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deathpixie) wrote2002-05-09 06:16 pm
deathpixie) wrote2002-05-09 06:16 pm
Bah.
Nothing in my mail box, no phone messages and no email. Hate you all.
*grins*
Okay, I don't hate you all. Except maybe the Gnome in the corner oppressing refugees. You I hate. But it's been a long, frustrating day. I discovered upon attending work that the stuff I'd done last night on my job application had been eaten by the Evil that is my work computer, a seemingly light list turned out to have hidden teeth, and I had only an apple for lunch today since I had to spend my lunchtime re-typing the first section of my corrected job application during my lunch hour. This would not have been necessary had I had access to Word in court, but the terminals there do Courtlink (our specific court program) and nothing else. I also discovered several solicitors h ad been bitching behind my back about not being called early - silly me, I didn't know they were ready because I don't have bloody telepathy! and they didn't actually tell me they were ready. And the behind my back thing really annoys me - y ou have a problem with me, you tell me to my face. You can bet I'll be calling the culprits on it next time they come in and you can bet the cowards will say something along the lines of "Oh, there's no problem."
Shitheads.
Oh, and I got the applicatio n in before closing of business. Except our fax machine told me it hadn't gone through, so it was re-faxed several times, until someone from the office called and asked us to stop. *cringes* That's not going to be a point-scoring thing for me. But they ha ve it now.
***
Something to cheer me up - shameless self-promotion. :) My favourite story openings.
*
To say the room dripped blood was not an exaggeration.
Suffer the Children, Hellblazer.
They are the ones who slipped between t he cracks. The dispossessed. The forgotten. The unimportant.
The hopeless.
Between, Midnight Nation.
"Are you sure this girl's okay? She's not some axe murderer or something?"
Collective Mutants: Fire and Shadow, TCP.
A pale cold sun shone on a pale cold city. The winter wind, blowing strong and chill from the North, snapped the banners mounted high on the towers of Minas Tirith, sentinel-city, cradle of warriors.
House of Stone, Lord of the Rings.
There is another London. A London few know of, and even fewer see. A London of myths and monstrosities, of the dispossessed and the daring, where Night guards a Bridge, where Ravens hold Court, and where there once was an Angel called Islington.
London Below.
Through the Angel Door Neverwhere/Books of Magic crossover, unfinished.
They say, "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it."
Wings of Desire, TCP.
Timothy Hunter. Described as potentially this era’s most powerful practitioner of magic, a force to be feared in the occult circles. Seen here shuffling down the hall of a small London council house in his pyjama bottoms, on one of those nocturnal trips to the toilet.
The Stuff of Dreams Subreality Cafe/Books of Magic crossover.
Midnight. The witching hour. Traditionally the time for ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties. The halls of THOSD were cloaked in silence and shadow, broken only by the scattered silver moonbeams and the occasional strip of golden light from under the doors of insomniac Writers. It was a scene ripe with anticipation, reeking with Gothic atmosphere, the air heavy with foreboding…
"That’s quite enough, young lady." Sharp black talons dug into the Writer’s shoulder as Poe, Horror Muse of the old school, made his presence felt. "Description is all very well and good, but I’m getting the feeling you’re not taking this seriously."
Once Upon A Midnight Dreary THOSD/Muse fic, part of the Great Muse Swap idea, u nfinished.
There was, Yasmin decided, a definite advantage in not being around during the House's periodic dark phases. You got to stay alive and un-maimed, obviously, but you also got to appreciate the extremely peaceful times afterwards, as the Hou se did its best to makes amends for previous unpleasantness. This morning there was a definite air of serenity about the halls - the sun shone, the water in the showers was the exact right temperature, and the air carried the smell of fresh toast and a melodious contented hum. If you listened carefully, it translated as a version of James Brown's "I Feel Good".
Wandering Thoughts THOSD fic, unfinished, but close. ;)
I met God down at the pub.
God's Local, original piece, unfin sihed.
Everything is the end of the world, when you're sixteen.
The Things We Do For Love (working title), original piece, possible Endless story, unfinished.
It only takes a moment for everything to come crashing down.
Justi ce, Excalibur.
