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November 29th, 2008

01:54 pm
Writing? What is this "writing" of which you speak?

However, I've committed snippetage at the lovely and effulgent difrancis's LJ again. :)

And I added a little descriptive sentence (not to the snippet, to what I wrote last night) about how not!Harmony knows that not!Harry is back to being...fragile.

Poor guy. It's not over for him yet, either.

Yeah, 70,000 words in and I still don't know if he's going to die or not--although I'm pretty sure he lives. Not!Harmony, on the other hand...

I've just got this image in my head of him, all perma-wolf, out in the scrub by his wild lone, because she jumped in front of a silver bullet to save him and then died in his arms...

Seriously, though, that would be piling on. Wouldn't that be piling on? I think that'd be piling on.

Not that I'm opposed to piling on, in principle, and we always hurt the characters we love, but there comes a point, you know?

02:49 pm
What the...???

You have got to be shitting me.

"By bombarding them with advertisements ... you are placing parents like me in the unenviable position of having to tell our children that we can't afford the toys you promote."

How is this any damn different than what my parents did? Sorry, kid, you're not getting that this year, because we need to, I don't know, PUT FOOD ON THE TABLE, A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD, AND CLOTHES ON YOUR BACK. What happened to actual PARENTING???

"I had one parent who said she'd prostitute herself to get what her child wants."

WHAT.

Have parents become so emasculated and kids so spoiled frakking rotten that the simple prospect of saying "no" terrifies us beyond all reason?

"My son doesn't understand. Everything he sees, he wants."

And that's why YOU'RE THE PARENT.

"Toy companies advertise to children because it works, to be brutally honest."

Clearly. Because parents don't want to deny their widdle pweciouses any-damn-thing, and they've been ENABLING tantrums for YEARS by buying them whatever their little hearts desire on the basis of a trembling lip and incipient screams.

Good freaking GOD, people. GROW A PAIR.

08:51 pm
Holy CRAP, y'all.

I can't write. Like, at all. I read stuff like this, by quigonejinn, and realize how very much I suck. That punch to the gut? Yeah, haven't perfected that yet. Maybe if I write another 500,000 words, I will. Maybe. And maybe Santa will leave me that pony I've always wanted in my back yard this Christmas.

In other news, the Marvel peeps on my flist need to go watch this vid, right the hell now. Seriously, I'll wait.

Okay, are you back? I am in total awe. Are you in awe? I'm in awe.

And now, speaking of writing. It's not going to write itself, is it? And even if it sucks and it's a waste of time and I should be doing something else, those 500 words aren't going to appear out of thin air, so I should just do it and be done. *eyes clock in story* Yeah, they could be getting a phone call just any time.

Or maybe not. Maybe the Bad Guy just shows up on not!Tony's doorstep with an army and starts beating the doors down. Would he make the mistake of calling first? "Hey, there, not!Tony. I'm coming over to kick your ass. Can you squeeze me in between your four and four-thirty appointments? Thanks."

ETA: There's a teeny little snippet in the comments, for anyone who cares.