I've really done it now...

Okay. So.

I've really done it now. I really have.

I posted my first real work on AO3. The names poem was just a little thing. This is something I worked on. Thought a lot about.

It's still a bit OOC, but really. It's an It's a Wonderful Life Crossover AU. It has angels. Any OOC moments should be forgiven.

At least I hope so.

I hope that everyone enjoys it and it doesn't upset anyone. I know it's not the best and I should have worked on it more. But Christmas is over and I wanted to get it out before New Years.

It's a Wonderful Life, Sherlock

I may go back and edit it again. Work out the bugs. But later. Right now I'll let it stand.

I have butterflies! Go little story, go!

Christmas Menu

So, this was the beginning. The ending was everyone passed out on the couch with Christmas in Connecticut on.

Menu:

Turkey, with fresh herbs and Olive Oil Aioli

Stuffing

Mashed Potatoes

Mashed Turnips and Carrots

Roasted Broccoli

Green Bean Casserole

Roasted Butternut Squash

Pumpkin Butternut Soup

Pumpkin Pie

Apple Cranberry Deep Dish Pie

Lemon Butterscotch Snickerdoodles

Rosemary Rolls

Crescent Rolls

Roasted Mushrooms

Leftovers are slated to be: Turkey Tacos, Turkey Soup, Turkey Marsala, Mashed Potato Breakfast Bites and lunch for the next 2 weeks. 

It was fantastic.

Hogswatch

I hope everyone had a happy Hogswatch Night!

Fandom Cards

My Fandom Cards came in!!!! And they look fantastic!

Merry Christmas to me! I just hope I need to hand out a million of them. Where are you fandom?!

On Naming

Dark haired, changeling child.
Brilliant and terrifying.
So much passion and wonder
contained in one small body.

Grown and cynical.
He sees too much.
An island unto himself.

Comes a man. Blessed my god.
Reflecting light into the darkness.
Building bridges.

Have you come to conquer me,
Ruler of Armies?

Sunlight shines and the dots connect.
An island becomes an archipelago.

I was never blessed until I met you.
Together against the world.





Sherlock: Fair haired
Holmes: One who lives on an island

John: Blessed by god
Watson: Ruler of the army




This was not the Christmas story. But I did post it on AO3. My first. I hope someone looks at it.

The Usefulness of Fanfiction

I am finding fanfiction to be extremely useful to writing. I love reading within my fandom, it's fun, entertaining and an all around lovely way to waste an evening.

I prefer to write not fanfiction. I have characters whose stories need telling. I know this because they told me so. But I have a flood of ideas that don't relate to them. And I have no where to put them.

So it is with reluctance that I admit to committing Fanfiction.

I have nothing posted yet. I will put up a link when I do. Because there will be stories. So many stories.

The best thing about fanfics is your ability to create a storyline without having to worry about the characters. They are set, they are prepackaged with personalities, quirks, families and backgrounds. All you have to do is drop them in a situation and see what they think of it.

I have ideas I don't know if I like. But by exploring them using fanfiction, I can figure out if I want to put the time and effort into developing a random plot bunny into something real.

I have two out of about 30 that I like and am willing to work on. But it's fun anyway.

I am also working on a straight bit of fanfiction. Conceived and intended for nothing other than the fandom. I hope to have it out by Christmas. It's a holiday piece.

I was stuck on it for a few days, fearing that it was too formulaic and trite. But I realized it's a classic holiday story redone in fandom, it's going to be trite. Just go with it.

So hopefully something for you to unwrap this holiday.

OMFG

You know its a special kind of day when you have to tell your mother to turn that shit down.

Do you want my ears to bleed?

We run a shop here, not a dance hall!

*the grumblings of my 90year old self*

Sooo......

So, the Sherlock episode 10 read through was today. Whoo! So much Twitter excitement. Except when I realize that Loo Brealey was in Australia and missed it... was she not in it?!

Ah, thanks for clearing that up guys!

Score.

So, just ordered myself a dress. There is this great website with really pretty clothes you can customize and get in all kinds of sizes and stuff. But it's expensive. So I just look and build myself a pinterest closet.

But there is a 40% sale on things right now... And if you sign up for their email list, you get another coupon. I got a $90 dress for $42 including the shipping.

Score baby. Score.

Link to: The dress

Hate that.

