All Sales Are Final

2002-08-11T09:02:00.000-07:00

So tired. Not hung over today, but so very tired. Jen and I went over to her friend's Lindsey's house yesterday, lounged around the pool for a few hours. Very nice and refreshing, and then we went to barn to ride. Remy was pretty good, we're working on lightness these days. It's an interesting exercise, I give him a lot of rein, and sit back on him, playing with the bit with my fingertips, and hope he doesn't take off on me. About 60 percent of the time he enjoyed this, and did what I asked, the rest of the time, he raised his head up, sped up, and forced me to pull back on him-which made him try and plow through my hands- totally defeating the point of lightness.

We didn't finish riding until about 7:00, stopped to check on Lindsey's horses, and then dropped her off in Bethesda, making it about 8:45 by the time the day was finished. Jen and I were so wiped, we both agreed it was too late to drive back to Alexandria. I am now a couch leech.

2002-08-10T08:48:00.000-07:00

So tired. So hungover. Wow. The A's - Yankees game that Jen and I watched ended up being a marathon 16 innings and 6 hours total. Although, 6 beers in 6 hours shouldn't leave me hung over. It was a bittersweet win for my A's, we gained ground on EVERYONE, since Seattle, Anahiem, and Boston all lost. It was still sad, because Robin, darling Robin, struck out to make the last out in a 3-2 game, with the tying run 90 feet away at 3rd, and the winning run on second. He looked so dejected afterward.

It was slightly annoying that past the 11th inning, they started going to the San Fran game, to watch Barry Bonds bat and try and hit his 600th. Okay, I can handle just Barry Bonds batting, but they kept lingering and showing other plays. I didn't tune into the Yankees-A's game in order to watch the Giants play. I had to watch some of the at-bats on Gamecast, and that's just not right.

Well I'm off to ride Remy, again. He got the crap worked out of him yesterday, about forty minutes around the barn, and thirty in the ring. He was so tired after we rode, he just stood stock still while I hosed him off, instead of dancing around like a fool. This is probably the most work he's had since last fall. Poor boy has no idea I'm going to ride him every day next week. He gets Sunday off, but that's it. I'm hoping for some major improvement by the end of the week.

2002-08-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

I meant to post yesterday, but like usual, I forgot. It was a lovely day to ride. Remy was pretty good, a little obnoxious with his pulling. He leans on my hands, gets really down and behind the bit, and then loves to pull his head up, grab the bit, and try and take off. We had a few good circles, and basically did a lot of trotting. The ring that I ride it was in use by the annoying people at the barn, so I had to make do with the little field behind the barn to ride in, which isn't big enough to canter safely on an unbalanced horse like Remy.

I'm sure it was a little boring to watch, but I didn't do anything to get into trouble with my audience, so that was the bright point. Poor Jen got to the barn worn out and stressed like usual, because of work. Her boss, who is a tech like her, is just horrible to her, and has lately gotten worse with the abuse. She's okay with making mistakes at work, but getting screamed at, and then having no one show her how to do something correctly, doesn't help anyone learn for the next time. Of course, he never says when she does get something right, so it's all fucked. I hate what her job does to her, but she's not in a position to quit, since she has two hungry horses, an apartment to pay rent on, gas, and groceries. Not to mention when school starts up, she has to cover all her books and expenses there.

She woke up with a fever today, and got into another "discussion" with Mike, when she asked to come in two hours late, to give her a chance to get the fever down from 102. I think we're both counting until her vacation starts tomorrow. Me, so I don't have to go up there and kill Mike, and her, so she doesn't have to deal with his shit for a while.

Sunday Silence, probably one of my favorite horses, who I picked to win the derby in 1989, is in critical condition in Japan. He's 16, and has had 3 operations on his foreleg this year, and now shows signs of laminitus. I loved this horse, for like, ever. His stretch drive in the 1989 Breeder's Cup Classic to win over Easy Goer, was amazing. Still sends shivers down my spine. When Easy Goer died suddenly several years ago, of a heart attack, Sunday Silence was alone to represent their rivalry. Not many horses can duel in May, end up dueling again just as strongly in October, especially these days. Not to sound like my mother, but after reading yesterday's release where the Japanese said they believed Sunday Silence was on the road to recovery- I very much expected the headline today of him being in critical condition. I've been watching this story since March when he was removed from stud duty- that's when I knew it was serious. The Japanese routinely breed over 300 mares to him every year, which is 3 times more than the heavy load of a 100 mares.

Now I'm waiting for the notice of his death. Depressing, but realistic, I think.

Not much has gone right today, and it's only 1 pm.

My boy Barry is pitching today, against the front-runner for the Cy Young award, Derek Lowe. (Dan Patrick still whispers in my ear to kill kill kill). I'm not optmistic about his chances. I know Barry can beat the Red Sox, he did it earlier this year, but he can only do that with run support. I just don't see him getting any today. Of course, the team pleasantly surprised me last night by squeaking out a victory, and getting rookie Aaron Harang a victory (he's a year younger than me! Scary!).

I was looking at the Royals roster, since they are playing NY today (Robin homered, lovely boy-- Shit, another error, the sun was in his eyes, and he lost the ball. 18 this year. I guess I jinxed him.) Anyway. Royals have Mike Caruso on their roster, which was a name that was familiar to me. Turns out, it's the same Mike Caruso that was drafted out of my highschool by the Chicago White Sox. After a 2 year absence from the majors, he's back up again, this time as a Kansas City Royal. He's not in the lineup today though. Still, very interesting.

*sighs* Now I need to go check Eric Hinske's stats, to make sure he's still leading the majors with errors at third. Poor Robin. He was so good so young, my heart breaks when I think about what has happened to him with injuries. No longer a Gold Glove infielder. He's still beautiful though.

2002-08-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

Since I wasn't productive yesterday, I decided I would be today. Err, um, Tuesday, since it's now past midnight, and this could show up to be Wednesday's entry. Anyway, I managed another 5 pages, pushing chapter 8 to the 11 page total. I think there's too much talking and not enough doing in my story, so I'll try and fix that tomorrow. Err. Today. Whenever.

Dylan scared me today pretty good by escaping. The cat pushed open my heavy front door, and then leaned on the glass door, and slipped outside. I think the mailman helped with the escape, by not closing the door completely. He was probably out for an hour while I slept. I screamed his name in the apartment, and then outside, before he finally ended up outside the door waiting to come in- my heart was beating a 1000 times a second.

He's now safely inside, and I'm keeping the door locked.

My first night of Extra Innings, meaning, I watched the Oakland-Boston game, was a success. Not that it's much of a test- since Wakefield was the weakest of the pitchers we'd face this week- Burkett and Lowe will be better tests. Burkett I think we'll get beat by, and Lowe...well, that game will either be a blowout, or it will be a 0-0 game into extra innings. I'm hoping for the close game. . .

I nearly busted a blood vessel surfing livejournals tonight, and saw another psuedo-Zito fan talk about the games on ESPN tomorrow. Apparently she thought the rotation was Mulder-Zito-Hudson. It's NEVER been Mulder-Zito-Hudson, for the simple fact that Art Howe doesn't like to pitch a left hander - left hander together in the rotation. He spilts it, lefty-right-lefty.

Again, the morons will drive me crazy. It's sooo not hard to go to ESPN.com, and click on Pitching Probables- which gives you the next 4 match-ups. Long story short, the psuedo fans will not be watching Barry on ESPN tomorrow- instead it's Aaron Harang. Serves them right, they don't deserve the beauty that is Zito.

2002-08-05T12:00:00.000-07:00

I wish today were Wednesday. I'm really really looking forward to seeing Remy, and riding him again. We only had a mini-ride last Thursday, since the heat was so bad. Basically circled the yard about four times, and he was really good three of the times around. He has these moments where I think he understands what I want, and he starts to feel good about himself (this horse has no self-esteem) - so good about himself, he drops his head, gets behind the bit, and wants to take off. Nutty, crazy Remy. I can't wait to ride him.

The "cold" spell, I put that in quotes because it's August, anyway, it should drop the temperature to mid-80s for a few days. The heat never bothered me until this summer, now I feel sluggish, irritable, and lazy whenever the temperature goes up. Okay, so it's not that much different from how I am in Janurary, but it *feels* differently to me.

Dylan was seriously trying to get the neighbors to call the cops on us for a "domestic" disturbance this morning. He kept going after my calves to bite them, and then getting into my bag-o-candy, pulling at anything that made noise and was plastic. I screamed and screamed at him, but no use. The cat doesn't care. I drenched him with the squirt bottle, and all he did was give me a dirty look, lick off some of the water, and try and bite me again. I don't know what to do with him discipline wise. I think he's a lost cause.

Had a very good writing day yesterday, after taking a trip to Starbucks with my laptop. I walked the mile, had myself a hot caramel macciato, and a cold vanilla creme frappucino- at the same time. The vanilla creme got me cool, but then the air blast I was sitting under made me freeze, so I had to get something hot. All the caffiene made me sick to my stomach, since I forgot to eat. Anyway, I felt accomplished last night, after writing five pages, and then went home to watch my boy Damian pitch against the Cards.

