Good and Bad Mooching

I’m pretty experienced with Mooching, both being the Mooch-er and being the Mooching target.

Hell, my best friend from High school mooched off of me all the time.

She did it well.

I know how to do it well.

And you may be wondering what exactly I mean by doing it well.

I don’t mean she’s good at getting all my food/drink from me, because THAT’S not Mooching well. THAT is being irritating. That is being a Mooch 😡

What I am, is a Mooch 😉

To Mooch well you have to be happy with getting a small amount. If you get too greedy, no one will be willing to give you any of their snacks, they won’t be willing to share with you.

People mirror other people’s attitudes too much to be able to share well with a greedy person, and while you may be able to get away with it one or two times, if you’re consistently greedy, no one will want to share with you.

Kasia and I are fine with mooching small amounts, we’re the best kind of Moochers; the kind that gets jokingly referred to as Moochers, but don’t have anyone getting annoyed at us for it.

One thing you learn when Mooching, is that there’s always some sort of equality. It’s symbiotic.

I let Kasia Mooch off of me, and she lets me do the same. With others, They let me mooch off of them, and I let them complain about their problem(s), and do my best to help if I can. Or some other kind of equalling action is taken.

Now that I’m older and legal, one example is between Meghan and I. I let her drink my Rum, and She lets me drink her Vodka. She’s more of a vodka drinker, and I’m a rum drinker, so it works out well to mooch off of each other.

It’s a trade.

But there are some who go beyond being a Bad Mooch.

A regular Bad Mooch is a Moocher who takes way too much. They take enough that it could be considered just giving the person something, and that involves key phrases like “paying me back” or “Buy me one later” or “Owe Me One”

These are not things that are said in regards to Mooching. These are things said in favours and borrowing, in Mooching it’s so little it’s not even said, it’s an unwritten code, a secret handshake, an inside joke of sorts. So when a Mooching incident gets into that sort of territory, it’s irritating.

It’s what makes them a bad Mooch.

What makes them a worse Mooch can be one or both of two things:

1) They Mooch expensive things.

2) How they go about Mooching.

Mooching expensive things is bad form. It’s like someone gets a slice of $15 cake and you eat most of it. If you’re not in the least bit remorseful about it, or are cocky about it, it’s more than irritating, it’s something that gets you put into “That Annoying Person” category in people’s minds.

That’s right. People’s. Not just the person you Mooched off of.

Because when you’re in the Annoying Person category, it means people complain about you to others. People you never even met now have preconceived notions about you and your character.

There is one such person in THAT category for me, and it’s gotten to the point that I get pissed off when even thinking about her.

For the record, I didn’t much like her that much in the first place. She doesn’t really have much of a personality (in that she really doesn’t even try to contribute to any conversation, and is the kind of person that when you get them a present for their birthday, you just get them some sort of generic chocolate, because you have no clue what the hell they even like), and never initiates any sort of hang-out or activity. I mentioned her in my post about skating HERE, she’s the one who walks on ice.

Sometimes it feels like she just sort of latched onto us and just never let go.

The few things I have gotten from her is that she really doesn’t drink.

She said this in a different way than my sister does.

My sister says it because she doesn’t like drinking. She’s the sort who says ‘yuck’ when offered any sort of alcoholic beverage, and it’s been a life choice for her that I accept even if I don’t understand it.

Melissa says “I don’t drink” while eyeing my Bacardi Breezer with some curiosity.

So I was like “You know what? You want to some? If you don’t like it I can finish it.” And she tried it, liked it, and that was that.

I’m okay with sharing alcohol. I don’t like drinking alone, and it is a pretty social thing. Eleanor, who does drink, drinks wine, and doesn’t get as drunk as either Meghan or I, but she has fun with it.

One time, it was decided that because we had the time and the lessening of work to do it, we were going to have a drinking night. We didn’t actually call it a drinking night but that’s pretty much what it was. Other nights were less planned, but they were on days when classes wouldn’t be a problem.

So, since I was going to the nearest LCBO on a day when I didn’t have classes, I asked Meghan, Eleanor, and Melissa if they wanted anything. If I’m remembering correctly, Eleanor wanted me to grab her a Girls Night Out (a weird wine, and I’m not really a wine drinker, but to each their own), and I’m pretty sure Meghan wanted me to grab her more Vodka, and maybe something else, but this was a while ago.

Melissa said “Oh, no thanks, I’ll just have whatever you’re getting.”

… well, no, that’s not actually how this works.

Alcohol can get expensive.

I enjoy liquor and mixed drinks, so I was planning on getting a few Breezers, some spiced rum to go in Coke Zero, some Disaronno to mix with Orange Juice, and more apple juice to go with the Fireball I already had.

In case you’re underage or don’t buy alcohol much, straight liquor is expensive, and already mixed drinks are pretty cheap comparatively. Liquor is expensive like this because it’s expected that it’ll last you a while, it’s expected that it’ll be mixed, and it just makes sense when already-mixed drinks are one-night deals.

