Old, but definitely worth a revisit:



I'd forgotten how much it makes me laugh...

So, I signed up for hp_beholder, which is sort of a rare pair ficathon, and the reveal was just posted today, meaning I can 'fess up to having written my story.

It's young!Snapefic. Really young. Like, he's seven. And it's at least half about the relationship between his parents. Just so you know. Also, I'm kind of proud of this one, because it's an idea I've been carrying around in my head for quite some time.

Title: Grownup Stories
Rating: Somewhere between PG-13 and R, but for child abuse

Summary: A mother tells her son what she wishes was a fairy tale.

( "Time for m'story, Mum," Toby said firmly, tugging his blanket up to his chin... )

Being a teacher does have its little perks sometimes. For instance, I want to learn how to use Flash for work-related stuff, so I want more than just a free download.

So I went to Adobe's website, sent in 'documentation' to prove I'm actually a teacher, and within the next forty-eight hours, I'm going to have shiny new Flash software for less than half of the cost. Yay.

*sigh* I miss Bea Arthur already. And I totally couldn't tell you why, exactly, but the world seems incomplete without her.

Additionally, I feel like I'm verging on fic but not quite there, which is frustrating. Less writer's block and more... writer's constipation? Ew. But apt.

Anyway. Back to your regularly scheduled program.

ETA: A-and because I couldn't resist... here is Bea doing a Sex in the City parody in which the question is, who is Mr. Big?

I can't decide whether the SSHG Exchange time has passed quickly or not, because on the one hand, I always get excited toward the end when we get to find out who did what, but on the other hand, hello, April.

So my gift was apparently drawn by _odella_, which means that now I have the opportunity to say thank you! I mean, I said it before, but in a sort of general "mystery artist" kind of way. My art spent several weeks gracing my desktop, and I just love the placid thing going on in the scene.

And for interested parties, I was the author of Toby Snape and the Wholly Holy Hideout, written for femmequixotic. It's a crossover with The Vicar of Dibley, one of my fave shows, so I totally leapt at the opportunity to write it. Anyway...

If you like het and are in firm denial about the ending of the seventh HP novel, you should totally go check out sshg_exchange and get to reading. The Exchange has been particularly good this time around.

Dear Pit of Voles:

You suck. No, seriously. I have assiduously stayed the righteous fuck away from you whenever possible, but every now and again, I run across a story (or fandom) that I cannot access otherwise. And I'm halfway through a story -- why always halfway, by the by? Just more proof of your terminal suckage -- and the entire site goes down.

Every time you do this, I think I'm breaking up with you for reals, but I just keep getting sucked back in. So I'm not even going to pretend that I'm gonna go there, because I'd just be lying to you and me, and while I don't give a happy damn about your feelings, I dislike being lied to.

So, in conclusion, I hate you in all possible ways, Pit of Voles, and the instant I can access all of my chosen fandoms through other resources, you can consider us through.

Love and kisses,
hayseed

Ohmigod... *relief*

I signed up for a ficathon over on IJ back in February, because I'm an idiot eternal optimist, a-and of course totally waded in over my head.

But I'm done! Yay! Fic can haz been submitted.

And I swear to everything holy... no more ficathons. For a while, anyway. I've done, like, four in the last six months. And they've all been fun in their myriad ways, but every time, it's totally more stress than I intend it to be. So. No more.

Yeah, I'm done.

Hives. Boo. The question is, of course, what the hell gave them to me?

First thing on Monday, I'm making a doctor's appointment, so I'll know eventually. Right now, all I can do is doze on Benadryl and not have fantasies about dinner forks. And tree bark. And long fingernails. And all of those other wonderful, wonderful scratching implements.

Because dammit, my toes fucking itch. I mean, my toes?!?

Okay, since my flist is now half HP and half DWP, I feel the need to clarify briefly...

If you didn't know, I started out posting fic in the Potterverse. Hetfic, even. Snape/Hermione to be exact. And I still read/write the stuff, although I find the seventh book to be somewhat of a... challenge to overcome, if you get what I'm sayin'.

Anyway. Every year (or twice a year, sometimes), we have a big ol' SSHG ficathon (at sshg_exchange, if you were at all interested), and my gift just got posted today.

Awesomely, it's art. And it's not that I have anything against receiving fic as a gift (last year's gift was a very lovely story that made me tear up at the unfairness of Snape's bad lot in life, actually), but I so rarely get given art that it totally thrills me to pieces when I do.

So, go! Look at my bee-yoo-ti-ful artses!.

Thank you, mystery artist! I know I said it already in a comment, but I feel the urge to say it again.

Hey, cool. Now I can refer to Seven Habits of Highly Hateful People as the award-winning story Seven Habits of Highly Hateful People. Neat-o, as the kids say these days...

Also, concerning Miranda and pancakes... I might need closer to 72 hours, but I'm getting there.

Dear Parents of Children I Teach:

( Shut up. )

Love and kisses,
hayseed

Last day of the semester... well, sort of...

And I have to say, this semester sucked major ass. Some of it was my fault -- I had hard preps that I didn't balance as well as I could -- but another big chunk of it was because my students, on the whole, were rather twerpier than usual.

Is twerpier a word? Well, it is now.

I'm probably in this mood because I had to write up a couple of kids today. Believe it or not, I've been teaching at various high schools for three and a half years now, and these are the first write ups I've ever done. It's worse because one of them sent me an "apology email" of that pretentious sort we all wrote when we were sixteen.

Although come to think of it, when I was sixteen, none of my teachers had email accounts, and even if they had, I certainly wouldn't have actually sent a letter like that.

Anyway, I'm annoyed because it smacks of bullshit, and if my students know anything about me, they know I have absolutely zero tolerance for bullshit. And he was trying for one of those "Oh, I've learned so much from my failure in your class" things that no one under the age of twenty-five actually believes. Which would be fine, except that the reason he failed is because he just decided he didn't need to come to class for three weeks.

Whatever. Letting it go.

It's all good, homes. All I have to do is make it to 3:25 PM tomorrow without committing infanticide and I've got two child-free weeks to reflect on the wonders of my existence. And write DWP fic. It'll be weird, but hopefully in a good way, and that's all I'm sayin' :)