It's the one time I like ESPN carrying the games (cause their announcers suck, have no idea what they're talking about, ever) since they have little interviews with the starting pitchers. I've never heard Damian speak before with his lucious Australian accent. Definitely different from the Victoria-Snowny River thing I hear in my horse movies, and way different from the Sydney accent I hear from Nicole Kidman or Russell Crowe. He spoke glowingly about Tommy, and how much he's learning, and there were many lovely pan-shots to the Braves dugout where Tommy was sitting, and scowling. Though we did catch a rare smile now and then. They had him miked as well, and occasionally had what he was saying, cracked me up when he said to Damian- after apparently getting three outs, and looking shocked everyone was heading to the dugout- "So there's four outs in cricket, right?" and Damian got all red, and said he lost track. 8 innings, didn't tip over 100 pitches, 1 walk, 1 hit, and no earned runs. Still got a no-decision. Sheesh, still, his best outting yet.

Not very accomplished today- having only written two sentences.

2002-08-01T18:10:00.000-07:00

I want to own Barry Zito.

Sports is my new fandom, and my love, as it has been for months now, is Barry. However, once, where I was happy to share Lex and Clark with other fans, and not feel possessive, I have found that I'm not longer so free-spirited. I get resentful when other people (who don't even like the Oakland A's) pay attention to and are fans of Barry. They are not worthy to utter his name.

I feel if you can't tell me the starting line up and bullpen of the A's, then you can't claim to be a fan, and by extention, claim to be a fan of Barry.

What sparked this whole thing was, I found an interview Barry did with some Californian paper in the middle of June. I found it through a google search of his name. In this interview, he's asked random questions, such as, "What is something people would be surprised to find in your suitcase?" And his answer, "K-Y Jelly".

Now, part of the reason why I like him so much is I think he's in the closet. He has some odd things like pink pillowcases (which isn't so weird, but then he goes onto say his mother gave them to him. What mother gives their son pink fuischa pillow cases? At least not a straight son). He talks about the ballet company he was apart of for charity for the Nutcracker, he talks about his outrageous clothes- some of which Emmet would love from QAF. He lights scented candles in his hotel room to make it homier. He's extremely close to his mother. On and on, there are little hints he's not quite straight- starting with his prefered address in the season San Francisco, not Oakland or the outside communities, and during the off season, it's Hollywood. West Hollywood.

So, I found this interview, was amused by it. and shared it with another friend, - who went and forwarded it all over the net to exactly the type of people I hate- the ones who don't follow the A's, can only name two players, and are really, "fairweather" fans. And now every livejournal I read is devoted to "Isn't he cute??? I love Barry" posts. And they credit her with finding the interview. BAH!

I'm just a little possessive now, I realize. They aren't real fans, and I'm frustrated by it. Come back to me when you can say you lose sleep watching the gamecast and listening to the audio broadcasts of *every* A's game, not just Barry's. Now I wish he wasn't popular, and I really wish he wasn't as attractive as he is. No one would have noticed him then.

I think I understand Jen a little more today.

2002-07-30T07:56:00.000-07:00

I have an outline to the next "Lessons" story, and I think I've come to the conclusion it's never being written. My Smallville obsession isn't there anymore, maybe it's summer re-runs, maybe it's the fact my head is too in ESPN now. Either way, it's sad. It happens to me though, I find something to love and watch and write. And for months, or weeks, it's all I consider writing. Then something happens, and I run out of interest in whatever I'm writing- I still have the ideas, still have things to do, but just don't care to do it.

It happened in X-Files, Sports Night (to an extent, I still sometimes read that fandom), Highlander, and many many others.

Sad thing is, I'm still surprised when it happens. I never get into a fandom thinking I'm going to lose interest one day. I'm proud of the "Lessons" series, even if it will never be finished. It's the first I ever posted, and it was good enough to be on at least four recommendation pages. Not a lot of fandom writers can say that of their first posted story. :)

RIP "Lessons in Popularity". You were barely known, and never given a chance.

2002-07-24T23:23:00.000-07:00

Wow. Um. Guess it's been a long time since I've posted in this.

Nothing really new with me. I'm deep into baseball. In fact, it has eaten my brain. I dream about box scores and Gamecast now.

I'm in new-fandom bliss, I guess. I love it all. I have started hear Dan Patrick's voice in my head. He says things like, "kill Derek Lowe". Not really. But I'm tempted still.

2002-05-09T09:22:00.000-07:00

Seattle Slew died at 28 yeards old on May 7, 2002. Kris S. died also on May 7, 2002.

I never saw Secretariat. I think, I think it was okay that I didn't, since I was nine years old when he died. I do remember when I heard the news, and even then I was into racing. I was mad at my parents for weeks. Being 9, I blamed them for never taking me to Kentucky. But, at the same time, although the Superhorse was gone, there were still two more Triple Crown winners alive.

Then last year, Affirmed died. I wanted to see Alydar more, but he was gone by 1990, so I content that Seattle Slew was still alive, even after spine surgery.

And now, Seattle Slew is gone, and I still haven't been to Kentucky.

2002-04-26T10:01:00.000-07:00

Ahah! I knew it! My last post was about baseball! Not my body, so there.

Anyway, back to my body: I'm feel really awful, and I knew there was something wrong when I was sweating to death on the verge of passing out from heat and stuffiness last night standing on a very cold street corner.

No I wasn't hooking. Not this time.

I got no sleep. My sister called at 11 last night in a panic. It seems her asshole husband is suing for custody of their kid in order to get out of paying child support. He seems to think that he can get custody and have her pay child support. Yeah. Let's ignore the fact he works from 11 am to 7 pm as a cook for a nursing home and that would require Nathaniel being in daycare, while my sister works from home and is always there for Nathaniel. Let's ignore the fact he hasn't paid anything in the ten months they've been separated, that he attends AA meetings for his anger management, and the fact my sister pays (my mother in reality) for Nathanial to be in private preschool and his like 98% responsible for everything that happens to Nat (Tim gets him two nights a week).

Basically let's ignore the reality that family court rarely takes children from their mother and place them with their high-school dropout father. She was still paniced because he hired a lawyer, and she's dependent upon legal aid, and part of the papers said she had the capabliliy of paying for his lawyer and court costs- the only capablility that she has is whatever she weedle out of my mother, which the courts can't get at.

Anyway, it was 1am by the time I got off the phone, and she was still going strong. I mean, I know it's scary to have a lawyer threaten to take your kid away, but my god, it's okay to lose sight of reality for like a day and think it could happen, but it's been four since the papers were served and she was still riled up. Look at the situation logically! Florida is so backwards, it's never gonna happen! Christ. They give crack-addict moms their babies back for second, third, and fourth chances. My God-fearing Christian sister is a pretty safe bet, I think. So I went back to bed with my throat even more sore and my head pounding. Took forever to get myself calmed down to sleep after that.

Braves really sucked ass last night. 11-5 Arizona. Maddux was off all night, and it was pretty obvious that was his carreer worst, and whaddayaknow, it was!

ATLANTA (AP) -- Greg Maddux was standing at his locker, trying to figure
out the worst game of his career, when teammate Vinny Castilla walked by
with a bawling child.

"There's no crying in baseball," someone said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Too bad," Maddux replied, not even cracking a smile.

The four-time Cy Young Award winner surrendered a career-high 10 runs in 4
2-3 innings, and the Arizona Diamondbacks routed the Atlanta Braves 11-5
Thursday night.

"I embarrassed my team, my manager and myself," said Maddux, whose ERA
leaped from 0.75 to 3.78. "I've got to figure it out, so it doesn't happen
again."

Damian Miller drove in four runs as the Diamondbacks took two of three from
the Braves in a rematch of last year's NL championship series.

Maddux (2-1), bothered this season by a sore back, was knocked out during a
horrendous fifth. He gave up eight runs -- a career high for an inning --
and walked four, tying his high.

Two of the walks were intentional and a crucial error by Wes Helms made four
of the runs unearned. Still, that hardly eased the sting for Maddux, who had
never given up more than eight runs in a game.

"You don't forget this -- never," Maddux said. "If I forget this, I'm
stupid. I want to remember this so I never let it happen again."

* * *

I think I'm just gonna lay in bed and wish for death.

2002-04-20T12:41:00.000-07:00

I said to my father last night, I'm in the midst of a baseball renaissance. It's quite true, in the last week, I've done my best not to miss a Braves game, even if it meant listening to two minute delay on Real-Audio. I would say seventy percent of my time during the ages of 8 until I was 14, was spent at the ballpark. My brother played. Heh. Played is such a mild word to compare to what he did.

Inhaled the game. Obsessed over the game. The game held such sway over the house. If the team won, mom was happy- which meant she spent only an hour analyzing how my brother should have played more, or had better hits- if the team lost, it meant my mom would gone on until the next game, where the process begin again. I have no doubt that in the beginning he loved the game, almost as much as I did. (Girls had to play softball, and weren't allowed to play ball- there was only one softball field, instead of the three baseball ones, and it had poorer dugouts and the chalk was faint- such as it often was with girls sports )

So in the beginning there was a great game, and by the time my brother entered high school, there was only sickness my mother had over the game. I stopped attending games, I couldn't sit next to her every night and listen to her. I started to hate the game. I had the option of staying home, that my brother did not. He had to play. He was going to be in the Major Leagues. He had a hitting coach, a pitching coach, he attended countless clinics, and played on at least four different teams every year (Florida baseball never stops). Road trips took him all over the state of Florida, and even to Puerto Rico.

I was allowed to hate the game, again, my brother at that point didn't have the option. He was cut from the Douglas High School team during his sophomore year- and if he could have, I think he would have left home, I certainly wanted to. While his friends played for the school, he played on other teams, never getting his Saturdays free, never having time to just hangout the way he wanted to- it was either practice, a game, or a clinic to attend.

Once he moved out, my mother couldn't make him play baseball anymore.

