet.

Shut up.

Right now.

I mean it.

*glare*

Okay now I'm done. I should be studying... gotta research Descartes.

Slightly more cheerful

Reece is back :)

I am a happy vampire.

Also, the revision of Hybrid is turning out to be brutal but totally worth it. It's going to be darker and hopefully more epic.

I had my first shift as a supervisor today. It was loads of fun. I like having power.

Sick, sick, sick.

I promise, the pills won't kill me. They're just Strepsils - throat lozenges. Even if I was planning to OD on them, I would probably have to eat a million of the damn things. And I don't like them that much.

I am feeling sick. I think it's just exhaustion and my current depression isn't helping. I've worked every day this week and I'm dead on my feet. I think I'm getting another cold. I feel like crap. I haven't eaten dinner - I made myself soup but the smell alone made me want to throw up.

Oh, and after the excitement *cough* of last night and losing Hybrid, I have managed to mostly fix it and am now going on a revision binge. It has been... an hour and a half. In that time, I have revamped the prologue.

I have tomorrow off, so I will be online all day and I am really in need of that time to relax. Seriously, I need to sit on my ass for a day and not have to talk to customers. Seeing as I still have two shifts left this week - six hours on Friday and 10.5 on Saturday.

Dead.

Kill me now.

No, really.

Kill me now.

I'm a moron.

I think I lost my only complete version of Hybrid.

You must now kill me before I lose anything else.

A Linky :)

Well, nifty stalkers, I must say - I'm flattered by the comments on my No-Kiss post. Y'all seem to want to read Hybrid!

So, I am going to pander to this whim (and get myself a wider readership in the process) and post a linky to my dear, darling, horrid novel which has a home on WDC. It's almost an entirely up-to-date version. I have a little more and some variations on my personal WIP-copy, but nothing that will impede reading. You should notice some differences in the no-kiss scene with Damien :)

For the record, I love the name 'Damien'. Ever since I saw The Omen, I have adored that name. It's just... so... sexy.

So, my plan for the night is to write for a bit, then watch Nightmare Before Christmas. I feel that having never seen it is a grave oversight on my part, especially considering how much I love Tim Burton's style.

Work has been boring. My first official training shift for supervisor will be next Saturday 7am-5:30pm. I think this may kill me.

No-Kiss Blogfest

Something cold touched my cheek. My eyes fluttered open; Damien was standing over me, water dripping from his fingertips onto my face. I blinked and prayed that his filthy, erotic smirk would go away.

It didn’t.

“Fuck.”

Damien laughed at me. “Hello to you, too.”

His features were exactly the way I remembered it; brown hair and eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. The eyes of a Fire Elemental. He was taller than Thomas, leaner and somehow wilder than his half-brother. Damien was dressed in full black; the same buckled, punk-style outfit he’d worn the night he almost killed me.

God, I wanted him. He made my skin crawl, at times, but I wanted him. It was an electric feeling totally out of my control, and it made me hate myself. I hated Damien, I wanted him dead, but I wanted to screw him first. I could only assume it was the demon in me latching onto her natural lusty ways.

Damien crouched beside me, still smirking. It took me a moment to realise that I was lying in a shallow pool of water. It was just enough to keep me powerless as Damien held me down with his part of Mind.

He stroked my cheek and laughed as I cringed back from the connection.

“Saf, you’ve done an incredible thing. Cleared the way for you to take over everything . . . it’s fantastic. But is there room in your new world order for a little guilty pleasure?”

My eyes narrowed. “Where’s Thomas?”

“Tommy boy is otherwise occupied.”

I snarled. “Don't give me that shit, Damien. My new world order involves parading your fresh corpse through the streets of Dublin.”

Damien laughed and let a tongue of fire caress his forearm. I stared at the shadows it created on his skin.

“Why are you wasting your time with him? He’s just a kid, Saf. You and I . . . girl, we could achieve so much more. The ultimate alliance.”

I forced myself to drag my eyes away from the fire at his fingertips.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you. You were only ever a pawn, Damien. Now let me go before I get really angry.”

Damien laughed again and offered me his hand. I took it and let him help me up.

The moment I was back on my feet, I pulled him closer, pressing my body against his. It felt alien, like I didn’t belong there. The lust I had felt disappeared into the depths of my too-quiet mind.

Jake, you little shit, where are you?

“I waste my time with Thomas because his connections are better than yours, Damien. Jonathan Greer actually accepts him as his son. You, obviously, do not have the same privilege. What use to me is a political nobody, a fiery little punk nursing a few old wounds? You are just a pawn, my dear, and now you are in the mirror-world you belong in, surrounded by the faces of your soul. And anyway,” I said, “Thomas is much better in bed.”

Damien’s hands tightened on my waist. A tic started in his jaw. I smirked at him.

“You don’t know that,” he murmured as he reined his anger in. He traced a light line down the side of my face, coming to rest on my lower lip. A small part of me was repulsed; a larger part wanted to let this go too far. The two parts of my mind – logic and lust – warred silently as Damien leaned down towards me. His mouth brushed lightly against mine.

I sank my fingernails into his back and he jerked away. And with that, I fell backwards into the molten mirror that awaited me, Damien’s face a mask of shock.

~~~~~~~

That be my no-kiss scene. Hope you all enjoyed it :P

In other news, I bought myself some new headphones. Biiiiig ones. Retro ones. The sound... seriously, I think my ears died and went to Heaven. It's EPIC.

My New Year's Eve was crap. I had a breakdown and was in bed by ten, and cried myself to sleep. Welcome to my world.