So, I think most folks on the flist are aware that there's another Fanfic Award thing going around - Words on the Wind. I know zilch about it, I have little to no intention of becoming half as involved as I am/was in the CoT awards, and for me, it's mostly been under the radar.

Today, I got a notification that one of my stories was nominated. So first, thank you to whoever nominated it. I'm very flattered that you remembered the story and took the time to enter it! I don't get many nominations, so I treasure every one of them.

Moving on....I'm not sure I should accept the nomination. The nominated story? Is the remix I wrote a few months ago. Specifically, Finding Rose (The Forty-three Days Remix) from the chips_remixed challenge over the summer. The story is mine - but it's based off something someone else originally wrote.

One could argue that I'm simply describing fanfic in general. Hush, you.

So I'm not exactly sure this is something I should accept, and I remember this seemed to be a discussion a while back. (Or maybe this was strictly among the mods at CoT, I can't remember.) Should an author be nominated for a remixed fic? Is it fair to the author of the original fic on which it was based?

Hence...poll. What thinketh you, flist? Do I accept the nomination or not? Mind, I don't have a CLUE what category it's in, although I suppose I should find out.

Poll #1483634
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 15

Should I accept the nomination?

The first person to find me a picture of Gargamel of the Smurfs smiling gets....um....something. Fic, bookmark, their own personal picture of the Doctor Smurfified, whatever, you name it. Thank you!

Got one, thank you! MWAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA.

(Hey, the epilogue to Gaston Leroux is short. And I'm overdue for another Smurfy-Wurfy chapter.)

If I post it, then I'm accountable.

Things to do today:

Clean the bathrooms
Vacuum
Edit the rest of Water Music
Work on the project4editrx cookbook (TESTERS, if you are reading this, go turn in your tested recipe forms, please!)
Clean out the fridge
Grocery shopping (How the hell did I go through 2 dozen eggs in two weeks?)
Make some pie crusts (Bill will want pie)


No, Nano is not on that list. How very observant of you.

Monday:

Me: Cleo, on Saturday we're going to the vet.
Cleo: That's nice. When's dinner?


Wednesday:

Me: Cleo, on Saturday we're going to the vet.
Cleo: Sure. Listen, my mouse is stuck under the oven, can you get it for me?


Friday:

Me: Cleo, tomorrow morning we're going to the vet.
Cleo: Okay. I know I had dinner already, but could I please have a little more? I'm really hungry.


Saturday morning
Approximately 7.30am

Me: Okay, Cleo, I'm going to go out and warm up the car and get all the ice scraped off so we can go to the vet!
Cleo: Do I have to do anything? Because I'm in the middle of a power nap.
Me: You just lay there and look cute and contemplate getting into your carrier peacefully.
Cleo: ....carrier?

7.36am

Me: Cleo! Time to get in your carrier!
Cleo: ....Why?
Me: Because we're going to the vet.
Cleo: WHAT? NO ONE SAID ANYTHING ABOUT A VET. YOU DID NOT TELL ME ABOUT THIS VET. SINCE WHEN DO I HAVE TO GO TO THE VET?
Me: Since you aren't able to give yourself a rabies shot. Okay, time to get in the carrier!
Cleo: HELL NO.
Me: Okay, back legs in first...
Cleo: GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, BITCH.

7.37am - 7.48am

17 Attempts to put Cleo into the Carrier of Doom
10 Cat Scratches on various human appendages (including one that drew blood)
2 Treats used as (unsuccessful) bait
1 Really, really, really, really, really mad cat
1 Exasperated Human

7.49am

Me: Okay. We're going to try this again.
Cleo: I'M WILLING REPEAT MY YOWLING AND TWISTING PERFORMANCE, SURE. BITCH.
Me: No, we're doing something different. I'm getting your harness and leash.
Cleo: ....Harness?
Me: You like your harness.
Cleo: ....Yeah.....
Me: So you put on the harness, and your leash, and I'll carry you.
Cleo: ....What's the catch?
Me: No catch.
Cleo: ....I'm not sure I trust you. Bitch.
Me: Well, I'm not sure this will work, so we're even.