Now, just as I have rediscovered my love of the game, my father told me brother has gone back to baseball. He's trying out for the UCF baseball team, and hopes to walk-on. My mother has no idea, as per my brother's wishes. I think we've both realized it wasn't the game we hated, but the things people made the game out to be.

2002-04-18T20:41:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the world of too much information- here's an update- I hate having my period.

Besides the whole blood, bloated, cramp thing- it just puts a hamper on my sex life. In fact, the only person who has fun when I get my period, is my cat- he loves grabbing the plastic wrapper of the pads, and licking/chewing them to death. He's got this thing for plastic, I just don't get it. Oh yeah, the first person to make a joke about the fun my pussy is having gets a kick in the head.

Right. So. I'm in love with a married man, and I couldn't be happier. My best friend has had a boyfriend for four years who is nice, funny, loves hockey and is now a lawyer, who her family loves more than they love her, and I just found out they are going to couples counselling together. Go figure. I know she picked me as the one who would need to seek professional help because of a relationship.

And what is it about the internet that brings women together? Heh. Just finished reading Lar and Sam's collective blogs, and there's a story about two women, who were married (one still is), who each have kids, and are now deeply, passionately in love with each other- there was an interesting quote about each of them putting off family, friends, committments, just because they knew the other one was online. One lives in England, the other in the US, like an ocean between them- just slightly further than say Arizona and Virginia...

Must be the slash. Or something.

2002-04-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

My writing still sucks. The Braves are sucking ass today. And Dale Jarrett is driving the UPS Ford like my mother- no, worse than my mother, cause she at least speeds. So there's a lot of sucking going on today.

It's weird I look up everytime I hear the crack of the bat, even though I know I'm listening to the game on radio, and not actually watching it. Reminds me of the days of when I used to watch my brother's ball games and do my homework at the same time.

2002-03-30T11:19:00.000-08:00

I think I have put my finger on why I look at the four pages I accomplished on "Lessons in Popularity" and immediately want to look for a Zippo lighter- err, a delete key, since I'm not about to set fire to my computer. Anyway, back to the finger- I haven't watched television in ...close to a month now, maybe longer. Err, let me reword this- I haven't watched television that I usually set out to Watch and not merely look at- Smallville, being the only exception- I Watch Smallville, download and save the episodes, and then read the recaps about five times - but that's only because I take notes while watching Smallville for my stories.

I haven't seen West Wing, Law & Order, Ed, Ally McBeal, Boston Public, Crossing Jordan, CSI, the Guardian, in close to two months. Those are my powerhouse dramas, the shows I watch for either intricate plots or sharp dialog. The shows I would sell organs to write. Opprotunitity plays a huge part in why I haven't watched them- I'm never home in the evenings. I spend my mornings- either reading email or slash, or working (least I did before I didn't have a job to go to). By the time I'm at a place where I want to sit down on my couch, to rewind my tapes from the night before, it's already 1 pm, and I need to shower, dress, and I'm whisked off to the Collective. When I get home at around nine thirty, I'm tired, I don't want to jump into a show mid-hour, and really lack the concentration to enjoy the upcoming 10 pm drama. Then there is the time I do get to myself, and I just... I'm all blah. I get to the point of 'why bother', I have so many tapes stacked up (12 six-hour tapes with shows on them) and knowing I haven't the time to spare to watch it all- why bother taping something.

Except...

Is there this connection to my writer's block? I don't see the streaming media of a Law & Order, and therefore, have like no impulsion to write a methodical plot-line (and "Lessons" is very methodical in its views of Clark and Smallville happenings, the driving force of Lex's characterization is his use of science in order to understand. Treating each plotline of Smallville as a crime scene, picking up the clues and following them- all of which are heavily influenced by CSI/Law & Order).

I feel bad if I take my mornings and watch television, instead of writing. I feel like I've wasted the day, especially when asked the question- what did you do today, Lori? It feels like ... eh, I don't know, I'm not sure how to describe it.

The whine fest continues, I suppose. The four pages I wrote came out of four hours of sitting in a coffee shop, in internet-exile, and it still seems like there's nothing there to show for it. I used to write 10 pages in three hours, this one-for-one ratio sucks.

2002-03-30T09:56:00.000-08:00

I was seriously starting to believe that Jenn didn't love me anymore, and that was why I hadn't received a reply yet. Turns out, I had written her from a yahoo address that OE now refuses to check, and well, I had forgotten to go to the web and see if anything was waiting for me- and indeed there was. So, Jenn loves me. Well, I'm sure she really only likes me, but hey, a girl can dream.

Speaking of love, and well, in my case, hate- I'm really hating my writing. I feel it's stilted. Like my story takes place inside this clear plastic globe that even the characters are aware of - and because of that, no feeling comes through. Maybe it's because I'm distanced from my own writing. Maybe it's because I suck. Maybe it's because I just finished reading some excellent stories, that had a lot of BOOM! ( a term from my beloved english teacher, Mr. Pawcio). So I'm trying to figure out where the lack of feeling comes from- is it because I write, or at least I try to write- in complete sentences? I don't have the lovely fragments that some writers have made so popular. Maybe my description needs work... or I don't allow enough of a window into character's thoughts.

Hmm. I shall ponder my POV use.

Oh, and yes, I'm still enjoying "Lions" now up to 227. I find myself wanting to slash Rodrigo and Ammar, just because of their silly banter. Rodrigo's wife said she'd either bed another man or kill him if he were to bed another woman- and since she didn't want another man, the remaining choice was --- she didn't say anything about what she'd do if Rodrigo bedded another man....

2002-03-29T16:03:00.000-08:00

Well, I kept my promise about reading CLex fic, but I have done no writing today. I instead, decided to read another book in my large library of unread books- I'm 140 pages into "The Lions of Al-Rassan" by Guy Gavriel Kay. I must say, it's not what I expected. There is a lovely humor, a complete twist from "Tigana", the other Kay novel I've finished.

"Tigana" before I finished "Kushiel's Dart" my favorite epic, with it's bitter-sweet sorrow of a nation that seemed to be doomed to be forgotten. The power of memory, the inablity to tell a stranger where you hale from, to see the grains of time errode away a culture almost to the point of extinction- all because of a blood-fued; ah, how I loved that novel. I cried, many times during the reading, and found myself in a not-unpleasant melancholy after finishing it.

"The Lions of Al-Rassan" has it's moments of sorrow- a dedicated doctor, losing his sight and speech, after he saved the son and courtesan of a king during birth, merely because he had to actually see the woman naked, instead of directing through a privacy sheet; a town with rebellion, only to have its population brutally subjugated forcing the flight of a young woman; a man sworn to serve a king he suspects of killing his own brother for the throne, who has to tread the lines of honor in order to practice justice and now facing exile... these are compelling tragic characters. Except, I don't weep, I laugh as I read.

I have just reached the point where Rodrigo has left the capital city, on his way home to his wife, Miranda, to share the news of his two-year exile. He's nearly home, crossing a river, when he is ambushed by masked men- who demand his surrender, or risk the death of his horse. My heart was in my throat, wondering who would dare harm Rodrigo, after having the king's justice meted out in exile, and not the blood-fued that many thought was coming... Rodrigo, surrendered, and was tied up in a hut, and then left alone.

What does he do? Does he pray? Does he wonder how he will escape? No... no he laughs! Which really pisses his wife Miranda off, who was behind the ambush in order to teach him a lesson.

"Two years exile? I suppose it could be worse. Where will you go?"
"Is this the way to discuss such matters?" (Rodrigo is still bound and bleeding from wounds his wife gifted him with)
"It will do well enough. Where will you go, Rodrigo?"
"Ragosa, I think. King Bahir can use us."
"Isn't Ragosa where your doctor went?"
He blinked. "Good for you. She isn't my doctor, but yes, it is where she went. I still want to enlist her."
"I'm sure. She's very pretty, didn't you say?"
"I said nothing remotely resembling such a thing. Am I a complete idiot?"
"Yes. Is she?"
"What?"
"Is she pretty?"
Rodrigo drew another careful breath, not easy given his position. "Miranda, I am married to the most beautiful woman I know. I am not a man to fairly judge such things in others. She's comely enough. Blue eyes, rare for a Kindath."
"I see. You noticed them?"
"Miranda."
"Well you did." Her expression was deceptively mild. He had learned to mistrust that expression.
"I am trainde to notice things, Miranda. About men and women., If I had been better trained fifteen years ago I would have noticed you were a cruel and ungenerous woman."

It's good to laugh, especially after having to talk to my sister for two hours.

2002-03-29T09:14:00.000-08:00

Ugh. I'm all congested this morning. My head just aches. I'm on the phone to my sister, and she's on the crusade. Apparently she has a neighbor Victor, who was once a pastor, had his own radio show. But apparently, he has turned against God, and has decided God is evil. He went back to the Bible, and found lots references to the evil God has done, the murders, the plagues, not carrying if a whole people was slewed because they weren't His children. Ya know, I think I like Victor, the cause of his schism with God was a simple glance outside and the question- what has his prayers wrought? He had been praying to a brick wall.

My sister is up in arms over that. Heh. She claims the scriptures the man cited were pulled way out of context. Now that, I had to laugh over. ;)

There's been an explosion of fic on ClarkLex. My count is now 262, and it's only been ten hours since the last count. I've made a promise to be good. I'm going to write today. Oh wait, and to be clear- I'm going to work on Smallville. Sorry folks. I know there are a few out there who want to know what's happened to that beginning story I blogged a few days ago- nothing more exists on that.

