Happy LJ Anniversary to me!!

A very big thank you to micolerose  for my lovely rubber duckie! I will be diving into the bath in a minute and will toss in his non-virtual counterparts in homage!

The reason that I originally took up lj was because my lovely friend GBrampton, aka dumbys_baby, lured me to the dark side by having a birthday, or perhaps going away for a few months ... something that deserved a nice present at any rate. But I was out of ideas. The one thing I could remember her saying wasn't "I crave a red mandolin for the kitchen", rather: "Don't knock fanfic until you've read, or better yet, written some."

So I did, both. And while I still would not describe myself as a fan, I am a convert to fic. You've heard me rave before about the talent and the generosity of fandom, so I won't repeat it all here, but it has been an experience that I would not have missed. And I have had some really unmissable experiences in my life to calibrate by. Of course, the past tense there is purely for effect, as if nothing else, I have WIPs and a sense of how cranky people will be if I never finish them. Unlike some people *cough Shadow of his Wings, cough*.

Alas, this is not the fic update you are probably looking for, but it is the next part of that story I began for GB. And I'll post again in a few minutes with a small gift for those lovely people who have nagged, harrangued, wondered how Fathers is going recently (and not so recently).

Title: These Fragile Bonds (GB's Story) 4/?
Author: blamebrampton 
Summary: Dumbledore's death drives two points home to Harry. The first is that he can never go home again. The second is that he wholly failed  to understand Draco Malfoy. One rescue, some unplanned shagging and a battle to the death later, both points are still true. Set directly after HBP.
Rating: PG this chapter. Up to a light R overall
Words this chapter: 5505 (23,300 so far in total)
Disclaimer: Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.
Author's notes: Thank you so much to anthimaeria for her lightning-fast edit of the first four chapters of this section, the remaining blunders are all my own work. I completely failed to get it to the wonderful jadzialove in anything approaching reasonable time, so check back in a day or two if typos cut to the quick.

Many, many thanks to dear GB, who was so right. I will be much faster with the next bit as the lads fall back into bed there and rescue me from the necessity of plot for a few lines!

Most of all, thank you Flist for making this such an enjoyable, enlightening and intriguing year. Here's to the next one!

part one
part two
part three

( After leaving the safe house ... )

Happy LJ Anniversary to me!!

A very big thank you to micolerose  for my lovely rubber duckie! I will be diving into the bath in a minute and will toss in his non-virtual counterparts in homage!

The reason that I originally took up lj was because my lovely friend GBrampton, aka dumbys_baby, lured me to the dark side by having a birthday, or perhaps going away for a few months ... something that deserved a nice present at any rate. But I was out of ideas. The one thing I could remember her saying wasn't "I crave a red mandolin for the kitchen", rather: "Don't knock fanfic until you've read, or better yet, written some."

So I did, both. And while I still would not describe myself as a fan, I am a convert to fic. You've heard me rave before about the talent and the generosity of fandom, so I won't repeat it all here, but it has been an experience that I would not have missed. And I have had some really unmissable experiences in my life to calibrate by. Of course, the past tense there is purely for effect, as if nothing else, I have WIPs and a sense of how cranky people will be if I never finish them. Unlike some people *cough Shadow of his Wings, cough*.

Alas, this is not the fic update you are probably looking for, but it is the next part of that story I began for GB. And I'll post again in a few minutes with a small gift for those lovely people who have nagged, harrangued, wondered how Fathers is going recently (and not so recently).

Title: These Fragile Bonds (GB's Story) 4/?
Author: blamebrampton 
Summary: Dumbledore's death drives two points home to Harry. The first is that he can never go home again. The second is that he wholly failed  to understand Draco Malfoy. One rescue, some unplanned shagging and a battle to the death later, both points are still true. Set directly after HBP.
Rating: PG this chapter. Up to a light R overall
Words this chapter: 5505 (23,300 so far in total)
Disclaimer: Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.
Author's notes: Thank you so much to anthimaeria for her lightning-fast edit of the first four chapters of this section, the remaining blunders are all my own work. I completely failed to get it to the wonderful jadzialove in anything approaching reasonable time, so check back in a day or two if typos cut to the quick.

Many, many thanks to dear GB, who was so right. I will be much faster with the next bit as the lads fall back into bed there and rescue me from the necessity of plot for a few lines!