7.52am

Me: Cleo, it's very sweet that you want to ride all the way to the vet on my lap, but really, I sort of need to DRIVE.
Cleo: YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL.

7.53am - 7.59am

Cleo: YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL.
Me: Um, are you going to do this the entire way to the vet?
Cleo: Yes. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL.

8.00am - 8.17am

Cleo: YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL. YOWL.

8.18am

Enter the Slapstick:
So we get to the vet, and I even scored good parking, right around the corner. Nuthin' to it. With a firm grip on Cleo (and her leash wrapped around my wrist just in case), and the carrier over my shoulder, we stared walking to the vet.

We were GREAT until we reached the corner.

And then we turned the corner. Couple of construction workers saw me, and got huge grins on their faces. "She wouldn't get in her carrier," I explained, and they laughed.

We make it past them, and the vet's office is in sight - it's right there - it's so close - I can practically SMELL it.

Which is when.

Jackhammers: RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT.
Cleo: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

All of a sudden, the somewhat calm cat in my arms became BLURRING TWIRLING CAT O' FURY. I couldn't hold her, she spun right out of my arms, and straight for the nearest door. She actually CLIMBED the brick wall in an attempt to get away.

Luckily, we were in something of an alcove. It wasn't quieter, exactly, but Cleo couldn't see the &*^#$ jackhammer going, which was helpful. I was able to gather her back up, whisper in her ear (which she likes, it's calming), and try to calm her down. I peeked around the corner --

Jackhammers: RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT-A-TAT.

Now, here's the thing. The jackhammers? Were doing their thing RIGHT ACROSS from the vet's door - TEN FEET AWAY. There was no dodging them. And try as I might, I couldn't get their attention. All I needed was for them to stop for TWO MINUTES. Not even! And I could carry Cleo easily into the vet's office, and they could rat-a-tat-a-tat all they wanted all the live-long day.

But no. There was no attention. There was no stopping.

So....I got a good hold of Cleo...

My fingers around her harness...

Held my arms in tight....

AND RAN.

I think I just about exploded into the vet's office, with a chorus of Angry Cat Yowls and RAT-A-TAT-A-TATs. The carrier went one way. Cleo went the other. I stared at the receptionist, who stared back at me.

Me: Hi. Appointment for Cleo, 8.30. Can we please go straight into an exam room? Please?
Receptionist: Oh, sure.
Me: I love you.

End result:

1 Rabies shot in the back right leg
1 Distemper shot in the front right leg
1 Extremely Amused but Sympathetic Veterinarian, who thinks Cleo is the cutest thing on four legs (she is, but that's beside the point)
$126 paid for services
(Putting the 9 pound 3 ounce Cleo in her carrier for the ride home was free, but would have been worth twice that)

9.18am

Me: Well, Cleo, home again, home again. You can get out of the carrier now.
Cleo: Why? Kind of nice in here.
Me: OMG, Cat.
Cleo: Wait - I get a treat now, don't I?
Me: YES.
Cleo: Well, jeez, no reason to YELL about it.
Me:
Cleo: Bitch.

On a cold and windy day (April 13, 2005, to be exact), I started a massive cross-stitch project. (Okay, it might not have been cold and windy, I don't remember. I'm trying to set some ambiance here, be quiet.)

I figured it would take me about three years to finish, by which point I would need trifocals, assuming I wasn't blind.

Four and a half years later...I have finished Page Five. (Out of sixteen. Again, be quiet.)

( The Mirror of Erised, Page Five )

While killing time before Cleo's vet appointment this morning, I found this via ihasatardis:

A Jack and Ianto dress-up game, with lots of clothing and facial expression options. It is strangely entertaining.

( My creation under the cut )

In other news, I realized this morning that despite my lack of appetite, I'm going to dinner with friends tonight. I mean, I knew I was, but for some reason, dinner with friends did not equal having to actually eat something. I'm hoping my appetite comes back in the next 12 hours.

Hmm.