2002-03-28T19:22:00.000-08:00

I finished "Kushiel's Chosen" yesterday. It was another wonderful seven hundred pages. I had a few thoughts about the book, that are still ...evolving. Now I shall shrivel up and die until the final book is published in Feb 2003: "Kushiel's Avatar".

I wrote today, having finished a four page outline on Monday of my next "Lessons" story for Smallville. "Lessons in Popularity" now stands at 10 1/2 pages, with another 30 to go. Yay me.

I don't have a job at Books A Million.

Now, I must fight the urge to go to Jae Gecko's website and devour her "Turning Myself Into You" series- she's due to release the last chapter sometime next week. I find myself wanting to re-read some Sports Night stories, like "Even Sugar Peas Run Out of Snap" by lowercase k and "Where Have You Gone, Tom Glavine?" by Sabine. Links to those stories can be found on Jae's recommendation page at www.jaegecko.com . Maybe one day I'll return to my E. Lynn Harris/Sports Night crossover that is still in the infancy of research, a year and a half later.

My Smallville slash folder unread count now stands at 222. Bad me.

2002-03-22T16:54:00.000-08:00

Love as thou wilt.

That is the motto of Kushiel's Dart, the first brilliant novel by Jacqueline Carey, and oh, does she ever. I'm not saying Phedre gets around- will, okay, I am, but it's so ... hmm. Let me back up. I'm going to start with 'I hate female leads most of the time' and end with 'I love Phedre'. I have finished the 700 pages that is Kushiel's Dart, and wow, I hunger for the sequel.

Phedre loves as she wants- many many men and women in the novel. Some are deep passionate loves, and others are those sweet moments where you just love that person because of their smile, or their manner of doing things, for their honor or pagentry- those sweet moments that might not carry over to the next the day, but are still meaningful nonetheless. Reading Kushiel's Dart was like drinking a very fine wine- something aged that's sweet, tangy and makes you weep for more. It was like watching a very profound and moving movie the first time- where you leave impassioned, creatively inspired, and yet do not want to change a word. It's a rare feeling to have.

It's a deft touch throughout, that's all I can say at this moment.

2002-03-21T11:49:00.000-08:00

I feel like crap and Yahoo and/or Outlook Express is really pissing me off.

I want to check ONE freakin' email address out of the 12 I have, and the bastard won't let me. It's rejecting the password. It's a glitch, that I know will eventually go away, but I'm ready to scream or kill something cute and fluffy because of it. All I want is to check my Smallville address, all I want is the second half of Te's new story, that's it. Simple. Nothing to it.

And it won't let me.

Grrr.

Oh yeah, and I think I want to root for Came Home in the Kentucky Derby, just cause of his name.

2002-03-19T20:20:00.000-08:00

So, what I got out of my agonizing hour long conversation with my mother- I'm a fucking useless kid and I don't love her enough.

To back up, she went to her best friend's husband's wake, and got to see her best friend's daughters, and grandchildren all gathered around like a Walton-type Norman Rockwell setting. "There's so much love in that family" she said to me over and over again. Like how Isaac, my male counterpart, is so polite, and is graduating, going to be an officer in the Navy, greeting everyone no matter who they were so warmly, yada yada... How he asked her about me, and when I was going to graduate, "everyone wanted to know when you're going to be finished with school, but I told them I didn't know, Lori" my mom says... She must have rattled off six or so kids and grandkids that were well into their college degrees, and doing well, and so successful (and let's not forget how much love they have for one another.)

Thank you reminding me, it only escapes my mind for like, five seconds out of the day, that all my friends are ready for graduation, and they are moving on- whereas I am not. I'm sure it would kill my mother to know just how pathetic my college transcripts are- god knows, it's enough to make me want to walk in front of a bus. Christ.

I basically had to spend the conversation apologizing for my short-comings. Sorry Mom that the rest of the family doesn't get together and talk like you want (couldn't be because they can't stand you, could it?) Sorry Mom you couldn't spend the several hours at the wake bragging about your own kids. Sorry to let you down like that. My god, if I had to hear one more time about all the wealthy friends that her best friend had that were at the wake, I would have had to strangle someone.

It makes me sick, and I want a drink, and so so ready to cry. After talking to her, I'm convinced of my utter failure, and again, I think about the speeding bus heading toward me.

Gee, she'd get a lot of attention at parties if she had a comatose daughter to talk about, now wouldn't she?

2002-03-18T13:04:00.000-08:00

So I sent in my application to GW for summer. I'm 7/10 of the way through the application to George Mason, for Fall, as my back-up plan, in case GW doesn't feel like readmitting me. And really, who would blame them? My parents have the back-up plan of UNC-Charlotte, for the summer, but I don't know if that would work- considering to get credit, as a visitor student, I need a written letter from the college that HAS admitted me, and well, I won't really know by May 1.

I've planned out my next three semesters of school at, and I'm pretty happy with what it is- it's nice to know exactly what classes a degree requires, and I can't believe it took GW this long to put it online, but it did...

On a brighter note- Jenn, awesome author of Only Sometimes, and well, one of the two people who have my Smallville stories on REC pages, is back online after 3 months of silence... Heh, I had to write her an email letting her know she didn't miss any of my Lessons series while she was gone. How sad is that?

I went to the Value Options Solutions webpage today, cause I needed to find out if my favorite shrink is part of their plan, and the bastards have all these directions on how to use the listing of physicians covered, but absolutely no directions on how to get the login name and password to reach said listing!!! Come on people, you're set up specifically for mental health and substance abuse- you should really make it EASY on the people who need the services. I guess I have to call, and maybe I'll actually talk to a human being- not crossing fingers.

2002-03-17T17:11:00.000-08:00

http://fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=168276

2002-03-17T17:09:00.000-08:00

I can't really get through the tears. They keep coming, and nothing really helps.

When I first watched the pilot of Smallville, I had this idea of secret, desperate love that was going to end badly no matter how beautifully it began. I began "Lessons" to trace how I felt the show was going to protray it.

I ... I have read that story. I have read a story that pulls together every moment of love: blooming, clutching, fearful, and love unreturned, a story tha pulls together the greatest intentions, the desperation, the loneliness at it's bittersweet heights, the horrible knowing that comes when you realize it's over, and nothing will change it. I have read the ending I first envisioned when I saw Lex fall in love with Clark (when Clark returned the truck, that was when it happened).

I Know Your Heart by Aklani.

Here is a Clark who loves Lana, just as you see every week on Smallville. Here is a Clark who knows no matter how badly he wants to, he cannot have her- not with his freakish strength, his budding destiny, the responisiblities he shoulders because of his power. Here is a Lex, who once tasted love only to have it taken from him too soon. Here is a Lex who can't help but love Clark.

It's a story of if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with. It's the greatest love story that never was. It's ...wow. I was moved to tears, I was flinching knowing just as Lex did that it wasn't going to end well- and it was Shakespeare glowing from fanfiction.net. Tragedy. Lost love. Family against family.

"He frowned. "You're back early. What happened?"

Lex lied. "Nothing. She had to be somewhere, we made it quick."

"Hmm." Clark flopped back on the pillows. "I have to go home." he murmured.

"Clark."

"Yeah?"

"If I asked you to fly with me to Italy - tonight - would you?" Lex's gaze was steady, and his voice completely uninflected.

"What? No!" His eyes wide, Clark raised his head to look at him and laughed. "Don't be ridiculous."

....

"Ah, now you're going to start something and I have to go."

Tugging at the sheets, Lex pulled them away. "Have I ever told you how attractive you are."

Laughter.

"Have you been drinking?"

One of Lex's hands continued its journey over Clark's firm stomach, the other worked on his own clothes. "Or that I love you?"

The grey eyes were filled with concern. "Now I know something's wrong. What is it?"

"Nothing."

.....

"I'm just in a mood." Lex said softly. "You know me."

You know my heart.

"Yes, I do, and you aren't usually so overtly sentimental."

Easing himself over, Lex shivered at the sensation of skin upon skin as he continued to lavish his affections on the lean body beneath him. He tasted the skin below Clark's ear, running his tongue along the jawline until he found the exposed throat where he lingered. When he found Clark's lips again he sensed the subtle change in temperature indicative of the on-off libido switch being turned into the "on" position. When his hands slid down from sides and hips to the delicate flesh upon the inside of Clark's thighs, he discovered that his senses had been very correct.

"I'm going to be late for dinner."

"Shhh."

He moved Clark's limbs, manipulating the body as he had once done the mind on so many occasions. With hands and mouth and his own body, Lex sought to memorize every bit of what would soon be gone, and what he felt - for a time - had been exclusively his.

Please don't take him from me. Please.

*************************

Clark left just before the light faded completely from the sky, despite several subtle, and not so subtle hints from Lex for him to stay.

Lying alone in the darkness, Lex breathed deeply of the remnants of Clark's scent and felt the heat of Clark's body slowly fade from the bedding. The tightness in his chest started to return as he again felt the ache of loss.

How had he allowed himself to be so stupid?

How could he have been so arrogant to assume he would ever be allowed to have anything for his own?

At the very last moment, just as Clark turned from him to go out the door, Lex had almost called him back. Lex had almost threatened him:

Stay with me. Go to Europe with me. If you don't I'll tell the world about you.

Clark had paused in the doorway, given him that wry smile, and bade him good night.

Goodbye.

Lex let him go.

2002-03-15T16:21:00.001-08:00

"Sex on the Beach" was found dead outside of Paralysis this morning. That wasn't his real name of course, I never got that far with him, but it was what he was drinking for most of the night. A typical drink for a typical young urban professional at my bar. Not that ending up dead was the typical order of business at Paralysis, despite the name.