Aaaarrrrgh! I hate it when things hit me like this. Like bricks.

People have died.

That's what people DO.

...

That's what people do. Leave a note.

Leave a note when?

By Sadcat

Was he trying to give John a clue by using Moriarty's words? Or is it just a case of accidental (or in the case of good writers, not so accidental) symmetry?

Because: You're me.

Belated

I know it is a few days late at this point, but happy birthday to Neil Gaiman!

I'm feeling it.

Amanda wrote him the most amazing birthday wishes on facebook. And I love it. I hope she doesn't mind me sharing it here.

Also, buy her book, The Art of Asking. Just do it. I can't see anyone being disappointed. I'm asking for it for Christmas and buying it for a friend as well.

Amanda Palmer

November 10

it's Neil Gaiman's birthday today, he's 54, and he's waking up at 4:30 in the morning to get on a plane to boston (i just got here) that he just re-scheduled to miss the massive snow-storm supposedly heading into the midwest....just so he doesn't miss the massive book-and-birthday two day blow-out we have planned.

i don't know how often i say it, or if i say it enough, or what is or isn't enough,or where it matters to say it, sometimes.

but i love him, so so much, and the love grows weirder, and deeper, and lighter, and darker and realer with every passing year.

we're both aging.

i'm seeing new lines in my face and feeling the sagging and loosening of my skin. he's worried about his silvering hair. it's a losing battle, if you're trying to fight time. you have to make love to time, it's the only way.

i worry about losing him.
he worries about losing me.
i worry about missing him.
he worries that i worry too much.

then we argue. boy, are we fucking married.

here's what i know:

i love you, neil gaiman, every sag, nose-hair, wrinkle and crevasse.
every missed connection, every misplaced detail, every forgotten promise. it's fine.

i love the fuck out of you.

happy birthday, baby.

and p.s....if you are coming to the boston book-launch concert (technically tomorrow, tuesday the 11th), and you see him....blow him a birthday kiss and give him a sympathetic smile. he's a good husband, spending his birthday pimping his wife's book.

The trial of the modern foodie

I need to cook more. It's been much too long.

I got a coffee at Wawa tonight and barely restrained myself from giving these girls some food advice. They were discussing what ice cream would go with the wine they had at home. They decided on 3 pints that ranged from peanut butter cup, mint and some rocky road thing.

I wanted to ask them what kind of wine they had. Because if it was red, it would be great to have with something chocolate...or a mocha cherry.

If it was white, it depends. A sweet dessert wine or a blush wine would be nice with something tropical, like guava. Or lychee. A dry white, like a rhine or pino noir needs something, something not so sweet. Like maybe a good quality vanilla with sweet almonds and dark chocolate bits.

And buy an extra bottle of wine. Half of the second one should be reduced with some balsamic. For the reds, maybe Black Walnut, Espresso, Black Currant.... And the whites, go with Coconut, or Pineapple.

Now I need to get the Toffutti Vanilla Almond Bark. Some nice pino noir and a bottle of the Jalapeno Lime Balsamic.

Because if I don't start making these things myself, I'm going to start assaulting random strangers and providing them detailed recipes.

Safety

God dammit squirrel! You were safe. You were fine. You stopped and turned around. Why in the seven hells would you turn back around and run for my car?

I tried. I did. What the hell.

You were carrying a nut. I wonder where you were storing that and if now, some other squirrel will get your stash. Or if someday, someone will prise up some loose boards in their attic and find a treasure trove of nuts.

People are like that too. What is left of us when we are gone? Suddenly all our things, the collections, the treasured bits of our lives become so much stuff without us to hold the thread together.

my heart

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were my heart long before Moffat and Gatiss ever touched them.

Oh my god.

Thanks to Pat Rothfuss for retweeting something mentioning these guys. My new favorite band.

I am not a grownup either. 

Weeping

Do you realize, because of the erratic shooting schedule of Sherlock BBC, there is no way they will be able to keep continuity with a baby?  This makes the fact of baby-girl-Watson somewhat impossible to maintain.

I hope they can work this out. Because I cried bitterly when I realized that she may never have a chance to become. I know that she is far outside ACD original canon. But I had hoped to keep her.

I do love parent!lock, but I understand if she has to go. Its my own personal headcanon, that that is the way the original Mary Morstan made her end.