Most of all, thank you Flist for making this such an enjoyable, enlightening and intriguing year. Here's to the next one!

part one
part two
part three

( After leaving the safe house ... )

And to prove that I really have been writing Fathers ...

In the few minutes between the last post and this one, my dear friend bryoneybrynn  has mocked me in public AGAIN for failing to finish this story. I put it to her that if she hadn't convinced me to do the AS/S fest this would have been over by May ;-P Anyway, she mocked me in an update for Certain Dark Things, so I'm actually prepared to wear that ...

People I like much more, including mic and anabellhenry have been asking kindly what I'm up to, too. Being stressed and mental is probably the honest response. And sleeping on the sofa to wake up covered in kitties.

So, in a special sneak preview and with the caveat that I could actually decide to change anything in the following, a special sneak preview of the last part of Fathers Who Could Do with a Spot of Sinning (and a less ridiculous title). This time I really am writing the rest of this before I do ANYTHING else fic-wise.

A thousand thank yous to pingrid  who held off getting ready for dinner to cast a weather eye over this.  Ooh! and a big thank you to eynhashofet for Comment of the Day the other day! I can mock Twilight and be rewarded! Life is good!

( Ooh! Exposition at the hospital! Yeah, that'll work ... )

And to prove that I really have been writing Fathers ...

In the few minutes between the last post and this one, my dear friend bryoneybrynn  has mocked me in public AGAIN for failing to finish this story. I put it to her that if she hadn't convinced me to do the AS/S fest this would have been over by May ;-P Anyway, she mocked me in an update for Certain Dark Things, so I'm actually prepared to wear that ...

People I like much more, including mic and anabellhenry have been asking kindly what I'm up to, too. Being stressed and mental is probably the honest response. And sleeping on the sofa to wake up covered in kitties.

So, in a special sneak preview and with the caveat that I could actually decide to change anything in the following, a special sneak preview of the last part of Fathers Who Could Do with a Spot of Sinning (and a less ridiculous title). This time I really am writing the rest of this before I do ANYTHING else fic-wise.

A thousand thank yous to pingrid  who held off getting ready for dinner to cast a weather eye over this.  Ooh! and a big thank you to eynhashofet for Comment of the Day the other day! I can mock Twilight and be rewarded! Life is good!

( Ooh! Exposition at the hospital! Yeah, that'll work ... )

The pilgrims' progress

Remember how I was whining about World Youth Day? It's here ... In good news, it's legal to be annoying again. This is a great relief to me as I seem to annoy without trying. I managed to make a man on the train sniff derisively at me the other day, in what I thought was an unfair fashion, since I was in fact defending the Pope.

My friend had mentioned that the Pope had been a member of the Hitler Youth. "Yes," I said. "That's true, but imagine if we'd lost the War, we'd be speaking in hushed tones of Biggles readers." The sniffer ruffled his paper at me to emphasise his point, which I think is unfair. While there are many legitimate criticisms of the Pope to make, this isn't really one. If he'd been enthusiastic about it, that would be a different story ...

So. Sydney is full of pilgrims. It has been fun playing spot the order, and I did have a respectful giggle at the traditionally dressed nuns wearing World Youth Day football scarves with their habits. But the city as a whole has responded to the influx in its traditional way: it's gone mad.

One of the main train stations for the event is Wynyard, and it is expected to be packed, so, rather than having more trains, or station staff on the platforms controlling crowds, they have removed all the seats so there is more room to be packed in.

Pilgrims come with backpacks, and I can't really complain since I usually have my laptop pack with me, too. But they are young people with backpacks and some have a disturbing lack of spatial awareness. Happily they are also self-policing and I have seen completely unconnected pilgrims taking charge of groups of unruly youngsters and making them behave in an orderly fashion. I heart bossy pilgrims.

At Central, the main train station where I change trains of a workday, the station guard came over the tannoy saying: "Please stand behind the yellow line. If you do not stand behind the yellow line, you might die, even if you're a Pilgrim. That would be bad, we'd prefer you stand behind the yellow line. And have a holy, holy day!"

The cheery last phrase did make most people laugh.

And I was able to send some young French pilgrims to the right train on Tuesday, too, which I feel good about since they were on the Liverpool train, and if they hadn't jumped off at Erko or St Peters, may never have been seen again.

There was a cycling pilgrim who zipped past us today (you shall know them by their orange backpacks) and J muttered, "There goes someone who really has faith." I had to agree.

