I had a Moment. It is not a particularly enlightening moment. I am never going to finish uploading fic to the archive. I will be doing this on my deathbed, poking keys and hating the universe.

I have also run into a problem with anything pre-Smallville; most my cowriters are not in fandom any longer, and that is a lot of fic, both at the series level and at the story level. I'm getting the impression we're not supposed to upload cowrites, which is a bitch, because some of the best work I did in those fandoms was done with Sare Liz and Bishclone. I uploaded a couple automatically, and now I'm staring at them blankly. I'm not sure what to do about this.

Also, what about a cowriter that's not speaking to you? How do you handle that, I ask? Which totally is not a problem I am having, of course, this is totes hypothetical and there might be two or perhaps three, and I'm really unsure about the etiquette of contacting them with a "Hey, so you are pissed at me and I totally take responsibility, now can I archive our cowrites in AOOO?" Or--something. Miss Manners did not cover the finer points of archive etiquette, and I have to say, I'm disappointed in her for that.

I'm enjoying uploading my bad fic a lot, in a weird way. It's comforting to realize I have gotten better. It feels like I have more authority to mock now when I can point and say "I did that. And it was bad."

Life Lessons Learned From Fandom (and Fanfic), by jenn AND HER FLIST

1.) Subject/predicate agreement is apparently a luxury, not a right, when one is going through a particularly pretentious phase.

2.) Sentence subjects are totes optional if you do it for ~art~. Goddamn I was ~artistic~.

3.) First person pov with mixed verb tenses is not confusing and weird, it's a goddamn ~style choice~ and DIAF grammarwhore.

4.) Repeating a single line over and over is okay when it's about angst. In italics, even.

5.) Always claim drunk posting if you can. It's called plausible deniability.

6.) The healing cock is real and go to hell if you don't believe me.

7.) Agricultural terms as metaphors for sex are hot like burning, bitch.

( more things learned from fanfic 8-17 )

( more things learned from fanfic 18-27 )

( more things learned from fanfic 28-37 )

( more things learned from fanfic 38-44 )

Anyone have anything to add? This is, of course, 100% hypothetical and of course you didn't do any of this. So you know, go for it.

First, the good news--I have not seen prostrate substitued for prostate in *months*. It's so nice when people no longer mistake a noun for a verb.

Also happily, no wonton wantons. My need for Chinese has been curbed.

I'd like to say all is well in ficland, but I ran across Yet Another Rodney The Potato Shaped Man of Maximum Chubbiness. Okay. I just want to go on record. Someone needs to write a Jack Sprat and his wife fic for this pairing. Between anorexic/bulimic, hollow-eyed, slow starvation John Sheppard and The Largest Non-Sumo Wrestler Man in History Rodney, my fandom frankly *deserves* it.

Hmm. There has been anorexic John but no Weight Watchers Rodney on a calorie counting diet and crying into his low fat soy ice cream substitute. This is a great injustice.

So let's go to Verbs Maybe I Shouldn't Use For This Sex Scene.

1.) Plowed.

Maybe it's just me. I'm totally insane like this. I grew up rural. We did not see plows in the context of sexual gratification. We saw plows in the context of dirt. With you know. Farming things. Okay, I'm rural, but I never worked a farm in my life. But still. I just--want you to consider, when you are writing about the tender lovemaking of Joe and Jay, and how their passion is so pure, and their love so wonderful, going to a place where someone is plowing someone else? Maybe not what you wanted to get across? Just--okay, I'm disturbing myself with visions of a backhoe and kind of want to lie down now.

2.) Pummelled.

As in pummelled the prostate. Did I spell that right? Seriously. Pummelled? Look, sometimes we may get tired of using those old, normal verbs, but they're old and normal for a *reason*. They do not remind people of school yard fighting. Okay, I've got to stop with the comparisons.

So? Any other verbs that bring unfortunate imagery?

You know, I have always supported the growth and development of badfic. I have. I am non-judgemental. But there are a few things I'd like to address. Just to put on the list, because making me twitch is one thing, but making me cry I'm laughing so hard is quite another. Also, hungry. I get hungry, and not in a good way.