I do wish it works. I can't even comprehend what that would do to John.

Wait, what is this, the kill John Watson slowly show? Is Martin just so good at making us cry they are going to cause John as much pain as possible? Because I think he deserves something in his life going right.

Ugh, Martin is going to destroy us and smile as he wins more awards.

OH! I missed it all!

I missed Martin Freeman's birthday, so sorry! Way back on September 8th. Damn. I mentioned it on Twitter, but forgot here.

And I missed World Hobbit Day too. Argh!

At least  I'm only off by a couple days with that one. I did remember, but I had no computer that day.

Perspective

Just had an okay day turn into a disaster. Nothing went overly wrong all day, everything just took 2x longer than expected. Then I get in very late, looking forward to a can of chili, only to find out the can opener is broken. I had a butter and fried onion sandwich with coconut milk yogurt on the side.

My first thought was to bang my head on the table very hard. After I did that, my next thought was, oh good! I can use this in my story!

Perspective.

Anyone else?

Anyone else think this way the first time you saw it? Because I totally did. 

Because I still grieve

http://www.tor.com/blogs/2011/03/remembering-diana-wynne-jones

Remembering Diana Wynne Jones EMMA BULL

Three days ago I woke up thinking, “I wonder how Diana Wynne Jones is doing? I should crochet her a shawl.” What shape, I thought, and what color? It should be vivid and striking; otherwise it had no hope of living up to the woman it was meant to wrap around.

Then I thought, “Man, I hope this doesn’t mean I’ve picked up some bad news out of the ether and she’s not faring well.”

So much for that hope.

I remember Diana Wynne Jones as standing somewhere around six foot one. But that suggests she was a towering presence in person as well as in young adult literature. No, she was just one of those people who seemed to make the space around her expand and crackle with energy.

She made you aware of things. I can’t see the enormous June strawberries in a U.S. supermarket without remembering how awestruck she was by them, and how it led her to an analysis of the difference between British and American produce aisles. She told stories the way some people eat ice cream: eagerly, with delight and no self-consciousness. She told them about her family in a way that made them familiar characters in my imaginary world, and she talked about her characters as if they were family.

Some of her best stories were about the unexpected intersections of her life and her work. She was diagnosed with a severe dairy allergy, and out of her longing for all things milk, invented the butter pies in A Tale of Time City. She wrote a scene in The Homeward Bounders in which a character is hit in the head with a cricket bat, and not a month later, her son was hit in the head with a cricket bat. She felt responsible, rather.

She was passionate about what children want and deserve from their literature. Adults would approach her at signings, wanting to know why she wrote such difficult books. In one case, when a woman protested, the woman’s young son spoke up and assured Diana, “Don’t worry. I understood it.” She believed in the flexibility of her readers’ minds, their willingness to puzzle things out, and to wait for clues to anything they couldn't yet puzzle. She gave her readers books like Fire and Hemlock, Time of the Ghost, Archer’s Goon, Black Maria, and Dogsbody, and knew they’d chase the themes and meanings and resonances until they caught them.

And cried, and laughed—because in a Diana Wynne Jones story, there’s always some of each. In books like Witch Week and The Ogre Downstairs, she balanced hilarious mixups and secrets with very real threats, consequences, and life-changing discoveries. Wilkins’ Tooth, with its, er, “colorful language,” is hilarious; but it's also got danger, nobility, and wisdom woven into its seemingly-light fabric.

The drawback of associating with Diana Wynne Jones is that she seemed to carry her story-generating equipment with her, hidden somewhere on her person. If you spent any time at all with her, you had Adventures, of the sort that made you wonder if you would appear someday, in disguise, in a book full of absurd and powerful people and events.

She visited us once when we lived in Minneapolis. Several of us sat comfortably in the living room of our elderly two-story house while another friend from out of town went upstairs to take a bath.

Suddenly, just in front and to the left of the arm of Diana’s chair, a drop of water fell from the ceiling. Then two more. Before we could quite believe it, the ceiling was running like a faucet, and the paper that covered it was sagging like a structurally unsound water balloon above Diana's head. We all launched ourselves up the stairs shrieking, “TURN OFF THE WATER!” to which our bathing guest shrieked back, “IT’S OFF!”