Tuesday night, approximately 9.30pm - horrific gastrointestinal issues in which I lost every bite I'd eaten since noon.

Wednesday - Two pieces of toast. Half a can of chicken soup. A bit of bread pudding. Half a pita with peanut butter.

Thursday - Two pieces of toast. Small take-away container of beef noodle soup. Two pieces of toast with peanut butter (the pita had started a biological warfare).

Friday - Bagel with peanut butter. Berry smoothie (basically, frozen berries and ice - no dairy or dairy substitutes).

I'm not hungry. I haven't eaten anything in about 8 hours. Should I be worried? This is not exactly like me, usually I'd be ravenous by now.

Gacked from cordilleran2:

1. Pick 10 of your favorite books or series.
2. Post the first sentence of each book. (If one sentence seems too short, post two or three!)
3. Let everyone try to guess the titles and authors of your books.

I'll point out that not all of these are fiction.



1. Scotland has, in an eminent degree, a haunting character. Scotland, an Intimate Portrait by Geddes MacGregor, guessed by talloakslady

2. There were five of us - Carruthers and the new recruit and myself, and Mr. Spivens and the verger. It was late afternoon on November the fifteenth, and we were in what was left of Coventry Cathedral, looking for the bishop's bird stump. To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis, guessed by several, but first by time_converges

3. There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, guessed by wordweaverlynn

4. Tuesday, 1 May 1945. Important hours, important as those days at the end of August in 1939 preceding the declaration of war. This is tension of a different kind, expectancy, preparations being made for a change in our way of living. But the tempo is slower.

5. The Porthkerris Council School stood half-way up the steep hill which climbed from the heart of the little town to the empty moors which lay beyond. It was a solid Victorian edifice, built of granite blocks, and had three entrances, marked Boys, Girls, and Infants, a legacy from the days when segregation of the sexes was mandatory. Coming Home</b> by Rosamunde Pilcher, guessed by rosewarren

6. This is a very dull page. What is on the next page? The Monster at the End of this Book (starring Loveable Furry Old Grover) written by John Stone and illustrated by Mike Smollin, guessed by several, but first by almosee

7. I didn't ask to be a celebrity. I never wanted to appear on The Adrian Lush Show. Lost in a Good Book by Jasper Fforde, guessed by themolesmother

8. In some distant arcade, a clock tower calls out six times and then stops. The young man slumps at his desk. He has come to the office at dawn, after another upheaval. His hair is uncombed and his trousers are too big.

9. On the 24th of February, 1815, the lookout of Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon, from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, guessed by several, but first by fishface44

10. Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. Okay, fine, this is sort of a gimme on the series. Name the exact book please, and no cheating. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling, guessed by many, but first by time_converges

I'm not going to say that being sick is fun, because of course, it isn't. No-one really wants to wake up at 2 in the morning because your stomach is in so much pain, you'd really rather someone shoot you and put you out of your misery, and so you lay on the cold tile floors in the bathroom even though you're shivering because you're also somewhat warm and the cool feels nice.

But as far as being sick goes, today was actually a very nice day. I woke up briefly at six to feed Cleo, and then called my boss to tell him I was ill. After praying to various superior entities, I ate some toast, and read a little bit, and fell back asleep.

When I woke up, it was nearly noon, and the sunlight streamed through the windows, along with the dim sound of the landscaping company mowing the public strip of grass behind our row of townhouses. Cleo was curled up on the bed, lazily watching me through slitted eyes, as if to say, "What, you're awake now?" I didn't much want to move, so I read for a little bit longer, and every so often Cleo would get up, and sniff me. I kid myself and say she was checking for fever - but for all I know, she might very well have been trying to determine if I was well enough to give her a second breakfast.

Bill called, which was nice, and my brother called, which was nicer, and eventually, I got up, and watched some television (because it wasn't reading), and had a pita with peanut butter, and crawled back to bed, because I had a bit of a headache, which seems to have gone away now.

(And I've been reading Rosamunde Pilcher for the last few hours, so if I sound a bit odd, I blame her.)