Spending the early morning hours tallying up the night's business bruised my eyes, but not as much as stumbling upon a suit-dressed leg outside the back door did. I expected a homeless man, until I took a closer look at the tailoring of pants. Yes, you could find a homeless man wearing a Brooks Brothers suit. I knew of a woman who walked around, talking to the holes she saw between the glass molecules in store windows, and she did it all wearing a Donna Karan dress, and a fur-trimmed brown coat. The fact she never wore anything but the Donna Karan dress and fur coat, even in 100 degree weather, was what tipped me off to her transitory address.

This suit was clean, well-pressed, and did not carry the smell of well-lived-in, the way you would expect with a homeless person. So I nudged his side, "Come on, get up... you don't have to go home, but you can't sleep here, buddy..."

The flickering light over the back door gave me just enough light to notice the slowly growing pool of blood. The face, unknown to me except for his habitual drink, stared sightlessly up at me. Sex on the Beach was dead. That wasn't the part that disturbed me, it was the fact he made the second body in two weeks I'd found. You see, I found "White Russian with a shot of Jack" two blocks away on my way home from work.

I swallowed hard, and wished fervantly this was a part of a dream, some fantasy conjured by too many receipts and not enough coffee doing the books. It wasn't. It was just a start.

I punched a number into my cell phone, and rubbed my eyes. "Yeah, ... yeah I know, I just saw you two hours ago. I got some bad news, and some pretty fucking horrible news. Bad news is the Cubs lost another game, and the fucking horrible news is I've got another body."

2002-03-15T16:21:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I have a beginning. Yay me.

2002-03-15T16:12:00.000-08:00

My parents have two cats who are in love with each other. Jake and Methos. Two male cats. Gay cats. They sleep ontop of each other, lick one another lovingly- it's kitty porn.

Heh. Revel in my bad pun.

2002-03-12T17:18:00.000-08:00

Guess I am going to get off my ass and call my old therapist at Dupont. It's either that, or employ a lawyer to get me off of the murder charges I'll be facing. I can't keep taking things so seriously, like I did a year ago- otherwise, someone is gonna get hurt. The self-absorbed whining is getting to even me, and the litany of no-one-likes-"fill in the blank" and so it has to be a reflection on me is getting old. So what if no one likes my television shows, or my music, or ... ya know anything that I've invested emotion and attention in. Yeah, it's not about me.

Okay, and there's a scene from "Arrow's Flight" I love, and I hope to apply it to the long list of what I want in the partner- where Kris climbs back into bed, cold, and chilled from the snow, and Talia, in her sleep, turns toward him to warm, instead of flinching away like past lovers had. I know, one scene in a thousand that Mercedes Lackey has written, that I liked, remember, and ... means something to me.

So what that means to me is -hold someone's hand when it's cold, and share the warmth, cause that's the only way someone is going to feel warmer- unless they carry around gloves. Pull on a layer to protect against the elements, warm the outside, but really doesn't cut it on the inside.

So yeah, back to the going back to the doctor at Dupont, can you see? That's the self-indulgent whine that's really pissing me off, and it's my own whine.

2002-03-11T10:02:00.000-08:00

So I thought I'd post to my blog today. I've looked at this nice white screen for ten minutes now, wondering what the hell to write about. I could babble about horse racing, like how Walmart is going to build a distrubution center on what used to be Noel Hickey's Irish Acres Farm in Ocala- one of the many breeding farms I loved to drive by when I was visiting the area. I could talk about the deja-vu regarding Allen Paulson's four year old chestnut filly named Azeri winning the Santa Margarita over Spain.

I could talk about how there's been a story posted to my ClarkLex list that has a title too close to my own series that might invite confusion as to who wrote it or whether it's from a larger work, and well, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who cares about that. I'm the only one who probably noticed. More babble about fandom would probably include a rec to a kick ass story by Jessica Walker and Kita called "Six Foot Deep" that reads like the missing link between Buffy dying and Buffy returning. Or how I've devoured Roxanne Conrad Street's stories, and now want to spend money on her published novels, because she's that good.

I could talk about the six month deadline I've made myself for paying off my credit cards that's going to require 600 dollar payments each month. (Please don't add up what I owe, I already feel bad, scared and stressed over it as it is). By not working this month, it's going to be interesting trying to come up with my payment next month. So do I get another job, waitressing across the street at Cap City or the Carlyle Grill (my only options considering I'm not Thai, Spanish, Indian or Chinese). What will that mean in regards to my schooling (or lack there-of)?

I could talk about the fact I've been off of Prozac for two weeks now, I find myself tired, on-edge, ready-to-cry and at the same time absurdly disconnected from everything.

I could talk about how I haven't seen my psychiatrist since December, and my therapist since August for one reason or another (mainly because I felt I wasn't getting better, I was using that hour to talk circles around someone with a degree but who lacked the balls to get me to focus on what's wrong- and at the same time, I was afraid to go back to the guy I used to see, who did make me focus, who did call me on my bullshit, because what if he helped me feel better, and I was still a fuck-up, where's my excuse then?)

I don't want to talk about any of those things I've listed above, except for horse racing and fandom- and I only like talking about those topics because they keep me from thinking about anything remotely series, or anything that remotely matters.

2002-02-28T14:46:00.000-08:00

Melissa Scott and Lisa Barnett.

Make yourself familiar with their work, particularly the Pointsmen series: Point of Hopes and Point of Dreams. Amazing writing with nonchant homosexual relationships, which either make me happy cause hey, that's not really the point of characters right and frustrated cause damnit, I want to know more about the smooching and snogging. Oh yeah, they are both huge horse racing fans, and are currently following Booklet, John Ward's Derby hopeful. John Ward, that guy who trained Monarchos.

So who do I like this year, you may wonder...

I don't know.

One way or another, I guess I'm going to be rooting for a Dubai-influenced horse, not very American of me, is it? Street Cry, who I liked last year, has returned to the races as a four year old- and while he's never going to race the likes of Monarchos and Point Given, he won yesterday or was it today (? hate international time) his prep race for the Dubai World Cup.

Anyway, on to this year- Essence of Dubai must have looked pretty good, winning today (yesterday)- wouldn't know, since the horse is in Dubai, and all I get a old photo of his Norfolk win last year at the Bloodhorse site- and I would cast my favor to him for Derby winner. Again with an international flavor- I like the Juvenile winner Johannesburg, who is trotting on an all-weather track in England right now- he's also owned by a Dubai sheik. There is also a big problem- as great as Jo is, I dunno if he can win the Derby on one sole race- the April 7th Gladness Stakes at the Curragh- you guessed it- in Ireland. They aren't going to prep him in the US- which while worked in the BC Juvenile for him, and ten years ago for Arazi, it doesn't work for the Derby.

There's this magic lay-off time for Derby freshness- Charismatic defied the odds by winning the Lexington Stakes just two weeks before his Derby victory, but most horses, most winners, have had a start three weeks before the race, and somewhere on the same continenent as Kentucky.

My third choice is my sympathy choice. Saarland. He's by the deceased Unbridled out of the champion mare Versailles Treaty (who I got to see in 1992 while she wintered in Ocala). He's owned by a great family, the Phipps, who practically invented horse racing in Kentucky and New York. I adore his trainer Shug, who again, I've met briefly at the track years ago. Great pedigree, great connections- only problem is- he hasn't really ...wowed anyone with his ability. He's been struggling in allowence races, and he's only getting the Gotham Stakes in New York as a prep race- possibly the Blue Grass afterward, but still...it's a lot to ask, no matter what his genes are.

2002-02-22T09:57:00.000-08:00

My last day of work is Wednesday. I get an unpaid month off, before I'm to be rehired on April 1. Now, hopefully this will all turn out to be true.

2002-02-07T15:13:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, we were in DC while West Wing was filming. The episode was "Bartlet for America". I got to watch Josh Lyman talk on a cell phone while trying to hail a cab. Of course, the point in the frame where I and the Collective was in the shot, was cut, and they flip to see who Josh is talking to- and then flip back, and so forth. You can vaguely see a gray Ford Explorer driving down the street, but I don't know if it was us.

Heh.

However, I have word that they are coming back to film more on DC location the last weekend in Feb.

2002-02-05T09:43:00.000-08:00

It's always fun to investigate the pile of video tapes I have. I tape a lot of shows, and since I'm never home, the "watch" and "to-watch" piles are alarmingly disportionate. Today I've discovered, sometime I had NBC on my recorder- probably Wednesday night, and they were showing a National Geographic Croc show. Now, i don't know if that was from 8-9 or 9-10, or even 10-11. I just know I had a three hour block set up, and sometime during the taping, the cable box was turned to the premium channels, and finally rested on the Sopranos.

In Spanish. Of an episode I have already seen.

Now, I know *I* didn't touch the cable box. I know I didn't have it set to change channels, and the way the tape shows, it looks like someone was channel-flipping until they found the Sopranos. In Spanish. I'm wondering if I have a biligual ghost, or that my cat was playing with the remote.

I also found 12 minutes of an A&E bio on the Brady's Mom, followed by CSI, and the Agency- both episodes I have seen, then followed by four hours of news, late show with David Letterman, Late Late show with Craig, and Greg Proops new show, then another hour of news.

2002-01-29T15:39:00.000-08:00

I was brimming with ideas at 3 this morning. I'm running on empty now.

2002-01-29T14:53:00.000-08:00

There are a lot of bitchy people on ClarkLex.

