Flutterings

A fic I've been sketching out just veered 180 degrees into a new direction, with a different cast from a different fandom. Aaaaaaaaaaah.

Here, have David Tennant extemporising on "Exit, pursued by a bear" for radio game Just a Minute.

Also in the happy entertainment category: MarnaNightingale's 2004 guide to what's possible on a motorcycle. The unsolicited personal opinions are dead on.

Having wrapped up a big GOTV mailing a few hours ago, I am pulling together an odds-and-ends letter to my friend Rae, which means being amused anew by some recent commentary on D. H. Lawrence, who is one of the reasons I chose not to specialize in modernism for my MA (having realized I couldn't abide the prospect of teaching or discussing his work with a straight face the rest of my career. There was a thread on K. J. Charles's Twitter feed with these opening shots:

Laughing my head off at the implied framing of DH Lawrence as 1920 Shades of Grey. I mean. Has anyone tried to read that thing. https://t.co/5WNzYx5r3m

— KJ Charles (needs to get back to work) (@kj_charles) September 1, 2021

To quote Will Darling:

"...Women in Love, which had been accused of obscenity as if anyone could find the good bits in all that waffle. Will had given up on page seventeen."

— KJ Charles (needs to get back to work) (@kj_charles) September 1, 2021

. . . and then (having gotten to it a bit late) D.J. Taylor's Wall Street Journal review of Frances Wilson's Burning Man, which included these choice observations:

It is to the author’s great credit, then, that hardly any of the vast pile of dirt that has accumulated around Lawrence in the 90-odd years since his death is swept under the carpet. Ms. Wilson, who has written biographies of Thomas De Quincey and Dorothy Wordsworth, knows that D.H. Lawrence’s reputation has been in the doldrums for nearly half a century; that feminists loathe his phallocentric view of the world; that his sulks, sneers and general intransigence would disgrace a child of 5; and that to deny any of this would be a calamitous mistake. Significantly, some of the worst put-downs of Lawrence are filed by mild-mannered quietists. E.M. Forster, accused by Lawrence of ignoring his “own basic, primal being,” complained that he liked “the Lawrence who talks to Hilda [the maid] and sees birds and is physically restful and wrote The White Peacock [Lawrence’s first novel, published in 1911] . . . but I do not like the deaf impercipient fanatic who has nosed over his own little sexual round until he believes that there is no other path for others to take.”

There is something rather satisfying about the final conundrum that Frances Wilson sets out to solve. This is the question of what, after his death at Vence in the hills above Nice, happened to his ashes. Ms. Wilson reckons they were taken back to New Mexico and eaten by mesdames Brett, Dodge Luhan and his widow. But, then, Lawrence had spent a lifetime consuming the people around him. They could have been forgiven for getting a little of their own back.

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On a more palatable note, I came across daisyninjagirl's More Loving One Sense and Sensibility AU while checking on something else I wanted to mention to Rae. It was both absorbing and satisfying. My plans for today hadn't included devouring 86K of Elinor Dashwood/Colonel Brandon, but these things happen.

I am not letting myself look at some of the source material for Jewltide until I finish the things that were already on my slate for today, but ghost klezmer bands are reportedly a part of the Yudah Cohen series, so that has claimed a slot on the procrastination investigation itinerary.

The sketch file for the side fic (e.g., the non-crossing-with-Wimsey canon filler I might actually have a prayer of posting before NYR 2021 closes) is nearly at 3,000 words, which is rather annoying given how I had sternly told myself to focus whole hog on the things for which my deadlines are non-negotiable as opposed to wholly optional no-one-is-expecting-this fluffing about.

Of course, my brain has been pulling this stunt for decades, so I am not really surprised. Because, let's be frank, as much as I truly enjoy herding citations into compliance, there's the difference between black coffee and fine champagne (and I would feel bereft if my life could not include both), and so there's the pleasure of doggedly applying AMA style across a jumble of files that is most necessary (because it's related to a ton of money to be directed toward cancer research) that yet doesn't feel quite enough if I don't also carve out time to fashion fresh conversations among our England World friends (or, in the case of Daniel, the dishing out of snark and the deflecting of people shouting at him, with abundant reason for dishing and deflecting and especially the shouting). I can barely wait until I can flesh this out enough to share what's going on when I have Fen and Pat have this exchange:

( spoilers through 'How Goes the World?' under the cut )

In other sparkling distractions, my re-immersion in Monteverdi has now extended to watching every instance of "Madama, con tua pace" to be found on YouTube. It's a brilliant, hilarious aria, and the interpretations range from classical and Louis XIV settings (with 1970s production values, which adds to the entertainment) to nordic-abstract and franco-grotesque riffs.


1979 Harnoncourt/Ponnelle

It doesn't hurt that philosophical musings typically make my own head ache, so I'm delighted to come across Monteverdi making fun of them. My favorite incarnation at the moment is Silvia Frigato's, which starts at around 52:15 at https://youtu.be/A7-99pvv8f4. It is so physically precise and so beautifully rude, especially her delicious laugh as the orchestra rips through the ciaccona.