So when I ask if anyone wants me to grab them something, well after I’ve let everyone try sips and glasses of what I like and have had during other drinking nights, I expect that they’re going to give some sort of yea or nay, yea meaning that when I bring out the receipt they’ll be paying me back, nay meaning they’re bringing their own.

Because you don’t need to be drunk to enjoy yourself on drinking nights.

So when Melissa says that she’ll just have what I’m having, I’m thinking that, okay, you know what? Perhaps she’s just planning on sipping tonight. I can spare orange juice and a shot of Disaronno, I can spare a Breezer.

But I was mistaken. This was not the case.

Because when I say that I’m okay with sharing alcohol, I don’t mean that I’m okay with being treated like an open bar.

Melissa drank about 3/4 of my Disaronno, a great deal of my mixed-drinks, a third of what was left in my still pretty full Fireball, and then also had quite a bit of Eleanor’s wine.

“I don’t drink” is something she still says.

Another thing she said that particular night, was “Wow that’s  lot of alcohol,” and from anyone else, I would expect that that’s an expression similar to saying “wow were going to get dunk tonight!” or at least that something like that would be the subtext.

When she said it, the subtext was

“…You’re an alcoholic.”

This is an irritating thing, especially after she’s drunk so much of my booze.

This is an especially irritating thing when, after drinking so much of my booze, she doesn’t even think to pay me back for all the alcohol she’s drunk.

Because, at the very least (and this is being generous), she’s had about $50 of alcohol from me.

To be more realistic, it’s somewhere between $70 and $80.

So, in case you’ve missed it (or else are now thinking I’ve now decided to only talk about alcohol), Melissa has 1) mooched quite a bit off of me without reciprocating in some way, 2) has mooched an expensive thing, 3) has Mooched while affecting an annoying holier-than-thou attitude, and 4) has been doing 1-3 while not even being that fun to be around.

She is firmly in that Annoying Person category I was talking about.

So right now I’m back in Ottawa, and tonight I’m going to be hanging out with Eleanor (who has made the decision herself to be roommates with Melissa–I don’t actually know if she’s ever been annoyed with her before…), and Melissa… and trying my best not to let this annoyance show.

So that’ll be fun.

Don’t be a bad Mooch, or else you might annoy someone who has a blog.

And remember, it's not just alcohol. It's food too.

And remember, it’s not just alcohol. It’s food too.

Plot Bunnies With Cattle Prods

Everyone gets ideas, it’s a fact.

Everyone gets persistent ideas as well.

You know the ones, the ones with cattle prods. With Taser in hand.

Sometimes the cattle prods are red-hot at the ends, as they want to brand you with themselves.

But it’s an idea that you can’t let go of, even as it pokes and prods at you, wanting your attention, wanting you to do something about it, wanting you to –hey, why haven’t you dropped everything yet? What’s up with that? This idea is so much more interesting than what you’re doing now, or what you need to do later, that it’s amazing you haven’t imploded from the need to move onto this amazing idea yet.

What is wrong with you?

The idea will poke and prod until you do something about it, it will continuously remind you that you have a duty to it every time you stop for a moment, let your mind wander…

Why haven’t you done anything about this idea yet?

Are you stupid?

Idiot.

But, because you have something that NEEDS to get done, that idea will have to wait.

It has to, because it came to you not when you had time, but when you were reading something, or perhaps doing something important, or getting ready to go to bed after working fo the entire day and the idea finally catches up to you…

And then doesn’t let go.

These ideas are funny like that

But, no matter what you’re doing, until you have done something about this idea–no matter what, exactly it is an idea about–you will be poked, prodded, sometimes bashed over the head, so that you are either mildly distracted from what you need to do, or else you are blinking and shaking your head from disorientation from this new abusive relationship you have with this part of your psyche, asking “pardon?” and hoping no one will notice you weren’t paying the least bit attention to this thing that NEEDS your attention

Of course, this idea you have also NEEDS your attention, doesn’t it?

Because you know that it’s an idea that needs to be explored, it may even be something that you will eventually actually NEED to get to, and you don’t want to lose this at-the-moment unwanted passion and unwilling enthusiasm, that what’s grabbing your attention will not be done nearly as well if you don’t get to it while you’re THIS interested.

And there is this fearful need to get it done, because there are a few things that run through your mind, and most of them are what-if’s

What if you just finish what you’re doing, and come back to it? Will that work?

What if I forget this amazing idea? (Note: his happens a lot right before you’re going to bed)

What if after I’m done this important thing, I’ve lost the enthusiasm? Then it won’t be nearly as good…

All these things will run through your mind at one point or another, and more, and it adds fuel to the fire of any anxiety you’ve already experienced thus far.

Not fun.

With me it’s usually story ideas, and I end up telling Lexy a lot of them (she does this in kind, though lately it’s been for her amazing short stories), and one term for these ideas you might have heard about is that you’ve gotten a ‘Plot Bunny’

It’s rather clever since the ideas are usually little fuzzy things bouncing around in your mind, sometimes breeding with other bunnies in the vast landscape of your imagination, and creating new, sometimes more developed plot bunnies.