One of them sounds a lot like an ex-roommate of mine. Scary.

2002-01-24T13:52:00.000-08:00

find your queer
as folk personality!

2002-01-19T16:41:00.000-08:00

Billy does punk.

I was twenty one years when I wrote this song
I'm twenty two now, but I won't be for long
People ask when will you grow up to be a man
But all the girls I loved at school
are already pushing prams

I loved you then as I love you still
Tho I put you on a pedestal,
They put you on the pill
I don't feel bad about letting you go
I just feel sad about letting you know

I don't want to change the world
I'm not looking for a new England
I'm just looking for another girl
I don't want to change the world
I'm not looking for a new England
I'm just looking for another girl

I loved the words you wrote to me
But that was bloody yesterday
I can't survive on what you send
Every time you need a friend

I saw two shooting stars last night
I wished on them but they were only satellites
Is it wrong to wish on space hardware
I wish, I wish, I wish you'd care

I don't want to change the world
I'm not looking for a new England
I'm just looking for another girl

2002-01-19T16:39:00.000-08:00

The mood music to my snowy Saturday.

My youngest son came home today
His friends marched with him all the way
The fife and drum beat out the time
While in his box of polished pine
Like dead meat on a butcher's tray
My youngest son same home today

My youngest son was a fine young man
With a wife, a daughter and two sons
And a man he would have lived and died
Till by a bullet sanctified
Now he's a saint or so they say
They brought their young saint home today

An Irish sky looks down and weeps
Upon the narrow Belfast streets
At children's blood in gutters spilled
In dreams of glory unfulfilled
As part of freedom's price to pay
My youngest son came home today

My youngest son came home today
His friends marched with him all the way
The pipe and drum beat out the time
While in his box of polished pine
Like dead meat on a butcher's tray
My youngest son came home today
And this time he's here to stay

Basically depressing ballads about Ireland, the raping of the land, the taking of a soul for a machine, and all other things Great Britain.

2002-01-19T08:19:00.000-08:00

I'm on a Billy Bragg kick. He's ultimate successor to Bob Dylan's throne. His ultimate inspiration is Woody Guthrie, but his sing guitar folk songs sound very similar to Dylan's early days. When Billy teams up with Wilco, it sounds very similar to Dylan's days with Grateful Dead, or his teaming up with the Band. He's Britain's Bob Dylan.

Dig in boys for an extended stay
Those were the final orders to come down that day
Waiting to be saved in the Philippines
You'll wait forever for the young Marines

Now I believe to be here is right
But I have to say I'm scared tonight
Crouching in this hole with a mouth full of sand
What comes first the country or the man

Look at those slanted eyes coming up over the hill
Catching us by surprise, it's time to kill or be killed

Over here, over there, it's the same everywhere
A boy cries out for his mama before he dies for his home

All my life I wanted to be
As clever and strong as my best friend Lee
We grew up together along Half Moon Bay
Lee was Japanese, born in the USA

When Tommy was fighting Jerry along the River Seine
Me and Lee wanted to do the same
Then they bombed Pearl Harbour at the break of day
I was headed for these islands while Lee was hauled away

They said look at his slanted eyes, he's guilty as guilty can be
Sent here as enemy spies to sabatage the Land of the Free

I never got home, my platoon was never saved
That little fox hole became my island grave
Lee got out of jail but a prisoner he remained
Till he ended his own life to lose that ball and chain

And they said Oh Little Slanted Eyes can't you forgive and forget
And he said, Oh Mr Friendly Ghost
Can you catch water in a net?

2002-01-17T15:03:00.000-08:00

Deep Fandom Thoughts: in the tradition of Jack Handey

"To me, slash fiction is like a banquet, except there's no food, no guests and everyone hates each other."

"I don't think God put me on this planet to judge other people's writing. I think he put me on this planet to gather specimens and take them back to my home planet."

"If I ever write a rapefic, I hope I am able to bring a certain lightheartedness to the subject, in a way that tells the reader we are going to have fun with this thing."

"A writer doesn't automatically get my heartfelt praise. She has to get down in the dirt and beg for it.."

"If you read a story you hate, don't flame the author, like a lot of people do. Instead, try to get some weeding done, because you'd really be surprised"

"If you're on one of those lists that's always talking about how they want honest and hard-hitting fanfic critique, wouldn't you think it'd be a great idea to say to the listowner, "Boy, your stories are one big steaming pile of crap"? Trust me, it's not.:"

"There's nothing so tragic as seeing a fic list torn apart by something as petty as a pack of wolves."

"Consider the daffodil. And while you're doing that, I'll be over here, taking your story and posting it as my own to another list."

"Somebody told me how frightening it is that fanfic is getting worse and worse, but I told that story around the campfire and nobody got scared."

"One thing fen really like is to be tricked. For instance, somebody on one of my lists asked about one of their favorite authors, who hadn't posted much lately. "I hate to tell you this," I said, "but she killed herself." Boy, they were sure mad when they found out I was lying, but I think that deep down, they thought it was a pretty good joke. Then the author got in a fight with someone and unsubbed, so big deal."

"We tend to scorn and laugh at those who write really awful fan fiction. But we can't murder them, and this is what annoys me."

"Sometimes when someone posts a story I really hate, I do a little trick to calm myself down. I'll get the writer's real name and address by hacking into their ISP, then go to their home and ring the doorbell. When they come to the door, I'm gone, but you know what I've left on their porch? A jack-o'-lantern with a knife stuck in the side of its head with a note that says, "You." After that I usually feel a lot better, and no harm done."

"Fanfic writers need encouragement. If somebody writes a good story, tell them it was a one-time fluke. That way they get a good feeling, like luck was really on their side that time."

"Sometimes I think the world would be better off if I never wrote another word. No, wait, not me, you."

"I hope fandom isn't just a big pathetic joke, because I don't get it."

"People think it's fun to write fanfic because you get all those readers. But they forget the negative side, which is the psychosis."

"There are many stages in the life of a fic list. In the first stage, it's young and all the listmembers are eager, like beavers. In the second stage, the listmembers want to build things, like dams, and maybe chew down some trees. In the third stage, they feel trapped, and then "skinned." I'm not sure what the fourth stage is."

For more, go here:

http://www.certando.net/vali/deepthoughts.htm

2002-01-11T18:17:00.000-08:00

It's official. I've hit it. Writer's block. Yeah.

Bastard.

I've telling myself that I've just been too busy to write, with work and uh... play, but the truth is, I don't have it right now. I don't have the fire to put down words that I used to have. My blank books, are still blank. My canvas has the old sketches from months ago. I actually had to throw out my brushes because of age.

And then there's this beautiful computer I have, and yet can't seem to write on. So, knowing I have block, having finally admit it, after tip-toeing around the subject for like a month and half, I've gone back to tapes. Movies. Stuff with great dialog, that makes me want to write. Stories I love hearing told, and then want to expand on (The End of the Affair is getting worn).

I'm watching my tapes. The ca-zillion I have stockpiled with unwatched Law & Order, CSI, and the Guardian. Oh yeah, and you know, my guilty pleasures : Boston Public (Jeri Ryan, and damn, she gets Billy Zane on the show too) Ally McBeal, West Wing, Ed...

I find I miss Robert Downey, Jr as Larry Paul on Ally McBeal.

Ally leads Larry over to the piano
Larry: Where are we going?
Ally: Well, you did say that music was your big companion, didn't you?
Larry: Yeah, but now I have you.

or

the really great part of the episode "The Ex-Files"

Larry: I kissed her.
Ally: Oh. Well how was that?
Larry: Well, I started to kiss her, I should say. Because I couldn't... obviously I couldn't...
Ally: Well, then there's no problem then. See, because I don't have a problem with the man I'm seeing kissing another woman so long as he breaks it off within, say... what... four or five seconds?
Larry: Ally.
Ally: No, no, no. You know what? I am too old for these kinds of games and I am way beyond men who...
Larry: For your --
Ally: [interrupts him] What do you expect? Do you expect me to give you some badge of honor because you came forward with it yourself?
Larry: If you'll let me speak, maybe --
Ally: No, Larry. I think you should leave.

Larry: You and I could never work. You understand, Jamie.
Jamie: How do you know?
Larry: Because you're not... her. I will always love you. You will always be in my life, but she's it. And even if it's now over between me and her, trust me you don't want to be following her because she's..... she's it.

Renee: I think you should at least talk to him.
Ally: Oh, right. I'm sure there's a very good explanation. She probably got bit by a rattlesnake in the mouth and he was trying to suck the venom out of her tongue.
Renee: Ally, he did come to you. He was honest enough to --
Ally: He kissed her, Renee! And this is the early part of our relationship. Now imagine when we get married and he's required by law to cheat.

Larry: Don't you think I'd want to be with Jamie? She's the mother of my son. All I have to do to see him every day is get back with her, and for a fleeting second yesterday, I wanted to believe it could work. If I could just will myself to... God knows my life would be simpler.
Ally: Then why don't you just do it?!!
Larry: Because I love you !
Ally: [pauses] Fine. Fine, that makes it all better, doesn't it?
Larry: Did you hear what I just said?! I've never loved anybody as much as I love you. And I'm only at the beginning of loving you. And you might think the smartest thing for you to do here is just move on. He's got an ex-wife, he's got a kid, he kissed somebody else, just move the hell on. Well, it's not smart, Ally. It's heart-stupid. 'Cause you love me too.
Ally: Love isn't always enough.
Larry: Yeah, it is. You go without it long enough and you realize it's everything.