(I'm also delighted by this 2000 staging in Aix -- the page peeks in ca. 43:22 and starts sassing Seneca a minute later. Silvia's voice and technique are stronger to my ear, but this Seneca is freaking gorgeous, so there's that. . .)

Chronic grousing aside, this self-inflicted mayhem is all to the good: the KJC plotbunnies are going to push me into reading more novels and histories (and Timon of Athens) sooner than I would otherwise, and I hit the piano yesterday and today to thump my way through parts of Poppea and Ulisse. Good times.

Or, TFW when you start writing a drabble because the phrase "obvious competence" in Think of England delights you, as does the character it's used to describe, but an hour later you realize it's turning into a 4+1 crossover between England World and the Wimseyverse, and the next day it morphs into a three-part deeper dive that no longer includes the character you were originally going to fluff about, and then you realize what the new title and through-theme should be, and then another day later you recognize that you're going to have to table the blessed thing until fall, because you are deep in the weeds with existing commitments as things are and cannot keep falling into rabbit holes about Judaism in 1880s Spitalfields and early 20th-century publishing and editions of Dante and birthday/holiday non-traditions and Bohemian spending patterns and so on, plus a thorough canon review of England World and the Wimseyverse and the Will Darling Adventures is called for, and looking at Haggard would probably be wise . . .

And, really, what's the rush, since there's a queue for Will Darling 1 and 3 at the library, plus the author will be posting a postlude to her newsletter that could well joss the whole mess (or at least shove it hard into a different direction). But in the meantime the plotbunny is bouncing around my mental garret with gleeful menace, and I am both entranced (it does feel good to have that "oooh, this could be really fun" buzziness again) and exasperated.

New words on "Not as Dumb" since lunchtime: 2692. Plus longhand notes on both sides of four old library sign-out cards, and yes, I'm alive to the irony of appropriating them for the purposes of plotting online fic. (I'll post a photograph later.)

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LJ link-farming fail: detailed here and elsewhere. ( Read more... )

Anyhow, main point: posting it here as a FYI for those of you who do want to know what LJ is doing with your link-clicks.

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On a happier note, I've indulged in a fair amount of really good fic the past couple of days. The standouts include:

An Interesting and Difficult Woman. Author currently anon at the hp_beholder fest. Aunt Muriel/Ollivander. 10K, NWS. Splendid depiction of two older people keeping on and playing chess with each other, both literally and figuratively.

[... and I had another "over 40 kickass female" rec I was thinking of in relation to this, but the bookmark might be on the other computer. Oops...]

Half the World is Waiting by dreamlittleryo. FAKE, Bikky/Carol and Dee/Ryo and others, futurefic, about 5K, PG-13, terrific characterization (including of tertiary characters like Lai). Love, love, love.

Okay, that's enough tab-wrangling for the moment. Post on wolves and sheep TK...

This morning's church service was on gender - Beyond Male and Female - and the main speaker will be teaching a free three-session course on "Understanding the 'T' in LGBT." The sanctuary was packed - in part because there was a congregational meeting afterwards, but also with a number of visitors from the wider community. Good to see.

I made turkey-and-zucchini fried rice for dinner, and am roasting chicken tenders & onions for weekday noshing. I also have turkey bao, salmon with couscous, and a mess of noodles left over from last week's meals.

Catching some of the Australian Open doubles action on espn360.com. (Sadly, not tonight, as Other Things Need To Get Done, but it's been lovely having the option.) (On the other hand, the dogfight between Kohlmann-Nieminen and Bolelli - Seppi is seriously tempting me. Maybe for the last handful of games... Also, word is that Henri Leconte was imitating Nadal during a Legends match a couple nights ago (after the crowd chant morphed from "C'mon Rafter" to "C'mon Rafa!"). Hee!)

Current Fic of Doom is at 3300 words and about 4.1/7 done. There's a sentence that I've been beached on all day, but I think I'm about to shove past it now.

Jewels and Jill Elmore's The Family Chef, which happened to be on the library New Book shelf when I stopped by to pick up some manga last week. (And have I mentioned lately how cool it is that my library has a decent selection of manga?) Apparently they're celebrity chefs, but what I've read so far is pleasantly down-to-earth and the recipes look very doable. I'll be getting my own copy of this (I'm a messy cook).

Speaking of messy, there are dishes to wash. Onwards!

WAIT, WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE THREE MORE SCENES???

The recs (both by currently anon):

Open Hand
Nc-17, Snape/Lupin, 6000 words
Author's summary: After the war, Severus must decide whether or not he wants to pick up where he left off with Remus, and Remus helps him make up his mind.
Author's warnings: not canon compliant in that Snape and Lupin survive the war and Teddy isn't Remus' biological child, mutual masturbation, use of Legilimency during sex, desperation, established relationship
Ribbons's reaction: Superb hurt-comfort, dry humor, a Remus equal to Severus
Excerpt:

"...the media are portraying you as a redeemed anti-hero," Remus said, amusement lacing his voice. "A wizarding version of Heathcliff, if you will."

Severus rolled his eyes at that and gave an annoyed huff.