This is usually what I imagine a plot bunny would be like:

Plot Bunny writer Kitteh

Cue yeah? And writer cat is good for me too, since a great deal of what happens is that I get so focused on one idea, and sometimes get distracted, or focus on a different plot bunny and ignore the others I’ve already started working on. It’s a bit like a cat who’s really interested in the game you’ve been playing, but then between one swipe and the next the claws are out and they’re entirely disinterested in that bit of string that’s held their attention so long.

But these ideas, these plot bunnies that kick and shout and generally screw with your mind until they die or you give up, it’s like something went horribly wrong.

Possibly in a way that can be salvaged, but it’s like adding a buzz saw and ninja stars to a plot bunny.

No, wait. It’s like the plot bunnies have gone rabid.

They’re going crazy in your mind, frothing at the mouth, and you can’t not pay attention to that, can you?

It seems like it could be cute or scary or something from Monty Python, like something that could be in your dreams or nightmares, and in any case something difficult to put aside.

I feel like I experience this quite a lot, so here’s some things that at least help. It’s not a lot, but it means that these plot bunnies can sometimes be saved, rather than end up being put down like Ol’ Yeller.

I write things down.

I have probably a dozen or so word documents with a few ideas for stories written down inside of them, little bits and things that seem brilliant and are flashing and shrieking in my ear as something brilliant (or heartbreaking, there are quite a few plot bunnies that are on a mission to have me bawling my eyes out), so I write them down. If I can spare some time to write out a few paragraphs (even if they aren’t coherent, or in a proper story-telling kind of format), I’ll do that and just write out the other scenes around it… Mind you, if you do this you must have patience, because you may or may not be the kind of person who wants to post something immediately, or get to an idea quickly, but more times than not it’s best to write out what needs writing rather than jumping to this amazing scene that’s only amazing because YOU (the author) know all the back story and linking things for it.

I experienced this with my Torchwood story, when I jumped ahead to a part of the story I already knew would be happening, and had at least a chapter finished… only I knew I had at least another scene to write (at the VERY least, and that would be skimping on important detail), so the few reviews I got complaining about me not updating quick enough (which is equally flattering and annoying, by the way), or people asking if I’ve abandoned the story (NO. Each chapter is at least 10k, and I write ALL of the next chapter, don’t you DARE give up on me you weak-willed readers! Have courage to click the ‘subscribe to story’ button!), can get really frustrating, and I know none of them believe me when I say that I wrote ahead. That I’m not done THIS chapter because I was busy working on the next.

The Love-Hate relationship to writing fanfiction…

Another thing I do is talk about it.

Lexy is a fantastic sounding board. I personally hate calling someone a ‘sounding board’, sounds quite a bit like I’m just using someone, but it’s true.

I can talk to her about stories and plot ideas I’ve had bouncing in my head, and being able to talk about my ideas aloud sometimes help me solidify one idea or another. Sometimes I can get away with just talking aloud, but hearing feedback and seeing Lexy’s expressions and opinions really helps.

Most computers have some sort of webcam as well, and I’ve tried filming myself talking about a story idea to even see my own expressions, because watching it helps me figure out where I’m unsure. You don’t realize how much you express when you’re talking until you’re watching it.

This also helps out when you’re working on a story/idea already, and helps you get new perspectives. Dwelling on a story long enough sometimes dulls the story for you, yourself, as the author. It’s like the 20th time you’ve seen a movie, as you’ve already looked over all the hidden meanings, you know all the back stories, there are no more surprises, no more twists, and you think way too ahead.

So yeah, talking. It works.

It also forces you from your writing cave

And the last thing…

Well, It’s something I’ve been thinking of doing, so it isn’t something I KNOW works. I know there’s a possibility it may work though.

You could make a forum and adopt out your plot Bunnies.

I have a lot of ideas rumbling about in my head, and before I start writing a story I’m usually feeling it out for months before I start seriously writing it, so some plot bunnies get neglected.

So why not give out prompts? You could do it with one word prompts, and their definitions, or you could write out a small summary for your plot bunny, you could post a paragraph that you’ve written down, you could give bits and pieces and scenarios from plot bunnies and see where others take them.

If you make a request for someone to link their project back to you, then you can even read it, and you know that one quote…

If you don’t, it goes something like

“If there’s a story you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, get to writing it”

Something like that. It’s what got me into regularly writing my own things.

But back to turning part of your imagination into a sort of foster home for Plot Bunnies (Rabid or otherwise, and remember that you can always pick them back up again later when you have the time and inclination)… well, you really don’t have to, but it’s something to consider.

What use are YOU getting out of them, hmm? What if you have an idea, a newborn Plot Bunny, but don’t have any plans on actually writing it? What if you just enjoy the idea hopping around your head? Well, you could foster it out and then you could READ the story someone else makes out of it.