2002-01-11T11:10:00.000-08:00

"Ha! You like him! You do!"

"Do not!"

"You do, you looked down to check if your tits are still there! You always do that when you like a guy."

"I did not- wait, I do?"

It's lines like that keep me watching Ally McBeal. I know, how can you watch a show with Callista Flockhart. Cause... well, it's really not that bad. I mean, there's Raymond, a self-proscribed woman chaser who is totally smack-him-every-time-he-opens his mouth. He calls her the "Thin Mint". Raymond asked Ally out, but didn't even wait for her answer and asked another woman out- the show plays on Ally's "it's all about me" preoccupation. They really make fun of her. And hey, that's a good thing right?

Plus, you know, Jon Bon Jovi is guest starring next week.

2002-01-05T07:30:00.000-08:00

A reason to keep writing.

>>Lori,

Normally I don't reply to feedback-feedback for fear of trapping an author in some kind of hellish never ending correspondence, but your letter needed responding to:

1) If you aren't getting oodles of feedback every bit as flattering as mine then there is something horribly, *horribly* wrong. (Not with you. With other people.)

2) Bear in mind that there are some people - lots of people - who will praise someone who takes the characters they supposedly adore and twists them into little pretzel shapes while taking for granted someone who can create interesting fiction without folding, spindling or mutilating the characters.

3) I think that was the longest sentence I've ever written.

4) What I'm trying to say here is this: shock value and quality are two different things, and it's a pleasure to find someone in the latter category.

5) Feedback is good. Giving it, getting it, it's all good. Yay us. ;-)

6) By "There will be more, of 'Lessons', hopefully something new by the end of next week." you meant to say that there will be more of "Lessons" definitely by this Wednesday. No, no, don't argue. That was what you meant to say. Trust me. I have an honest face.

Ash
~If that works, I'm just going to laugh and laugh and laugh... okay, first I'm going to read. But then I'm going to laugh.<<

2001-12-29T19:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, I feel bad for my snarking. You know, where, I said the recent stuff on CLex has sucked, and that I compared it to a train wreck. I'm new to the posting thing- I didn't know there were feedback rules. Like, don't send blanket thank-yous. Cause I did. So, I'm quietly watching them rip apart an author who did.

Oh, I should back up. I downloaded an IRC client. So, ...yeah. So maybe I don't really want to know how people feel about my writing. I'm a tender sort. :) Not that I want someone to flatter me needlessly, I want to have earned the flattery. I'm reading this ... well, it's mean, and while I agree, I'm also quietly thankful it's not me. But what if it was? Ahhhhh! Okay, going back to therapy. Not going to let anyone else's opinion matter to me. Right.

I'm strong.

2001-12-28T18:28:00.000-08:00

Home is where your heart is.

Here, I'm just with my family, that I do love, but it's not "home". It's really never been "home", having only spent about a total of three months in my parents house in NC. I don't mind being here, but I still feel torn in two. I just, wish I could be in two places at once. Or three places (the third place being at a racetrack).

Haven't done much. Didn't even get dressed on Thursday. Today I saw a movie, a Beautiful Mind, and then spent the rest of the day catching up on my CLex reading. I gotta say, a lot of the recent stuff posted has sucked. Or just one author in particular. More doesn't mean *better*. And yet, I keep reading each installment. Heh. Like a train wreck.

I finished Neil Gaiman's "The Dream Hunters", his Sandman novella. Fabulous story, I loved each chapter, and the illustrations. Now I want to create something similiar for my stories. I can draw (sorta). I just haven't decided which story to do- my horse-show thriller "A Cut Above", is a good possiblilty, since I can draw horses better than anything or my horse-racing drama "Harmless Love", since I do racehorses even better than jumpers; - "Sidewalk Strangers" is the other one I want to illustrate. Of course, I'd have to finish each story first.

I got a lot of cool stuff for Christmas, so far, my favorite gift is a tie between LA Confidential DVD and a bumper sticker that says "Dead Men Tell No Tales... Unless You're In Forensics" . My mom's charge card to Macy's is a close second. :) Eh, everything I got was pretty wonderful, even though the more personal stuff came from the Collective (my mom did the gift card route, flannel pajamas, bras and underwear, my brother got me another gift card- nothing really special).

I struck out with my dad and my brother's presents, judging from the amount of time each of them has spent with the gifts (brother almost drove home without his and dad's is still sealed in plastic)- but for the first time in like ever, my mom liked her gifts.

2001-12-23T05:36:00.000-08:00

Busy. Busy. Busy.

So it'll probably be a couple days before I can talk about everything. Like maybe Thursday.

2001-12-21T13:19:00.000-08:00

I love presents. Even ones that don't have my name on them- I just love looking at a tree, filled with capacity with wrapped gifts. There's a lot of people in my life who are very loving, generous, and deserve presents all year long. The best gift though, is when I wake up in the morning, with someone snoring in my ear... someone who grabs on tight when I start to move away.

So, I guess for me, Christmas really is a year-long affair.

Okay, gag me, I'm getting sappy.

2001-12-20T16:50:00.000-08:00

It's okay.

Three notes about "Lessons". That's fine. Really. Two one liners, and one really really nice note that I'm going to count three times. I know I haven't read every story on the list, I have about 50 unread fic e-mails. I'm going to hope it's the holiday season that's keeping people busy.

Cause, I'm not one of Those writers- you know, the ones who could post anything and have feedback within the hour, on list no-less. I'm not one of those writers who have fans that want to read my grocery list. And I'm okay with that. I'm extremely jealous of Those writers, but I'm okay with my not being one of them.

*pours a drink* Cheers to me. I'm so happy I don't have to work tomorrow- but I have to on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, and then again on Wednesday before catching a late flight to my parents house.

2001-12-19T08:51:00.000-08:00

Haven't had much to say lately- real life has been noisy, full of moments of extreme joys and combined with moments of sucker punches. The holiday season is upon me, and I'm chugging along with my first retail job- Books A Million. I've been shopping like crazy, and well, that extra money I made on the job, is gone now. :) Twice over. I'm now getting slowly hooked on Neil Gaiman, at least his graphic novels. I hate you, Reesa, cause I didn't need to pick up *another* expensive hobby.

My job is partly to blame- working a dead Sunday night, and thinking to myself- hey, we sell Sandman, I could check that out and see what Reesa is talking about... I own two Neil Gaiman works now, "Stardust" and "The Dream Hunters". I'm now wondering what Half.com has in the way of the Sandman Chronicles.

If you don't believe I've been shopping for other people- I have. I could tell you what I bought, but then, the few people who read this blog wouldn't have any Christmas surprises. (Hey! I heard that snark- I CAN SO keep a secret!)

My mom called me last night, while I was over with the Collective- first thing she said after grilling me over why my number was on her caller ID was, she wanted Prozac, so she could be as happy-sounding as I was. Okay- should I be pissed that my mom only believes that a pharmaceutical drug is the reason for my happiness, and not just that for once, life doesn't suck? Couldn't she just figure it out, that since being a part of my Collective & with my SO, that I'm a whole lot happier? Nope, gotta be the drugs. Couldn't be that I was 8 hours away from her.

Blah.

I posted "Lessons in Conspiracy" today. I also work until 11:30 tonight. Yippee.

2001-12-14T09:18:00.000-08:00

Oh, and my Graham Greene plot bunny- he's homeless. I can't find my copy of "The Third Man". Bugger. Well, I guess I could go to work and buy it...

2001-12-14T09:16:00.000-08:00

I'm a bad blogger. I swear I'm trying to be better at talking to myself, but damn me, if I have nothing to say. Or maybe I'm too interested in what other people say- cause it doesn't stop me from trolling blogs and live journals.

I ... I think I perfer Livejournal to blogger though- I mean, if I didn't have to pay, it would be cool- cause I really like the set up of livejournal, the comments, the mood thingie. Probably all toys that are wasted on me. Hmmm. For those of you wondering what the hell happened to my Smallville stories- I'm holding onto "Lessons in Conspiracy" since the episode it's based on airs Tuesday, I'll post then. I'm still plugging slowly slowly away on "Lessons in Expediency" (yeah, I screwed myself with the title- I'm thinking of changing it to Lessons in Popularity (a redux of "Cool"). Like it's taken me two weeks to write 10 pages- I blame finals.

I have serious voices talking to me now about the recent ep, "Jitters". 'Don't ever do that again'... *happyshiver*

For nice and fucked up, read Thamiris's livejournal. Hot little Smallville snippet. http://www.livejournal.com/~thamiris/

2001-12-10T09:31:00.000-08:00

Only Sometimes by Jenn.

Dear god, how I love that story this morning. I have reread it three times and I keep wishing for more. I need more. *tortured sigh* It's so beautifully sad. Achingly sad. I'm completely envious right now. It's on smallville.slashdom.com so read it. Love it. Wish for more.

And, I thought of a new idea for Smallville, a re-writing of Graham Greene's "The Third Man". Long time ago, there was a challenge on my Mulder/Krycek list, of writing a story in the tradition of another- like, Tarlan did a beautiful retelling of "Do Andriods Dream of Electric Sheep?" (Bladerunner) where Mulder was the one with the brilliant profiling abilities, summoned to test the humanness of Alex, and reveals the andriod, who thought he was human. Check it out. "More Human Than Human" on RatB archive. Anyway, that was the challenge, and now I want to apply it to Smallville.

2001-12-06T07:28:00.000-08:00

Oh it's not a good sign- I can't get "Yesterday's Gone" out of my head.