***
Looking through my fices, there's a lot of unfinished stuff. *eeps* I really need to get some discipline towards my writng, both fanfic and the other.
gg
*grins*
Okay, I don't hate you all. Except maybe the Gnome in the corner oppressing refugees. You I hate. But it's been a long, frustrating day. I discovered upon attending work that the stuff I'd done last night on my job application had been eaten by the Evil that is my work computer, a seemingly light list turned out to have hidden teeth, and I had only an apple for lunch today since I had to spend my lunchtime re-typing the first section of my corrected job application during my lunch hour. This would not have been necessary had I had access to Word in court, but the terminals there do Courtlink (our specific court program) and nothing else. I also discovered several solicitors h ad been bitching behind my back about not being called early - silly me, I didn't know they were ready because I don't have bloody telepathy! and they didn't actually tell me they were ready. And the behind my back thing really annoys me - y ou have a problem with me, you tell me to my face. You can bet I'll be calling the culprits on it next time they come in and you can bet the cowards will say something along the lines of "Oh, there's no problem."
Shitheads.
Oh, and I got the applicatio n in before closing of business. Except our fax machine told me it hadn't gone through, so it was re-faxed several times, until someone from the office called and asked us to stop. *cringes* That's not going to be a point-scoring thing for me. But they ha ve it now.
***
Something to cheer me up - shameless self-promotion. :) My favourite story openings.
*
To say the room dripped blood was not an exaggeration.
Suffer the Children, Hellblazer.
They are the ones who slipped between t he cracks. The dispossessed. The forgotten. The unimportant.
The hopeless.
Between, Midnight Nation.
"Are you sure this girl's okay? She's not some axe murderer or something?"
Collective Mutants: Fire and Shadow, TCP.
A pale cold sun shone on a pale cold city. The winter wind, blowing strong and chill from the North, snapped the banners mounted high on the towers of Minas Tirith, sentinel-city, cradle of warriors.
House of Stone, Lord of the Rings.
There is another London. A London few know of, and even fewer see. A London of myths and monstrosities, of the dispossessed and the daring, where Night guards a Bridge, where Ravens hold Court, and where there once was an Angel called Islington.
London Below.
Through the Angel Door Neverwhere/Books of Magic crossover, unfinished.
They say, "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it."
Wings of Desire, TCP.
Timothy Hunter. Described as potentially this era’s most powerful practitioner of magic, a force to be feared in the occult circles. Seen here shuffling down the hall of a small London council house in his pyjama bottoms, on one of those nocturnal trips to the toilet.
The Stuff of Dreams Subreality Cafe/Books of Magic crossover.
Midnight. The witching hour. Traditionally the time for ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties. The halls of THOSD were cloaked in silence and shadow, broken only by the scattered silver moonbeams and the occasional strip of golden light from under the doors of insomniac Writers. It was a scene ripe with anticipation, reeking with Gothic atmosphere, the air heavy with foreboding…
"That’s quite enough, young lady." Sharp black talons dug into the Writer’s shoulder as Poe, Horror Muse of the old school, made his presence felt. "Description is all very well and good, but I’m getting the feeling you’re not taking this seriously."
Once Upon A Midnight Dreary THOSD/Muse fic, part of the Great Muse Swap idea, u nfinished.
There was, Yasmin decided, a definite advantage in not being around during the House's periodic dark phases. You got to stay alive and un-maimed, obviously, but you also got to appreciate the extremely peaceful times afterwards, as the Hou se did its best to makes amends for previous unpleasantness. This morning there was a definite air of serenity about the halls - the sun shone, the water in the showers was the exact right temperature, and the air carried the smell of fresh toast and a melodious contented hum. If you listened carefully, it translated as a version of James Brown's "I Feel Good".
Wandering Thoughts THOSD fic, unfinished, but close. ;)
I met God down at the pub.
God's Local, original piece, unfin sihed.
Everything is the end of the world, when you're sixteen.
The Things We Do For Love (working title), original piece, possible Endless story, unfinished.
It only takes a moment for everything to come crashing down.
Justi ce, Excalibur.
***
Looking through my fices, there's a lot of unfinished stuff. *eeps* I really need to get some discipline towards my writng, both fanfic and the other.
gg