In Grrrrr WYD news, I find myself liking the Pope a great deal more than his representatives in Sydney. The Pope arrived in Sydney saying that he wished to apologise to victims of sexual abuse, who had been preyed on by those who betrayed the trust of their flock. He then went to a spiritual retreat and spent time with a kitten that has been specially obtained for him, and some native Australian animals.

At the same time, the Foster family began talking in the media about their multi-year struggle to obtain the court-awarded compensation that was ordered to them after their two girls were sexually abused by a notorious priest at their school. At least Cardinal Pell had the good grace to say that he understands why the family is upset.

However, the chief organiser of WYD, Bishop Fisher, told a press conference that the family is dwelling crankily on old wounds. Given the Fosters' eldest daughter committed suicide a few months ago, this is something of an outrageous statement. Pell has not yet commented on Fisher's words. I understand that Fisher wants everyone to concentrate on his bright shiny event, but this is not the way to do it.

Tomorrow the whole circus moves up the road from my work. If you do not hear from me for a few days, it will be because I have been lost in the crowds and been carted off to see an exorcist when my cranky baby lion impersonations are misunderstood.

The pilgrims' progress

Remember how I was whining about World Youth Day? It's here ... In good news, it's legal to be annoying again. This is a great relief to me as I seem to annoy without trying. I managed to make a man on the train sniff derisively at me the other day, in what I thought was an unfair fashion, since I was in fact defending the Pope.

My friend had mentioned that the Pope had been a member of the Hitler Youth. "Yes," I said. "That's true, but imagine if we'd lost the War, we'd be speaking in hushed tones of Biggles readers." The sniffer ruffled his paper at me to emphasise his point, which I think is unfair. While there are many legitimate criticisms of the Pope to make, this isn't really one. If he'd been enthusiastic about it, that would be a different story ...

So. Sydney is full of pilgrims. It has been fun playing spot the order, and I did have a respectful giggle at the traditionally dressed nuns wearing World Youth Day football scarves with their habits. But the city as a whole has responded to the influx in its traditional way: it's gone mad.

One of the main train stations for the event is Wynyard, and it is expected to be packed, so, rather than having more trains, or station staff on the platforms controlling crowds, they have removed all the seats so there is more room to be packed in.

Pilgrims come with backpacks, and I can't really complain since I usually have my laptop pack with me, too. But they are young people with backpacks and some have a disturbing lack of spatial awareness. Happily they are also self-policing and I have seen completely unconnected pilgrims taking charge of groups of unruly youngsters and making them behave in an orderly fashion. I heart bossy pilgrims.

At Central, the main train station where I change trains of a workday, the station guard came over the tannoy saying: "Please stand behind the yellow line. If you do not stand behind the yellow line, you might die, even if you're a Pilgrim. That would be bad, we'd prefer you stand behind the yellow line. And have a holy, holy day!"

The cheery last phrase did make most people laugh.

And I was able to send some young French pilgrims to the right train on Tuesday, too, which I feel good about since they were on the Liverpool train, and if they hadn't jumped off at Erko or St Peters, may never have been seen again.

There was a cycling pilgrim who zipped past us today (you shall know them by their orange backpacks) and J muttered, "There goes someone who really has faith." I had to agree.

In Grrrrr WYD news, I find myself liking the Pope a great deal more than his representatives in Sydney. The Pope arrived in Sydney saying that he wished to apologise to victims of sexual abuse, who had been preyed on by those who betrayed the trust of their flock. He then went to a spiritual retreat and spent time with a kitten that has been specially obtained for him, and some native Australian animals.

At the same time, the Foster family began talking in the media about their multi-year struggle to obtain the court-awarded compensation that was ordered to them after their two girls were sexually abused by a notorious priest at their school. At least Cardinal Pell had the good grace to say that he understands why the family is upset.

However, the chief organiser of WYD, Bishop Fisher, told a press conference that the family is dwelling crankily on old wounds. Given the Fosters' eldest daughter committed suicide a few months ago, this is something of an outrageous statement. Pell has not yet commented on Fisher's words. I understand that Fisher wants everyone to concentrate on his bright shiny event, but this is not the way to do it.

Tomorrow the whole circus moves up the road from my work. If you do not hear from me for a few days, it will be because I have been lost in the crowds and been carted off to see an exorcist when my cranky baby lion impersonations are misunderstood.