In a Diana Wynne Jones book, of course, the first floor would have filled up with unstoppable water from who-knew-where. We were spared that. But when we finally fixed the leak (well after the departure of all our company), repaired the holes in the ceiling, and repainted it all, we sent before, during, and after photos to Diana to prove it was safe to sit in our living room again. At least, until the next Adventure...

Now she’s gone. After some consideration, I realize no shawl would have been magnificent enough. But I would have been happy to try.

Ugh

Moving house. Painting. So tired. So sore.

Still reading past my bedtime.

well, yeah.

Robin. No.

                       

I really don't think I can handle this.

Nothing says your childhood is over like the death of your favorite comic. I know I'm 31, but I never felt like a grownup until now. I never wanted to, and this isn't voluntary.

Oh Robin. No.

Mork was my first love. I watched Comic Relief often. Few people have made me laugh as hard, or cry so hard. Because when you act, you are all in. You scared the hell out of me with One Hour Photo and Insomnia. I wish that audiences had let you branch out more like that.

I wish the universe was kinder. But I suppose it's as kind as it's going to get. Oh Robin.

Please let this all be a joke. You can't die.

I am thankful....

Today I am thankful for cheap-o cookies. For a person like me, the kind of person who can't eat anything with milk in it...because if I do, I get super crazy sick....the best thing in the world is sometimes 'chocolate flavored chip'.

That's right. No real chocolate, a bit of cocoa plus corn syrup. But you know what? They taste mostly like chocolate chip cookies, I didn't have to make them, and I won't get sick from eating them. 

So I am thankful for artificial flavors.

Because it Really Would Explain a Lot...

Fandom Moment

I'm in a Goodwill store waiting in line. The cashier is talking to the woman at the register, and says "Aw Jeeze."

The way he says it makes me give him a sharp look.

Then I get up there and he tells me that he really loves my pin.

We share a look and a small smile. Because we just know.

I think we really need a fandom greeting. Something small, something that all the normal people really won't notice. But something that shows us that we aren't alone. It's easy to believe in the fandom community while you are online. We seem to be everywhere! But in person... I've only ever met 2 people who understood that button. That cashier is the 2nd.

What really depresses me though is all the fans seem to be under the age of 20. I'm 31. I have very little in common with these 15year olds. I've been devoted to the stories for longer than they have been born. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been voices in my head for just as long. They are the seat of my morality in a sense. As such, I am possessive of them. I want to cry when I see an online conversation about Sherlock centering only on the fact that they actors are attractive. Not that they are good at what they do. Not that they have brought the characters to life in a way I never thought possible. Benedict Cumberbatch may be a great Sherlock Holmes, Mark Gatsiss may be a good Mycroft. But Martin Freeman is the best John Watson I have ever seen, and it is for that; just that, that I watch this.

I love the Robert Downey Jr/Jude Law movies. I look forward to more of them. They were the first to show Watson as more than an echo. And they gave him his looks back. He is described as attractive and slim, how he got to be tubby and old looking in most depictions I'll never know. Jude Law's sass makes him a brilliant Watson.

But it is Martin Freeman's eyes that just about kill me. Most fans fell in love with Sherlock when Benedict walks onscreen. I've been in love with every version of them forever, but what made me a rabid obsessed fanatic was the first minute of the first episode. Because of Martin Freeman. The way he looks when he wakes up from his nightmare, the aura of damage and the British Stiff Upper Lip. My god. John Watson breathes because of him. He brings a depth that I knew was there but that was never allowed to be articulated.

Wow. This was meant to be just a quick note about my little fandom moment. I didn't mean to unleash my inner fangirl. Only a little sorry about that.

Something else most inconvenient

When you follow actors on Twitter who happen to live in the UK..... And get tweet alerts for them at 2-4 in the morning.....

Especially a couple days ago. I was informed that there was a heatwave happening.... An 80°F heatwave.

I'm living in the wrong country.

Ugh. Fanfiction!

When you look at a new fanfiction at 4 in the morning and say, "Oh, only 30k words. I could read that before I go to sleep." You might have a fanfiction-addiction. Oops. So sorry. Not sorry! (The cry of the fangirl)

Oh my goodness, I love the internet

Oh my, this is sooooo useful.

UK.GOV Website

So so useful.