You could hate it, you could love it… but it’s maybe gotten someone else to start writing, so that’s good 🙂

These tips work pretty well for other kinds of ideas, too, I’d imagine. An idea for a drawing you don’t have time for? Doodle it. Write down colours, just do a thumbnail drawing and come back to it. Have an idea for a poem? Keep sticky notes with you, or a note pad, and write it down as it comes. Edits are for later, and you might not have the rhythm for it later. Or what about a sculpture, or a carving, or something else that would be three-dimensional? Draw it out. A rough sketch to get the idea out, jot down the specifics, things not obvious in the drawing.

These ideas are rabid in your thoughts because they’re GOOD ideas. They may need refining, some other details figured out, but they’re distracting you because you can do something with this.

The Plot Bunnies and Business Bunnies and Doodle Rabbits and other furry creature ideas DON’T have to be a problem. Even if you’re in a rush, taking a half-hour break to jot down some notes can only help, since it means you won’t be (as) distracted when you go back to work.

How do YOU deal with your Rabid Plot Bunnies?

This is more of a nightmarish thing for me, honestly...

This is more of a nightmarish thing for me, honestly…

 

Google Wants to Break Up With Me

Well… maybe.

I mean, we’ve had such a good relationship so far, and now….

Well.

Let’s just say I’m worried.

Today I’m in Ottawa, having taken a 6pm flight from Halifax, and I’ll be here for a few days before taking a train to Toronto.

Before my flight, though, I had to finish up packing, shower (By the way, if you’re going to be travelling, SHOWER BEFORE HAND. Sincerely, Someone Who May End Up Sitting Next To You In The Future), and I managed to finish that a little after 3.

I did Siobhan’s dishes since I had the time, and then looked up the best route to take to get to the Halifax Airport.

I put Siobhan’s street as the ‘from’ and got the address of Halifax’s Airport, clicked for the best route via busses since it would be cheaper, and…

Sorry, we don’t have transit schedule data for a trip from Siobhan’s Address, Halifax, NS to Bell Blvd, Enfield, NS B2T 1K2 at the time and date you specified.

Get driving directions from Siobhan’s Address, Halifax, NS toBell Blvd, Enfield, NS B2T 1K2.

… Sorry, what?

Google, what are you saying? There’s a bus route FROM Halifax Airport, I know that because I checked it out when I first got here, and now you’re saying there isn’t?

Wait.

Google…

…Are you Lying to me?

How…

How could you?

Google is a horrible Liar

Reversing the to/from did nothing as well, Google playing dumb with me (like THAT would work, really…), and I was getting frustrated.

I did get help from a different source, and took the bus part way there, but I still had to call a cab for the rest of the trip.

But really… How did I get to this point?

Is Google angry at me for some reason? Have we lost that spark that was once between us?

You know there are problems when lies are brought into a relationship…

Especially bold-faced OBVIOUS lies like that.

Anyone want to offer relationship advice?

...Because I'm not giving this up.

…Because I’m not giving this up, Google. You can learn to love me as much as I love you, right? Right.

Black Cat Analogy? For my own use…

I just found this:

Black Cat Analogy

It’s very clever, but I was thinking, what about for me?

When I was little we had two cats, one creme with orange tips to his ears and tail (Eric), and a sort of purplish grey cat with a black face, ears, tail, legs,feet…

Yeah. Now we have this guy.

Gwynn in Snow 2011

So I decided perhaps it would also make sense if I were to adjust this to a Fluffy Pale Dog Analogy…

So then.

To set the scene, you’re out with your fluffy pale dog, enjoying the snow as it falls, and you’re letting him romp around in the snow…

PHILOSOPHY is sort of like, while on this walk, your dog (Let’s call him Gwynn) bounds off into the surrounding wooded area, and you lose sight of him. You can hear him though, and try spotting him by following the sounds.

METAPHYSICS is like if, on your walk, Gwynn runs over to the other side of a hill and is out of sight, and you call for him because you can’t hear him anymore. Then, when you go to follow where you last saw him go (and you’re sure he isn’t there anymore, as you’ve already called his name in varying tones of excitement and command), there is movement from the corner of your eye, and you can feel low in your heart that what comes back isn’t going to be your fluffy dog, but a slicked down dog who has found something to roll in…

(That thing was dead and half melted despite the snow)

THEOLOGY is like losing sight of Gwynn, and calling for him, and you see movement, and out from the scraggly underbrush comes–! An entirely different dog.

What? That’s not Gwynn!

SCIENCE is like getting tired of calling for Gwynn, he’s obviously found something interesting to sniff and/or roll in, so you start running, treats in hand. Surprise, surprise, Gwynn comes, and is more likely to come back again, because he knows you’re packin’ that dried liver he loves so much.

Yeah. Just a bit of fun 🙂  Maybe I’ll add more pictures to this later.

Dinosaurs are Sexy

(Apparently…)

So Recently I’ve gotten a huge YouTube cush on DanIsNotOnFire and AmazingPhil, and one of the videos they’ve done together is this one:

And the sequel HERE

So, since I’m in Halifax with a friend, we decided to go onto a dating app (a free one, obviously) as this dinosaur:

Dina_Rawr is, unsurprisingly, a dinosaur...