So, yeah, last night was utterly miserable, but a very nice day followed it. I can deal.

Perhaps the one down-side of the day is that I didn't realize until very late that I messed up the coding on the last chapter of Gaston Leroux, and as a consequence, it doesn't appear that many people have read it. It's not easy to read an entire chapter that is underlined and in boldface, so I can't say I blame them. But I was hoping for a little bit of cheer this evening, I'll admit.

Or perhaps they found the ending too corny for reviews! Anything's possible, I suppose.

Came home last night with a stomach-ache and ended up spending most of the night either in bed whimpering, or in the bathroom whimpering. (Or, in one memorable half-hour, halfway in the bathroom and halfway in the hall. Whimpering. Of course.)

So I called in sick, because I'm certainly not going to work whimpering. (That never goes over well.) I'm pretty sure it's a stomach bug and not actual swine flu. We'll see if the toast stays down.

Anyway, since sitting at the computer does not make my head happy, I'm going off to bed. (With possible whimpering.) But first:

David Tennant is going to be on NBC next year, apparently. The show, frankly, sounds kind of silly. But then, the last lawyer show I watched with any regularity was Ally McBeal, so I really shouldn't be talking. And I'm not sure what accent he's going to use, which could be potentially scary.

But mostly, I want to point out that the picture with the article is the same picture I used as my computer wallpaper at work for about three months, until I got tired of people walking by and saying, "Yikes! Who's THAT???" *sigh*

Title: The Imagination of Gaston Leroux (9/10)
Rating: PG
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Ten, Jack (yes, twice), assorted others

Summary: Actresses disappear from the stage, the manager is strangely tight-lipped, and there’s an oddly knowledgeable woman in an apricot dress running here and there. Not to mention the overly enthusiastic journalist lurking in the shadows. Will the Doctor and his companions solve the mystery at the Opera Garnier – or will the story be forever changed?


A/N: A sort-of crossover with Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera, written for momdaegmorgan. I say “sort-of” because while those who have read the book or seen the movie or heard the music may recognize certain things, it’s not quite a crossover in the classic definition of the genre.

Cleo: Good morning! Don't forget my breakfast!
Me: Cleo, it's 4.30 in the morning.
Cleo: No, it's not. It's 5.30, and breakfast is in half an hour.
Me: Actually, Daylight Savings started yesterday. It's 4.30, and breakfast is in an hour and a half.
Cleo: What's Daylight Savings?
Me: We turn our clocks back an hour so we can save daylight. Basically, instead of going to work when it's dark and coming home when it's light, I'll be going to work when it's light and coming home when it's dark.
Cleo: That's stupid.
Me: Tell me about it, cat.
Cleo: Anyway, breakfast.
Me: Is in AN HOUR AND A HALF.
Cleo: I don't do Daylight Savings.
Me: You and the cows in Indiana.
Cleo: BREAKFAST. BREAKFAST. BREAKFAST. BREAKFAST. BREAKFAST.
Me: ARGH.

Nano word count: 1,229 this morning. I don't like Daylight Savings much, but at least I'm waking up an hour early so I can fit some writing in before work.

Having just seen SJA episodes five and six (those would be the one with the Doctor), I have only this to ask:

( Minor Spoilers. Or major, depending on how you look at it. )

Today's Nano Word count: 0. Yup, that would be correct, not one word. I have been either goofing off or completely productive on the non-writer front, depending on how you look at it. I've made banana bread, chocolate & pepper cookies, cheese blintzes, purchased a non-stick 8" crepe pan for the cheese blintzes (I made crepes! From scratch! It was way fun), mailed two boxes (well, one box and one tube, really), and nearly completed a cross-stitch key-chain. And swept and cleared out the cobwebs forming on the porch. I also discovered two dead crickets, recognizing Cleo as a mighty huntress, and bringing her Confirmed Cricket Kill Count to Three.

Odd rejection in yesterday's mail. This place sent my query letter back to me. I can't decide if that's just what they do, or if it's supposed to me, "Egad, woman, you write so badly we don't even want to contaminate our recycling bin with your disgusting query letter."

