blamebrampton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blamebrampton) wrote2009-09-29 09:36 pm
blamebrampton) wrote2009-09-29 09:36 pm
Oh HI!
Sound asleep at a reasonable hour last night, woken by a crashing sound avec Irish folk songs. There, at the door, almost upright, was my writing talent.
'Oh HI!' it said.
'You smell like a distillery and you sound like a LOLcat,' I said. 'Get inside.'
'I bought you something!' it slurred. Five minutes of pocket-turning-out, it looked up again. 'But I ate it. Or lost it. Or maybe femme's talent has it. I think hers has my socks.'
'You're wearing tights.'
'Yeah, they're not mine.'
'Get inside!'
I put the coffee on, told it to sleep on the sofa, and went back to bed. This morning, I woke up to a small bunch of roses (picked from my front garden) and some new Fathers. Here, have a snippet for proof! (Alas, this is the third fic to finish on my list. Nothing on the other two. Stupid bloody talent!)
...
Draco watches as Lester looks from him, to Harry leaning rumpled against the doorjamb, then back to him, and swiftly sums up the situation inaccurately.
“Potter was still with Weasley at the hospital when I went to pick up the children,” Draco says, in what he suspects is a doomed bid for clarification. “We have a surfeit of bedrooms, it seemed only polite to offer him one.”
“Of course, sir,” says Lester with a very passable stab at wide-eyed innocence.
Draco comforts himself with the knowledge that Lester won’t share his conclusions with anyone. He’ll just mentally file them in the Useful Things To Know About My Superiors part of his brain, a part Draco suspects takes up several lobes.
Harry ambles in and pours himself a cup of tea from the still-warm pot. “Any news?”
“Backing for the whole op seems to have come from France. Lester tells me that Kingsley’s waiting for you to come in.”
Harry makes a face while he sips his tea. “It was too much to hope for that it would all be wrapped up neatly by the time I got up, I suppose.”
“Yes,” says Draco. “It was. Not to mention that it’s eight and you were going to be up at seven.”
“But you’ve breakfast for me, yes?”
Lester’s eyes are like saucers, Draco realises and, as he replays that conversation in his head, he is forced to admit Lester’s suspicions could seem reasonable to the untutored mind. Probably not helped by the fact that Harry is still wearing his pyjamas. With the DM monogram.
'Oh HI!' it said.
'You smell like a distillery and you sound like a LOLcat,' I said. 'Get inside.'
'I bought you something!' it slurred. Five minutes of pocket-turning-out, it looked up again. 'But I ate it. Or lost it. Or maybe femme's talent has it. I think hers has my socks.'
'You're wearing tights.'
'Yeah, they're not mine.'
'Get inside!'
I put the coffee on, told it to sleep on the sofa, and went back to bed. This morning, I woke up to a small bunch of roses (picked from my front garden) and some new Fathers. Here, have a snippet for proof! (Alas, this is the third fic to finish on my list. Nothing on the other two. Stupid bloody talent!)
...
Draco watches as Lester looks from him, to Harry leaning rumpled against the doorjamb, then back to him, and swiftly sums up the situation inaccurately.
“Potter was still with Weasley at the hospital when I went to pick up the children,” Draco says, in what he suspects is a doomed bid for clarification. “We have a surfeit of bedrooms, it seemed only polite to offer him one.”
“Of course, sir,” says Lester with a very passable stab at wide-eyed innocence.
Draco comforts himself with the knowledge that Lester won’t share his conclusions with anyone. He’ll just mentally file them in the Useful Things To Know About My Superiors part of his brain, a part Draco suspects takes up several lobes.
Harry ambles in and pours himself a cup of tea from the still-warm pot. “Any news?”
“Backing for the whole op seems to have come from France. Lester tells me that Kingsley’s waiting for you to come in.”
Harry makes a face while he sips his tea. “It was too much to hope for that it would all be wrapped up neatly by the time I got up, I suppose.”
“Yes,” says Draco. “It was. Not to mention that it’s eight and you were going to be up at seven.”
“But you’ve breakfast for me, yes?”
Lester’s eyes are like saucers, Draco realises and, as he replays that conversation in his head, he is forced to admit Lester’s suspicions could seem reasonable to the untutored mind. Probably not helped by the fact that Harry is still wearing his pyjamas. With the DM monogram.
no subject
Yes, I have had lots of cussedness of late, but sometimes ones need talent, too, or the result is a story that consists of too many scenes with set pieces, followed by explosions in a desperate bid to make things interesting. Actually, that works quite well for Dan Brown ...
I'm looking forward to writing more, just need to get a few things out of the way first!
no subject
*Feels all kinds of special* As far as the dance goes, remember that I'm a 35 year old fat white guy. About the only dance I can pull off is the Twist. :)
The cussedness actually works better for academic and professional writing, which I teach. They don't usually let me do the creative stuff (and I usually decline anyway).
Hope the other stuff has gotten out of the way.
no subject
*Reminds self that self never actually learned to type, so is allowed to be rubbish at it*
Alas, the other stuff is hanging on, but I am Taking Steps to slay it. And the Twist is a classic!