Dina_Rawr is, unsurprisingly, a dinosaur…

Sexy, I know…

Everyone else on Plenty Of Fish agree.

It’s kind of weird.

Siobhan and I had fun with the profile, our alternate identity of Dina_Rawr.

to give you an idea of what we were like as Dina, here’s the ‘about me’ that we wrote up:

I feel taller than I am (If you know what I mean), and sometimes feel displaced in time.
I’m an herbivore but am willing to have a little meat every once in a while 😉
I love it when a guy has a sense of humour, especially if he can spot a subtler joke and roll with it.
I also love it when a guy has a *firm* knowledge of dinosaurs.
(we were prepared to roll with the people confused :D)
We were athletic, we were sexy, we were young (decided to stick to born in 1993 since they didn’t have anything close to the Jurassic Era…), and we were astonishingly popular!
Seriously, for ‘Profession’ we put “Being a Dinosaur” and guys were like “Oh my GOD it’s a FUCKING DINOSAUR!” and a little strange part of their brains went “Gee, I would love to fuck a dinosaur…”
And some of them went about it by trying to be as sexy as possible via text (many times reusing jokes we made up for the profile), some decided to forgo all that nonsense and sent a request to meet up (because who has the time for conversation when there’s a dinosaur on the internet?), or else a classy “Hey, wanna chat?” along with a picture of their penis…
(My god there were so many O_O)
And some… well, the decided to use,  you know, actual conversation.
This usually went well (unless it degenerated into surprise penis pics), and one guy was so awesome I wish I could find his profile, he was just about horrifyingly witty 😀
If he ever finds this blog, (you said you were also interested in being friends, had your skype address in your profile, and said you didn’t know much about archaeology and gave an a-d list of things you knew… you’re awesome by the way…)
Of course there were people who thought we were just playing, and asked for “A picture with a little less scales”, so we sent this:
"LOL a pic of me and my old bf :)"

“LOL a pic of me and my old bf 🙂 He was a bit unBEARable at times…”

Or, if they asked for body pics, we sent this:
"How's this? Me in bed ;)"

“How’s this? Me in bed ;)”

It was kind of amazing.
Some people didn’t have a sense of humour, and some played along pretty well 🙂
But seriously, it’s crazy how many people were (and actually are still) messaging us… at most, we had 83 messages happening by this morning. Right now, there are 74 messages pending.
Seriously, I hadn’t thought people would be so attracted to dinosaurs…
BONUS: An example on the kind of humour that was being displayed…
One guy said I should go into hiding because there were some meteorites happening in Russia, and I thought that was pretty clever. I mean, current events??? What?
So I said “Oh, you shouldn’t worry about me… I’ve only just come out of my hipster phase. That’s probably why you haven’t heard of me, I was underground.”
I seriously suggest you try it, it’s super fun 🙂

HALIFAX!

So I’m in Halifax.

Like, right now.

AAH~!

I’ve been trying to find the time to visit my friend Siobhan in Halifax for a while now, and now there’s reading week!

And them I’m visiting my friends in Ottawa!

So much travelling!

And it didn’t start out well…

Yesterday (16th) I had everything packed (except my camera charger, dammit!), and was out of the door at 4:30 to get to the airport for my 6pm flight.

Then there was a blizzard.

So we lost some time.

THEN I hear that my flight is boarding about the time that I’m heading off to go to the closest Timmy’s to get some food to bring on the flight, since I hadn’t had time to eat much earlier.

So I’m hungry, and warm, and in the plane, and decide “why not a nap?”

An hour later I wake up, and we’re on the ground, and I think “Oh, that’s weird they didn’t wake me up for takeoff…. wait…” I check my watch. It’s 7.

Plane leaves at 6… 2ish hour long flight… wait…

“Have we taken off?”

“No.”

(The guy sitting next to me wasn’t much of a talker…)

Three hours later, talk of bits and pieces of the plane having broken (WHAT???), refueling AGAIN (WHYYY????), and a de-icing that make me think of a car-wash without the multi-coloured soap trails (strangely mesmerizing… like whoa), and we were off.

By this time I was starving.

Off the plane and after the long walk to the baggage claim, and I was just waiting for the luggage to start rolling by when I hear:

“Sorry, are you Darcy?”

This is startling when the person saying this os someone you

a) don’t know

b) is saying it when you’ve just gotten to an area you’ve NEVER been before

and

c) are unprepared for.

Apparently Siobhan (her tumblr link above) had asked a friend to meet me, since she was meeting another friend who also happened to be on the same plane, and we shared cab fare, so that was convenient 🙂

I got to Siobhan’s at about 12:40 Toronto Time (1:40am Halifax), and met a couple of her friends, and generally lots of fun stuff happening, so I’m enjoying seeing her and hanging out!

This was mostly an update of what’s happening, and I may have a couple of more posts to put up to talk about my time here, but for now I’m still tired, full of chicken (Huzzah for already-cooked whole chickens at the Superstore!), and having fun 🙂

Anything else to add?

Well, it’s wet!

Bye!