All five of the Doctor Who specials will be released as a set in the new year. Hurrah! I was wondering if this would happen, so I don't have to buy them all individually.

In other news: continuation of the Questions meme.

From dark_aegis:

( On Fandoms and Holidays )


From xebgoc:

( Activities and Religion )

Title: The Locked Room (1/1)
Author: azriona
Characters: Nine, Rose
Rating: PG13

Summary: There was a door on the TARDIS that would not open. Rose went by it every day, and wondered what went on behind it.

A/N: This was my entry for writerinatardis Challenge 2.03. The prompt was: The Doctor has a strange, unusual, or very silly hobby. Rose just found out about it. I went....perhaps a little darker than most. Okay, a lot darker.

But dark and spooky are appropriate today.

Happy Halloween!

• Leave me a comment saying "Resistance is Futile."

• I'll respond by asking you five questions so I can satisfy my curiosity

• Update your journal with the answers to the questions

• Include this explanation in the post and offer to ask other people questions (I'll also answer more, if asked)

Two sets of questions under the cuts:

( On fic journals, locations, and fudge )


( On Cats, Fics, and Cooking )

Poll #1478221
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 29

There are two more weeks left of "The Imagination of Gaston Leroux". What should I start posting next?

• Leave me a comment saying "Resistance is Futile."

• I'll respond by asking you five questions so I can satisfy my curiosity

• Update your journal with the answers to the questions

• Include this explanation in the post and offer to ask other people questions (I'll also answer more, if asked)

( On Philosophies, on Fandom, On Writing )

I finally remembered to do the actual sign-up for this year's Nano - which apparently starts on Sunday. (I was not paying attention. Oops.) I have an idea, but I have NO idea if it'll actually take 50K to write it, plus I'll have major editing on the project4editrx cookbook to complete, not to mention a husband to entertain and the conclusion of Water Music to edit, so this may be extremely entertaining to watch me try to do this.

Anyway, if anyone's doing Nano, and wants to friend me over there, here is my profile. I've got it nice and updated. I have no title as of yet. Hopefully something will occur to me, because with me, if things go untitled very long, they tend to stay that way.

(See: Original Story, often referred to as the O.S., which has remained untitled since 2003. It had a title for about twenty minutes once. It didn't take.)

I was hoping to do a write-in for Nano on Sunday, but looks like all the write-in things are way off in the boonies. The closest one to me is in Manassas. This is criminal. It's not that I mind Manassas, but there's write-ins in Fairfax and Vienna and even one a HALF MILE FROM MY HOUSE, except they're all in the middle of the week at the ridiculous hour of 3pm. Argh.

In other writing news - I've been having a bit of a slump recently. The Jack at Woodstock story went off to a brilliant, funny, clever start. It stalled. The attempt to write the next part of Crossroads was absolutely fantastic....it stalled. We will not speak of the epic poem.

Yesterday, I breached the hurdle, wrote a sweet, funny, fluffy little ficlet with just a hint of bittersweet (as I do), and now I'm writing a companion to it.

They're OT3. wendymr will probably laugh her head off.

*

The cross-stitches for the next Support Stacie auction are done. I might do one more bookmark, but I've switched back to poor neglected Erised, because I'm about ten lines from finishing Page Five, and I really want to finish Page Five.

Still rejections for TRT. I need to get back on sending out queries, I've been slacking the last week or so.

Title: The Imagination of Gaston Leroux (8/10)
Rating: PG
Characters: Nine, Rose, Jack, Ten, Jack (yes, twice), assorted others

Summary: Actresses disappear from the stage, the manager is strangely tight-lipped, and there’s an oddly knowledgeable woman in an apricot dress running here and there. Not to mention the overly enthusiastic journalist lurking in the shadows. Will the Doctor and his companions solve the mystery at the Opera Garnier – or will the story be forever changed?


A/N: A sort-of crossover with Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera, written for momdaegmorgan. I say “sort-of” because while those who have read the book or seen the movie or heard the music may recognize certain things, it’s not quite a crossover in the classic definition of the genre.