"Well, you are tall, dark, and broody," Remus pointed out. "I dare say you'll have women flinging their knickers at you after this, eager to help you forget the lingering memory of your doomed and tragic love for Lily."

Remus was giving him a pointed look, and Severus tried not to appear sheepish as he glanced away and picked idly at the bed sheets, grateful he couldn't talk at the moment.

"Admit it: you were trying to rattle Harry even in your almost-dying moments."

Severus grimaced and nodded, silently damning Remus for knowing him too well.

Amor Vitae
Rating: PG-13, gen, 5K
Character(s): Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape, Moody, Lupin
Author's summary: "Some people wonder why Filius Flitwick is always so cheerful at Christmas"
Ribbons's reaction: I have a soft spot for fics that give Flitwick his due, and this one does so in a way that's both heartbreaking (I was in tears by the end) and hopeful (as befits the season). The author is deft with both characterization and revelation, and rereading it, I keep admiring how s/he shows you what's just happened without over-detailing or over-dialoguing it, if that makes sense.
Excerpt (and yes, I'm conscious this bit doesn't mention Flitwick at all, but it's the first, short, non-spoilery part that best illustrates why I'll be rereading this story):

"Anyone else for tea?" Minerva snapped her book shut and got up from her armchair by the fireplace.

"Not me, thanks," Remus said as he slumped down on the lumpy sofa.

"What you call tea should be a Class A tradable substance," Alastor Moody growled. "But I'll have some if you're making it anyway. And how often have I told you to take your wand with you, even if you go to the kitchen?"

Minerva pursed her lips and shoved her wand between the folds of her robes.

"TIP DOWN! You wouldn't be the first witch to lose a..."

He was reduced to silence by the arched eyebrow that every British witch or wizard under the age of thirty-eight knew to interpret as a danger sign. "Thank you for your concern, Alastor, but not everybody handles their wand with such brute force that they blow off their..."

"I think I may have some tea after all," Remus said and got up from the sofa. He was still rather new to the Order of the Phoenix.

A side-note: I learned about both these fics through the recs of other fans (in this case, lore and pale-moonlite respectively). Please, please comment on the ones you enjoy (even a one-word YES! warms the cockles of most writers' hearts) and rec if/when you are able (even if it's months later) - it means so much to the creators, and it is, in the end, our only means of rewarding them for sharing their gifts.

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The outright squee: LJ: opalmatrix's Appetizing: FAKE, Ryo/Dee, PG-13, 675 words. Prompt was "kissing someone to shut them up - eggplant." GLEE!

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The moan:

Saints and saeurbraten, the fic-I-am-not-really-working-on-yet is ALREADY being a mejorama epic PAIN IN THE ASS. (And that's without a single mention of cows. Or cream. Yet, anyway.)

Ok, back to work now. *shoves out-of-control outline into duffel bag and slams the locker door shut, panting*

Dear Brain,

When I tell you we need to table all fic until Bastille Day, that is SO TOTALLY not your cue to go get hijacked by RPS tennis bunnies. OMGWTFTOPSPIN.

Ribbons

P.S. For the love of Bartenieff, stop sulking about how slow you are to learn dance combinations. This isn't grade school PE revisited: you've got better hair and clothes, you're in it for the workout, and it puts your rank-amateur classes into perspective. Yes, your butt and belly look huge in the studio mirrors, and you've got the Arms of Complete Clueless Placement-What-Placement? Flail 90 percent of the time, but you are literally twice as old as most of the students and some of the instructors. Your friends didn't have to tell you you looked hot in the short clingy purple dress last night, and yet they did, so shut up, enjoy that, and do your crunches already. Sheesh.

Remember a couple weeks ago, when I begged the boys to go back to their own story and start talking to each other already? And remember how I decided yesterday, oh, how much harm could there be in visiting them for a couple hours before dinnertime?

...Here's the weekend report. The story is looking more and more like a six-parter. The fest gods have got to be laughing at me, considering all I had in mind when I claimed the original prompt was a drabble.

... and speaking of springkink, the new round of prompts is now available for signup. There are at least four prompts for FAKE (not all of them from me), two for Harudaki, and one for Umaimon Kuwasero available for claiming. No, I'm not touching any of them, but it'd be really cool if some of you did, especially considering the minimum's only 100 words. *is so Not Subtle about catapulting bunnies at friendslist*

ETA: I keep forgetting to mention that I did finish the Embracing Spring ficlet, and it was beta'd by the ever-encouraging geri_chan, who has a story in the fest as well that's both wicked hot and a fun study of several secondary characters (especially given how said characters are notable in how they don't like being secondary, which is admittedly a theme I am myself drawn to). I ended up calling mine "Gimlet"; my working title for the series is "Squeeze," but first I need Ryo and Dee to get to that Crisco. *resumes glaring at characters*

ETA 2: I'm currently wearing a tank top with the word "POWNED" on it -- it's the name of a heavy metal band for which the painter of my Mom's house is the lead singer. When he saw the logo, my husband demanded, "What's that 'O' doing in there?" -- the same thing I did when I grabbed the shirt this morning. We both spend way too much time online, is what.