Mixed Feelings.

So I talk about my stories a bit more than would probably be considered ‘cool’, but it’s interesting, and I have a good number of people who are pretty much my ‘following’ on the internet, who I recognize their pennames and message back and forth with them. 

It’s just a thing, that’s all. 

So I have internet friends who talk to me most when I post new chapters (conditional friendship? Yes, but I don’t exactly read their stories if they have them up…), but regularly get reviews and comments from other people. 

(Shocker)

And most times it’s pretty positive things, and that’s fantastic, and sometimes it’s just a “Good job! Update soon!” bit of almost-whatever that doesn’t tell me much, and sometimes I get these amazing paragraphs of insight. 

Sometimes paragraphs of ‘Okay, this was good, here’s my thoughts on it, some good some bad’ and sometimes that’s even better than the reviews full of nothing more than amazement at my godly ability to write and sometimes make people cry and laugh. 

But fairly recently I got a review that I had mixd feelings on. 

Less so now, but it gave me a variety of feels, so Imma talk about it. 

In my story “And I Wake Up” (A Torchwood Season 3 fix-it, because if you’re into Torchwood and have seen the end of Season 3, you know it needs fixin’) (Summary in link, check it out) my most recent chapter (4) has a part where my mc (Main Character) goes a bit insane. 

This is understandable due to the fact that he keeps getting shot. 

The reviewer said that perhaps I should have a warning for torture, or graphic violence since (s)he had to skim through it, and it was more disturbing due to the somewhat temporary body issues my mc has, and this is what has me conflicted:

It’s not graphic. 

The ‘graphic’ part is “He raised his arm and pulled the trigger” with mad ravings in between. 

Okay, there is some finger biting, and that could be graphic, so I understand that, but without copying the review here it was the shooting that was the reviewer’s problem. 

I included a trigger-warning (haha, puns) in both my archive of our own (or Ao3) post and my fanfiction.net post, because you know what? Far enough. I don’t agree at all wit the graphicness thing, or at least not with what the reviewer was categorizing as ‘graphic violence’ but it could be that I have a different outlook on what consists of ‘graphic violence’

You may ask at this point, where be the mixed feelings matey? (if you’re a pirate)

Well… 

Part of me is delighted that my writing impacted this person so much that they had to skim. 

And then I get a bit angry that they’re missing on so much insight in the skimming part, but then I kind of swing back into delight because HELLO! I wrote something intending for it to be maybe a bit disturbing and worrying and someone read it and found it VERY disturbing! That’s a writing VICTORY!

So much success!

I get super excited when people get extreme feelings from my writing, you have no idea. 

I’m practically giggly when someone admits through a comment or review that some part of my writing made them cry, and part of me is happy because it means my own getting emotional (and crying myself) over the scene was super effective, and the rest of me is ecstatic because I MADE YOU FEEL SOMETHING WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION! 

Especially since I’m pretty sure most of my stories are feel-good kind of stories. So hearing that my stories upset some part of you is amazing in a way that is so, SO conflicting!

It’s like you’re telling me that your dog or cat of gerbil died… and then you won the lottery. 

I just don’t know what to focus on. 

So this review saying that they enjoy my story, “oh and here’s a suggestion because you gave me unexpected feelings” is just.. 

GAH!

It’s ridiculous how much I enjoy feedback, positive or negative (edit: yes I do like negative feedback, but only if you’re constructive. I don’t appreciate “YOU SUCK JUST BECAUSE! BLAGH!” feedback, because then you’re an ass and I just can’t appreciate farts). 

But then, it’s a bit like dog owners who say ‘thanks’ when someone says how pretty their dog is (Lexy.)

(That thanks is ridiculous no matter how you try to rationalize it.)

But I made the story, I had it’s plot-lines percolating in my mind for months before I got down to writing it, and it’s fantastic having people say “Hey, you did good, I look forward to more! Cheers!”

So yeah, mixed feelings. 

Anyone else? 

No? 

I’m just crazy…? 

Well, Cheers anyway 😀

 

 

It’s One of Those Ages

I turned 19 on February third of last year (2012). And now I’m 20.

(SURPRISE!)

But…

19 is one of Those ages, I’ve figured out…

Those ages, in case you’re wondering, are usually ages in which it’s hard to multiply to get without 1 being one of the multiples.

You know, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23 etc, etc, etc…? I’m probably missing a number in between that, but…

Well, from what I can figure out, most of these numbers are significant ages to be, either to parents or to society or to you, as you are at that (or before that) age. It is from these ages you compare yourself to your younger self.

A baby turning 1 year old is a landmark in aging. But, like with dogs and pets in general, it’ll probably be until that baby is close to or past the 2 year mark before your age will be measured by years consistently, rather than by months.

If you ask Lexy how old Gwynn is, she will respond with “Almost three” or “Three in March” but once, for a while, she used wild numbers like 13/14/15/… months old.

It was a strange time that made me have to think a moment as I subtracted 12 from that number, and then… wait no, that would make him…

Ah.

