rosa_acicularis: (fozzie bear)
Easy to research: How one becomes a forensic pathologist in Great Britain.

Not so easy to research: How one becomes a widely-feared criminal mastermind in Great Britain.

(I fell asleep at eight o'clock tonight, and woke just a few minutes ago at one thirty in the morning. My dog, his nocturnal schedule now equally confused, has begun hunting imaginary flies.

It's going to be a long night.) 
rosa_acicularis: (shadows)
I've spent the last two days in a Sherlockian haze, researching poisons and train timetables and Irish law enforcement, only rarely remembering to eat or drink or use the facilities, and listening to Poe's album Haunted on obsessive repeat. I'm about five thousand words in, and I think I might actually collapse before I make it to six thousand.

I'm having so much fucking fun writing this fic, I can't even tell you.

It's almost absurdly dark; probably the most disturbing thing I've ever written. But it's funny how easy it is to forget that while you're writing, to get caught up in the mind of the character who thinks all this is perfectly normal, really, you're just being squeamish and unforgivably bourgeois and then before you know it you're like, hmm, I don't if that murder was graphic enough, maybe I should add some intestines?

So it's been an interesting few days, is what I'm saying. Also: anyone willing to do a read-through and give me a few thoughts? I swear I've kept the intestines to the barest possible minimum.

One of these days I'm going to do a post about my MFA applications and taking the GREs and figuring out what the hell I'm doing with my life, but today is not that day. Today is a day for bloody murder, and occasionally remembering to rehydrate.
rosa_acicularis: (shadows)
I have two strange new addictions: Inception fic, and a choose-your-own-adventure sort of game called Echo Bazaar. I'm amazed by the quality of the fic that's been written in the short time since the movie's release, though perhaps I shouldn't be -- if ever a movie was destined to give birth to a fandom, it was Inception. (And Star Wars, I guess. But never mind that.) Arthur/Ariadne is my poison of choice, but I'm enjoying all sorts of pairings and not-pairings. Perhaps I shall do a rec list? Perhaps.

Echo Bazaar, on the other hand, sort of surprised me, as I've never played a game like this before and I wouldn't have thought I'd get so attached to it so quickly. I'm not sure how to describe it, so I'm stealing a quote from this rather informative website:

"Echo Bazaar is a web-based card game set in the heart of Fallen London, 'a short boat-ride from Hell'. As soon as you log in, there is an otherwordly feeling, despite the almost familiar descriptions of London. You are surrounded by the neutral dark colors of the ‘Neath with the simple words at the top of your screen: Welcome, delicious friend.

On the surface, it is a simple turn-based role-playing game with quirky text. But that doesn’t begin to describe Echo Bazaar."

I made myself a Twitter account just to play this. That's how much fun it is. I'm rosa_acicularis on Twitter and in the game; you should come play with me in Fallen London, and we will become master thieves together and drink fungal wine.

(It's better than it sounds.)
rosa_acicularis: (pink dalek)
I am, as a general rule, not one of those people who gives a crap about what actors are like in real life, but [livejournal.com profile] eponymous_rose pointed me toward this today and now that I've watched it about forty-seven times I feel the need to wave my hands at it and say: OH MY GOD HOW CAN TWO HUMAN BEINGS POSSIBLY BE SO ADORABLE. THEY MUST EACH BE HALF-KITTEN. OR HALF-PUPPY. MATT SMITH IS HALF-KITTEN AND KAREN GILLIAN IS HALF-PUPPY AND TOGETHER THEY ARE SO ADORABLE THAT MY EYES BURN.

Anyway. This is a clip from a recent Confidential.

rosa_acicularis: (shadows)
So my computer is dead. I went through all the recommended stages of mourning (is pouting a stage? I think it must be) and have come out the other side a better, wiser person. My mother, in her infinite goodness, has lent me her shiny new PC that she never uses because "the mouse feels funny" which is code for "I'm just really sick of all the pouting." So I have a temporary replacement computer until I can buy a new one - which, of course, I'll only be able to do if I get a new job. A new job that pays about 12 times better than my old one. C'est la vie.

Thanks again, guys, for all your wonderful, supportive comments on my last, rather miserable entry. You guys were incredibly helpful on the job hunting, computer, and cheering up fronts, and I can't thank you enough.

On a happier note:

Television serial killers and why being unemployed gives you an excellent opportunity to get to know them better. A special spoiler-free edition. )
rosa_acicularis: (bloo wiggin)
I have just made contact with the WORLD'S BIGGEST SPIDER. And by "contact" I mean "smashed the crap out of it with my boot while sobbing like a frightened child." Before I got up the nerve to squish it I stared at it in horror for about half an hour, completely unable to believe the size of it, and now I am seeing phantom spiders everywhere, like when you stare at a light bulb for too long and you can see the light even after you close your eyes.

I HAVE SPIDER IMPRINTS ON MY EYES.

Also, I feel really guilty about killing it, as it was obviously some sort of spider king (spider god?) and now I am responsible for the fall of an entire spider civilization, and anyway it was sort of beautiful in a completely terrifying way, and I generally frown on killing living things just because they creep you out, but SERIOUSLY. This thing would have munched on my head as I slept. It was that big.

(It is still big, only now it is dead and big. People, I have killed Aragog and made Hagrid cry. I am a horrible person.)

In a completely unrelated matter, I am about 5,000 words into a Merlin fic (I know, I know) and if anyone on my flist actually, you know, watches that show (which is awesome, and you should) I could use a second opinion/betay thing. I promise not to yell at you about spiders if you're interested.