And this. I may swoon.

http://writerswhokill.blogspot.com/

Mobile

There has got to be a better way to use this platform for my mobile phone. It's just incredibly cumbersome.

I am interviewing someone this week to help out at my store until the holidays. She sounds nice. I really hope so. And calm. Without drama. That would be really really nice. Sigh.

I made cookies the other day. Super good ones. Basil strawberry. Maybe I'll try the next batch with white chocolate. Hmmm.

Or maybe mint, white chocolate and plums.

... now I'm hungry. And despite the late hour and high temperature, I'd rather like to fire up the oven and get cracking.

Source Materials

I really wish that I could find a source for this image. All the pinterest links just go back to images, or another pinterest link, no source.

But I love it.

So, whoever made this: THANK YOU!

Oh, and by the way. I ship Johnlock. Don't believe it will ever happen. But I ship it hard.

A question and something I totally want

Just a question to the ether. Writers: do you ever find that your character's have decided you're really not who they want to talk to at the moment? I find myself reduced to listening to them having conversations with each other....and hoping I don't miss any of it. It seems to be happening quite independently of, well, me.

And I totally want this bag.

To the bag

Using Up My Luck

I'm buying a house. Yup, inspections in a week.

Although...I will celebrate when I have the keys in hand. Planning before, but no champagne. We tried to buy a house a few years ago as well. That didn't work out as well. You know why first time home owners can't buy a freaking house? Because contractors come in and use cash to buy up anything in their price range.

But, yes, on luck. I am a big believer in luck. And protection. I'm a bit of a protections witch I suppose. I have amulets near my doors. A cricket on my hearth. If I wore loafers, I'd definitely stick pennies in them. Mint is for your garden gate. Small mirrors along the garden path look nice and reflect all bad things back where they came from. And no matter what else are the reputed properties of sage, it smells wonderful and fills the space with freshness. (and mosquitoes don't like it either)

I like to keep my options open. I'm not otherwise religious. At all. But I love to see the similarities in the amulets from all over the world. It is so interesting to see how different cultures continents away from each other somehow managed to cling to the same symbols.

That being said, you get the luck you get. I am wearing my eye bracelet and my luck penny, grounded in copper and blue. But it all balances out. The house is going well. Remarkably well. But I walked straight into a coffee table and broke my toe rather badly. It hurts like crazy. Over the past few days, the bruising has changed color twice and is now starting to spread further up my foot. I can't help but walk on it. I walk most of the day at my job, but the time I spend sitting feels no better. I do wish I hadn't broken it.

But I'd rather have the house.

I saw this here....

I saw this in a magazine. As a loner, I am slightly offended. Although I suppose people do continue to disappoint me....mostly with their noise when I would rather have silence. And their presence when I would rather be alone.

I love the quiet. It is so very soothing. If I could meet a large group of 'loners' we would probably get on like a house on fire. And then go back to our own solitary pursuits humming happily.

I really don't understand extroverts at all. Isn't it draining to be around so many people all the time? Certainly is to me. After a party I don't want an after-party, I want a nap. And a book. And maybe to sit with my feet in the cool grass.

So dear Jodi Picoult, the only thing that disappoints me about people, is really, the presence of the people. I'm busy enough in my head, I don't need you.

Why A Ukulele

Dear Amanda,

I cannot play the ukulele. I'm sure that I could learn if I tried, but I have no musical creativity. I learned enough bass guitar to know that. I enjoy playing, but I have no passion or inspiration to bring to it. I let it go. I know I have limits.

I know I should broaden my horizons, and the universe is limitless, and yet; playing music never once filled me with glee. I like to sing but lack training. I possess the keen knowledge that what I really have is an appalling lack of rhythm.

I am okay with that. I am content that others make the music. I can feel music lift me, soothe me, make me flame and make me weep. Some of those songs are yours.

I find my passion in many other things. Mostly food, some geekery; lots of crafting. I'll post that here. Not only the successes. That wouldn't be the truth. And shouldn't your song be about truth? About all of you, not only the socially acceptable bits?

Your ukulele song inspired me and broke my heart and made me cry and gave me hope. So I wanted to give you something back. Amanda, friend I'll never meet, this whole thing, this is my song for you.

1st movement

how long could this symphony be?

i could just keep writing nonsense forever.

but i surely won't.

because i really have nothing to write yet. and this is definitely not a diary.