(You redevelop math skills like this when you get a pet, or a baby, by the way. You don’t realize how much simple math you’ve lost until this time comes)

Turning 3 seems like an important age to me, as it is the first year after you’re two, giving you one full year of being referred to by year-age rather than by month-age. I don’t have a baby, and Gwynn is not yet 3, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you any other significance, except that maybe at the 3 year mark Gwynn, and possibly babies in general, will have learned a few new tricks.

Perhaps he will have learned not to go ape-shit over cats.

Unlikely, but a hopeful possibility.

5 seems to be that age that you’re constantly hearing/reading/seeing children being thereabouts. They are either almost 5 or are corrected to that they are only 5, not six for a couple of months yet. Or, they “Justh turned thixth”(say with clear lisp) and have likely lost a tooth. 5 is that age that you just want to BE. You never hear about your inner 4-year-olds or 6-year-olds. That’s because 5 is infinitely better than either of those.

Because you’re FIVE.

Later in life you will find out that you like fives even better, especially when learning your times tables, and find out that multiplying 5 is even easier than multiplying by 2’s.

But enough about 5’s, let’s move onto 7.

7 is important for a number of reasons, and not just because Voldemort had 7 Horcruxes and you always forget the last one or two from the list you try to keep in your mind, and not just because it was one of the most important numbers I learned because Mom sat me down and had me learn the days of the week. This was when I once thought that it was the weekend on a Wednesday based wholly on the fact that the alarm hadn’t gone off. 7 is important because you can finally leave 5 behind.

The memory of 5 is an immature phantom of a memory, filled with scuffed knees, grass stains, hair pullings and crying for no good reason. You have moved past the age of 6, even, with all the reminders of being 5 being brought up, and you are now free to luxuriate in your maturity and lording your advanced age over those stuck in the vortex that happens around 5.

Writing down your age becomes a skewed checkmark of age and maturity, writing it in letters gives you the chance to write a ‘V’ for something other than ‘GIVE’, and you take something from that and maybe think if there’s a number out there that has an ‘X’ in it, or maybe a ‘Z’ because you really don’t get to use those that often.

Of course, Lexy has a friend she’s known from childhood whose name is Aziza.

I doubt she had thoughts like these.

(I think I stopped having this wonder for the letter ‘Z’ when I realized fully that one of my middle names could be spelled with a ‘z’ and decided to spell it as such, and it was only in the past couple of years that I have confirmed that on my birth certificate the possible worry of being an Elisabeth Rose was left for the certainty of being an Elizabeth Rose. Because I’m trying to be as honest as I can be while on the Internet, I’m going to admit that for a while there I think I was overzealous and decided I was an Elizabeth Roze)

(It made sense at the time…)

While moving on to 11 I am going to stop for a moment and take away the notion that 9 or 10 are important figures.

9 is a multiple of 3 and while it may seem mysterious by being almost as hard as your 7 times tables, it is not. You are past the smaller vortex (in comparison to 5) of 7 and are next to the little ball that is 10.

10 is insecure but vicious. If 9 tries to pull weight, it simply rolls over and squashes 9 with the fact that 10 is better than 9. 10 has 2 numbers.

It’s Double Digits.

9 can’t get past that. If you’re 9 YOU can’t get past that.

You must remember here that I’m not making up personalities for numbers, this is how I half remember/half imagine a child’s mindset is like. I wrote a great deal of my Harry Potter fanfiction “It’s Green” going on this, and managed to get a number of reviews on my realistic and odd young Harry… Which is flattering, but also makes me think that I won’t be able to write the personality of anyone over the age of 11…

And that would suck.

Back to numbers.

10 is insecure because while it has lorded its double digits-ness over 9 and occasionally 8, it IS right next to 11.

As grand as entering the double digits of age is, it’s not nearly as awesome as moving past that pinnacle to a new height of age.

11.

10 has the misfortune of having a zero in it.

Zeroes, as we have been taught in school, means nothing.

10, as great as it is, is written down as a 1 and a 0, a something, and a nothing.

11 has the amazingness of being the first number in the double digits that doesn’t have a 0 in it. 11 is also when you leave all the 9’s behind, because you are beyond being 10 and have no time to play with babies. Because that is what anyone is if they are still stuck within the limitations of the single digit of age, at least compared to you.

12 year olds matter nothing unless you yourself are a 12-year-old with other 12 year olds, or you are a 12-year-old who knows or encounters a 13-year-old.

Because, a 13-year-old was once… not a teenager.

But is one for the next 7 years or so.

(it’s hard to shake that image from The Adult’s minds)

Yes, when you turn 13 you are experienced in the ways of the double-digit-age enough to be accepted into the ranks of teenagerhood.

I imagine it’s very much like being accepted into street gang. Or maybe the Mafia.

It’s dark, it’s dirty, you are going to be introduced to a whole slew of sights, experiences, smells that you would have liked to be spared from, you will meet people who you may not like but are now part of different rules, ones that will remember you if you report them to the authorities of the Parentals… the ones from their district or yours, it matters not, they will remember and do their best to repay in kind or else find some other way to return the favour.