1.) When you have spent multiple paragraphs describing Rodney's stomach, and I find myself, from your adjectives, buidling an image of soft white bread dough and wondering idly if John will start *kneading* it--you may want to go back and rethink it, okay? Because nothing throws me out of a sex scene quite like a sudden curiosity of whether or not Rodney is about to be *baked*.

If John actually starts kneading it, if that *happens*, I swear that even good manners will not stop my mockage. Do not go there.

2.) It seems the use of wonton for wanton has not decreased. I've decided tomorrow is Chinese Night.

3.) I want to give you an image. Okay? Here it is. Rodney the sumo-wrestler and John as Frodo the hobbit. Having sex. If that traumatizes you as much as it does me? Then you honest to God have to stop talking about John as delicate or frail around Rodney's bulk. Cause this can only go to places that spaggel has exclusive permission to go.

Yes. I've been reading on Wraithbait. It's just--*waves hands*--hypnotic.

I WILL NEVER WRITE AGAIN.

Haven't you always wanted to say that? Like, in the midst of a really bad day, when you're certain all of fandom is plotting against you? People do it a lot, though sadly, no one I know well enough to mock later. That makes me sad. I really need to expand my circle of friends.

This is what I told myself, because I've learned that dramatic temper tantrums that require audiences are best performed on myself. I really *am* my best audience, I think.

Also, I like attention. What a surprise.

I miss being six and getting on the floor, kicking my legs and holding my breath and variating that with piercing wails more suited to bamboo under the fingernails. Recently, Child tried this on me. Oddly, he seemed unamused when I critiqued his technique. I mean, how can you take any temper tantrum seriously if someone doesn't hold their breath for at least a full minute and turn an interesting shade of tomato?

Anyway, this particular tantrum was one of my better ones, and I really, really regret that I don't advertise on LJ, since I ran the gamut of threats to *make something work* already. I threatened the story, cajoled the story, promised it money and sexual favors, but it seemed to understand that its incorporeal presence pretty much meant all that was shit, and so continues to defy me.

Don't even ask what story. Because it was all of them. Malicious little rows of simple letters organized into words, sentences, paragraphs, and pages, mocking me with their oh-so-black and white crispness.

I could blame so many things, but I think I'll blame the trauma of the badfic I read the other night.

I *like* badfic. I like it best when its clear the author really went *all out* in making it the worst it could possibly be. When you see *effort* and *attention* dealt to every last, miniscule, terrifying bit of character assassination. Where you can actually really *comprehend* why people say they would rather stick a spork in their own eyeball than ever, ever read it again.

*That* moment. You know. When you have the spork in your hand and are seconds away from doing just that.

I like to call it the elite of badfic. What most badfic can only dream of being. Where you look upon it and take in the shape of your fate, realize that the day you die, you will weep bitter, bitter tears about the minutes of your life stolen by those mocking little words that took part of your soul and not a little of your sanity.

They're overachievers. You almost think they sat down before their innocent little wordprocessing program and thought, how can I traumatize the masses the most? What place in their psyches should I stick this germ-encrusted knife of endless bad characterization? What kind of stew can I make of this bubonic-plague, three eyed plotbunny on my lap, eating the bones of the dead while I type? Then they laugh, and it's an evil laugh, a laugh that echoes through the minds fo all, and every time you feel a cold shiver for no reason? That's not a goose walking over your grave. That's a elite badfic writer Getting an Idea.

Now you know.

Anyway.

I also talk to myself. No, that has nothing to do with the conversation, but I thought I'd just throw that out there.

Someone *really* should entertain me now. Like the beloved, beautiful, bounteous, breathtaking, beguiling mintwitch (in retrospect, using m words there might have been more clever, don't you think?) writing more Word of the Day. Or you know, anyone. Anyone at all. Who doesn't suck.

*waits*

Annny minute now.

*waits longer*

I could be reading badfic *as we speak*. Do *you* want to be responsible for the unfortunate spork accident?

Still wallowing in excessive obsession. Also, LJ is being a bitch and fucking with me when I try to answer comments, which is so very not amusing. Of course, IT's been screwing with me as well in uploading, so I should totally not be surprised.

gem225, they came yesterday! Buried in all kinds of goodness. Happy. Also-*Squee*! THank you for the music! *hugshugshugs* You. Are. So. Cool. Thank you so much. *hugs*

( random bitchery )