Well. Not much, anyway.

rosa_acicularis: (muppet OTP)
No, my friends, I am still here. You have not dreamt me - I am flesh and blood, blood and flesh, true and as real as something which is true, and real. And do not think that because I have not been posting that I have not been here among thee - oh no. I have. I have watched thee from on high (above sea level) and now I have returned to walk amongst thee. And around thee. And occasionally over thee.

Yeah, see, this is why I haven't posted. I'm a lunatic.

I was bumped up to full-time at the bookstore a couple of months ago (I don't think I posted about that. Did I?) and so my life has been rather internet-lite of late. I have kept up with fandom brouhaha (at least, as much as I ever have) and I have been writing fic, though not much and not terribly well. There has been some small amount of REAL LIFE DRAMA, which I may post friends-lockedly later, but first I wanted to say:

I am not dead. I am still working on fic. I enjoy munster cheese. I love you all.

These are the things I wanted to say. Also:

READ CHRISTOPHER MOORE'S NEW BOOK. IT IS AWESOME.
(Buy it at Borders! Yay Borders!)



rosa_acicularis: (tempest)
Today, I lost my dog.

The story goes like this:

Jack, adorable little scamp that he is, was harassing birds in our fenced-in backyard while I got ready to go over to a friend's Thanksgiving dinner. When I came out to fetch him, he was gone.

cut for purposes of suspense.  )
rosa_acicularis: (red socks)


"They say a good man can't get elected president. I don't believe that. Do you?"
- Leo McGarry, The West Wing
rosa_acicularis: (shadows)
Thanks to [profile] the_sandwalker and her recommendation of this site, I now know that 'yell less boozer' is an anagram of my name. I cannot deny that there are a number of ways in which this is appropriate. I won't into detail here, but I will say that one of the ways involves an unhealthy amount of tequila, a duck pond, and some very unfortunate timing.

rosa_acicularis: (fozzie bear)
I've got myself all in a tizzy about this employment ad I saw today. A local theatre company is looking for playwrights, and though I am skeptical, I have come to the realization that there is no earthly reason why I shouldn't at least apply. I mean, the idea of actually getting paid to write is...well, you know, tizzy-making. Thing is, they're asking for a writing sample of ten pages or less, and this means I have three problems:

1. Very few things in my theatre portfolio (such as it is) are that short.

2. Everything in my theatre portfolio is at least two years old.

3. I was an idiot two years ago and I hate everything in my theatre portfolio.

and 

4. I haven't written any original work in a VERY LONG TIME, and I think I may have kinda sorta forgotten how.

Think they'd accept macros instead?
rosa_acicularis: (kissy kissy)
Whee! I am delirious from lack of sleep (took me seven tries to spell delirious, how sad is that?) but I have finished dreamfic of insanity and rampant, heavy-handed symbolism! Well, sort of. Still needs to be betaed and such. (*waves tipsily to [personal profile] jlrpuck* Hiya! Busy?)

But never mind! I FINISHED SOMETHING! (Almost.)

Urgh. I have to be awake and child-friendly in...five hours. Stinky-pants.

BUT OMG IT'S sort of almost DONE.
rosa_acicularis: (sleepy)
In a conversation with Shirtless Irish Houseguest (or Niall, as he prefers to be known) this afternoon, I began to subtly introduce the fact of my insanity. (My policy: start hinting at the crazy as soon as possible. It prevents later messiness.) We were discussing that whole, "What the hell am I going to do after I graduate?" quandary, and I mentioned my rather unhealthy investment in all things film and television, and my not-so-secret ambition to grow up to be Aaron Sorkin, sans shrooms and various other asshattery. (Oh, Sorkin. How the mighty have fallen in mine eyes...)

Where was I? Right. Yes. Well, Niall doesn't really watch much television (though he did know who Aaron Sorkin was, which I admit was something of a turn on), but as we talked about the shows I admire, he pointed out that they varied pretty widely in terms of genre and style. Which...well, maybe. A lot of my favorites are sci fi, but not consistently so. Unsurprisingly, I tend to focus on writers and show runners: Joss Whedon (well, duh), Writer God/Uber Douchebag Sorkin, Rob Thomas, Amy Sherman-Palladino, Brian Fuller, RTD, etc. Looking at that list, one thing becomes clear - I like people who talk fast.

Thinking about these writers and these shows led me to an entirely useless but entertaining meditation on another consistent trend in the shows I love. In each show, there is a character whom I love so dearly, who seems so complete and flawed and staggeringly wonderful that I honestly refuse to admit that they are fictional. There are actors I love and relationships that I love, but this list (ah, there it is - the point of this post) is limited to those characters who utterly enthrall me every moment they're on screen.


rosa_acicularis: (Default)
So lately I've been feeling an odd impulse to post about things other than Doctor Who (odd because, let's face it, how often do I actually think about things other than Who?) but I didn't want to burden my fic-focused flist with posts like:

"You really wouldn't believe how squishy the apples in my fridge are."

and:

"Wow. That spider on my wall is fucking huge."

So [personal profile] rosa_acicularis will be fan fiction central and [profile] rosa_writes will be...everything else. I realize now, of course, that these names would perhaps be more logical if reversed, but I think I shall remind myself that the Creative Mind thrives upon chaos and move on.

All right. I should have gone to sleep hours ago. I have snotty-nosed children to corral like cattle tomorrow, and those ankles aren't going to bite themselves.

Note on the Fic Front:

My current WIP is driving me MAD. (Well, one of four WIPs. Good Lord, what have I done?) I have recently discovered that while I am tempted to write the racy, the racy doesn't want me to touch it with a ten-foot pole. But I am nothing if not obstinate. I shall write vaguely dirty Doctor/Rose if it kills me.

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