They will shank you for your candy…

And give bald-faces lies to the Adults about what happened, and you can say nothing.

I know (for the most part) that that’s not how it works, not exactly, but if someone can come up with a better example of what you are getting yourself into by unknowingly agreeing to join this… group… well. Feel free to step forward with your own post, and link me 🙂

But, regardless of your newby status, Parents will expect just a bit more from you, as the Responsible Teen you are, perhaps playing on your sense of new duty and responsibility to get you to do more around the house, set a ‘good example’.

This is an important stage in your life.

The next is 17.

I think that people will think that 16 should be one of Those ages, but aside from “Sweet 16” what is there, really? You can now get your driver’s license… Wonderful.

Due to new laws (at least in Ontario) you must wait a full year after getting your G1 to get your G2. You will be 17 when you are even remotely close to getting your real license.

17 is important for more than this real license, though, and it’s the reason why, in Canada at least, 18 is only really important if you’re in (or, I guess, beside) Quebec.

17 is when you’re preparing yourself for the fact that you will soon have to take the consequences for things that may or may not get you into serious trouble.

18 is when you are putting to use all these thoughts or concepts of responsibility, but 17 is for where you can get paranoid.

It’s about this time when you also have to start thinking about the Future… about University and College, what your major will be, what you want to do with THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

It’s scary.

Feel free to feel paranoid.

Be afraid.

It’s be a whirlwind, gale forces of GRADESGRADESGRADES whipping around you, sharp rocks of EXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONSEXPECTATIONS will give you shallow cuts that sting, and you’ll be desperately trying to stay near the eye of the storm.

You’ll be desperate to stay there, because there’s always that possibility that the winds and rocks will chuck you any which direction, and you could land anywhere.

It’s not likely it’s going to be a place you like.

A few will actually be able to stay in the eye of this storm… until they’re turning 18 that is.

Those who have been struggling to stay near the centre will have gained endurance, will have scouted were they could land, and will have calmed down some by this time, but those who were suddenly jolted from their place at the Eye…

Well shit it’s scary being plucked from your comfortable place, isn’t it?

17 is the slightly more significant time, I think, and if you think it’s actually 18…

Well, of course you’d think so.

17 is desperately gripping at 18 and trying to stay grounded in that shit-storm as drama and grades get thrown around in school, jobs and money problems biting at tender unprotected areas like vicious mosquitos, and 18 is freaking out.

17 has already screamed itself hoarse, why else would 18 be louder?

For those who have later birthdays, it IS 18 that’s scary, but I’m talking from my own experience, so stick with me okay?

19…

Well 19 is scary.

And fantastic if you happen to live somewhere that the drinking age is 19.

Like, perhaps… ONTARIO???? Or Canada… (I live there, whaddya know…)

I was in luck while in Ottawa in that Hull (sketchy part of Quebec, drinking age 18, sketchy party/club central for the underages of Ottawa), in that for the few months before my birthday I could get alcohol, and afterwards I could still go out drinking with my friends whose birthdays were in Oct-Dec, and so were less than legal in Ottawa.

(I’m not saying anything about having an apartment-style res and being legal in a group of under-aged friends. Also, yes, 2+2=4)

But yeah, 19 means first year uni/college, or else it means succeeding in surviving first year, or not.

(Me? Kind of not, but I’m working on getting back in that tipped canoe, it’s a bit hard, but I’m doing it)

It means you’re trying to find the friends you’ll likely be closest with for the next four-or-so years, making connections, keeping your head above water and clothes the least wet…

Stressful.

But a very important time.

20…

Well, I’m only turning 20 now (Happy Feb 3rd everyone! Happy Birthday to me!), so I don’t know how it’ll pan out, but I have hopes.

I feel like I’m significantly more mature (Maybe… My mom would laugh, as would Lexy and maybe just about everyone who knows me), but it could just be because now I can say “I’m 20”

Because hell yes! I’m 20!

But on the other hand… I’m two decades old.

I feel like I should be whipping out cocktail dresses and be brushing off cobwebs at the same time.

This is said because of the two decades thing…

It’s not two centuries, no, but it’s a bulk unit of time.

Seconds, Minutes, Hours=Nothing.

Days, Weeks, Months= the make up of a year. So?

Decade= Impressive. That’s a bulk unit of time, the likes of which you haven’t been able to process by the time you’re 1 decade old. You have no idea.

Literally, for em, since i think I was still spelling ‘idea’ as ‘ida’ because I thought the ‘de’ in ‘idea’ was satisfied with just the letter.

No idea, I tell you.

(only Ida’s)

2 decades= 2 FREAKING DECADES! That seems like a lot! That’s MORE than ONE!

WOW!

Whoever can count their age by more than one decade is obviously super OLD!

And now I’m part of that group.

I’ve been kicked from the Teenager-Gang and have joined the Decade Group.

I don’t know what it’s going to mean for me, and I don’t know what it’s meant to other people…

I hope there are more cookies in this group though.

Happy February 3rd everyone!