"Yesterday's Gone"

I heard she loved you, I heard she cared,
I heard she miscarried and you were scared.

Did you run from the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterday's gone there's no return,
And she cries all night.

Did you run from the one
Who conceived your child?
Yesterday's done there's no return,
And she cries all night.
Solo.

I believe that a woman can be a slave to a man.
I believe that love that you gave and we try it again.

Will you return to the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterday's gone there's no return,
And she cries all night.

Will you return to the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterday's done there's no return,
And she cries all night.

Did you run from the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterday's gone there's no return,
And she cries all night.

It's just a haunting song. You'd have to hear it to understand. Heh. So I guess that was one useless post in my blog.

2001-12-06T07:22:00.000-08:00

Ever love someone so much that the blood splatter on the wall makes you think of their smile?

Nah. Me either.

2001-12-05T07:16:00.000-08:00

Maybe I'm weird.

Okay, so I know I am definitely weird. I just ... I like plot. I like episode-like fanfiction. I like seeing something that I see on the show, only done much better. Now granted, it wouldn't be that hard to one-up the writers of Smallville, but wouldn't it be nice to take an idea, give it the room and the subtext that it deserves? Writers on the show are constrained by so many things, including where a break in the action needs to be for a commercial.

I loved Case-Files, especially on the X-Files fandom. Granted, some fandoms don't really need the help, like Law & Order or Homicide (though I've read some amazing XF/Homicide crossovers that were casefile-like) or Buffy, but damn... I want them on Smallville lists. Mainly because it means a story will be longer than a single post. Invest the time, and the final product will be something you want to be read-widely, and it will be something that will be remembered!

I've read everything on Clark/Lex. Do I remember all the stories? No, of course not. Some stick in my mind, like the final scene of Truth or Dare by mako, with the confrontation with Lex and his father. Some like Harvest, by Sarah, are memorable because it wasn't just a Clark loves Lex story, it had a frame that supported the Clark Loves Lex idea. Hmm, I sense I'm not making much sense. I just want more... I watch the show, and leaves me wanting more.

Is that so bad?

2001-12-05T06:30:00.000-08:00

The first post from my new laptop:

Um, yeah. So. If you know me, you know I'm a spoiled little rich girl- you also know that my father agreed to pay half of this toy. Merry Christmas to me. Now, I have to go to work later on, and send as many positive 'please keep me on past Christmas' vibes as I can to my boss.

I transferred all my emails, all my stories, over to this beast. I'm a little scared of it now, cause it's so so so nice. Not that was anything wrong with my Dell, other than it was two years old, had barely a gig of hard drive (only because I had to delete my fanfic archive, my MP3s, my saved mail, my videos, etc.) and was noisy as hell. Oh yeah, and the motherboard crapped out on me last week, though Dell did replace it. In fact, I have another year of waranty on the Dell.

I have a burner now! I have a DVD player! (Cause I have the entire season of Showtime's Queer as Folk on DVD already on order).

Is it bad that I was happy that this week's Smallville was a rerun? I'm getting closer to being caught up! Yay me!

I have a non-fanfic plot bunny hopping around- which will probably go into my unfinished epic "A Cut Above". I really need to work on "Sidewalk Strangers" cause that is a cool idea that could make me a bundle. Then there's "Maiden Claimer" and "Insider" that are hovering in stages of outline, that might like my attention sometime soon.

Never enough time in the day. First though, gonna finish CLex stuff.

2001-12-04T10:23:00.000-08:00

I have a little bias when it comes to fanfic. You see, while I admire those who can churn out story after story, with scarcely a day going by without some contribution, I tend to expect very little from those stories. I tend to expect even less from a writer who hasn't wow-ed me yet. So I was very nicely surprised by "He Followed Me Home" by Pepperjack candy (uh, yeah, another bias against those who don't go through the trouble of making a less silly handle/pseudnom). It's an interesting AU where Lex was taken in by the Kents shortly after the meteor shower, that killed both of his parents (can you imagine a Luthor left in the foster care system?). Clark is silent, having not learned English, and lonely-Lex at nine, tries to communicate with him first with English, then French, German and Spanish.

Ever read an idea and then wish desperately you had had it, so you could really give it its due? Cause, I really really like the foster care angle, having watched a lot of the Guardian (on tonight, so watch it! CBS, Simon Baker! Nine pm.) It could turn into a cool story, with the proper amount of "incest" between Clark and Lex in their later years, and to still have it end up the way Superman lore has it- enemies... Yeah, cause Lex never had the Kents, adored Clark, but was never let in on the secret space ship and the cause of the meteor shower- and hey, going from rich to scrapping by, might make him a little on the jaded side and learning it was Clark's doing, indirectly, that cost Lex his parents and his wealth... hmmm.... Lex on scholarship, Lex buying his clothes from "off off off" the rack stores, Lex learning to drive in a hand-me-down Ford Pickup instead having of the fleet of cars, yeah um, I like the angst potential.

So check out "He Followed Me Home" at Fanfiction.net or the smallville.slashdom.com site, and see if you agree with me about the great potential of the story.

2001-12-04T08:27:00.000-08:00

To feel proactive today- I'm writing a letter in response to this- anyone want to follow my example?

LATEST NGLTF NEWS

NGLTF Urges Full Investigation of Hate Crime in Murder of Milwaukee Lesbian Juana Vega

On November 29, the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force urged Milwaukee law enforcement officials to fully investigate the murder of a local activist, including elevating the murder to the classification of a hate crime.

Milwaukee activist Juana Vega was shot repeatedly in the face and chest and died on Sunday, Nov. 11. First-degree intentional homicide charges have been filed against Pablo Parrilla who, according to witnesses, threatened to kill Vega on numerous occasions because of her lesbian relationship with Parrilla's sister. Local law enforcement officials have not yet classified the murder as a hate crime, despite the obvious evidence in the case. Under Wisconsin law, such a classification would not alter the mandatory life sentence already required by a first-degree intentional homicide conviction.

"This vicious murder happened solely because the victim was a lesbian. This is exactly the reason that the hate crimes law exists," said NGLTF executive director Lorri L. Jean. "The Wisconsin hate crimes law has been scrutinized by the U.S. Supreme Court and has been found constitutional, yet it has been rarely, if ever, applied in a case involving bias violence against a member of the Milwaukee-area lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender community. Now is the time."

On November 29, NGLTF pressed three key Milwaukee officials to closely examine the case. The letter urged Mayor John Norquist, Common Council President Marvin Pratt, and County Executive Tom Ament to "give full consideration to enhancing the homicide charge with a charge that the alleged killer committed a hate crime."

Vega, 36, was a Mexican-American lesbian, an entrepreneur, a painter and a chef. She was active in Las Americas Without Borders, a social organization for GLBT Latino/as in Milwaukee. Her brutal murder occurred on the last day of the Creating Change conference, the national conference of the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender movement, which was convened in Milwaukee by the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force Foundation.

NGLTF urges gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people to contact the Milwaukee County Executive Tom Ament to urge the fill investigation of the murder of Juana Vega, including the application of the Wisconsin Hate Crimes law. Reach him at:

Tom Ament
Milwaukee County Executive
901 N. 9th Street, Courthouse Room 306
Milwaukee, WI 53233-1458
Phone: 414-278-4211
Fax: 414-223-1375
Email: tomament@milwcnty.com

Oh yeah, you don't have to be G/Les/Bi/Trans to write him and tell him to do what's right. You just have to be a human being who has sisters, who knows someone with a sister, and imagine someone killing them just because of who they loved. Or imagine someone wanting to kill you for the choices you make in your bedroom.

2001-12-04T08:19:00.000-08:00

I can just tell it's going to be one of those days, where I look back at what I accomplished today- and I can say with pride, I took a shower. I got out of bed. I fed my cat. That's about it for me, so far. There are things I could do- like laundry, like hanging up clean clothes, making my bed, clearing off my coffee table, clearing off my desk- go buy a new laptop... to me, those things are on the scale of Everest. Yeah, gotta love depression (which always worsens around the time of year I need to be the busiest). Christ I can't even get the energy to leave the house to go spend money- THAT's never been a PROBLEM before.

Okay, I'm really going to turn the whine level down to a reasonable level. 'Cause yeah, there are things I could do that would help- like walking around the block in the sunshine, or opening up my blinds to let in the light, not eating oreos for breakfast. Instead, I'm not helping myself- by sitting in the dark, on the couch, listening to my depressing music blend (a nice mix of the Cranberries, Jonatha Brooke, and the Wallflowers).

Lyrics like this don't inspire:

Something has left my life and I don't know where it went to, oooh,
Somebody caused me strife and it's not what I was seeking.
Didn't you see me? Didn't you hear me? Didn't you see me standing there?
Why did you turn off the lights, did you know that I was s

Say a prayer for me, help me to feel the strength, I did.
My identity,
Has it been taken?
Is my heart breakin'?
All my plans fell through my hands, they fell through my hands
All my dreams, it suddenly seems, it suddenly seems
Empty

It's an oldish Cranberries song, from No Need to Argue- a 1992 release. I was shuttling toward destruction when a guy I KNEW put his headphones on my head one afternoon after school, and let me LISTEN... I got as addicted to the song as I did THE GUY, and you know addictions never end nicely... I quit smoking with more ease than I did leaving HIM.

2001-12-03T17:49:00.000-08:00

Did you know that people judge one another based on appearance? No really? ? !!

Okay. Sorry, I just don't understand how online snarking about an actress who is not on the list because of her large cup size is LESS hurtful than a very sharp slapdown publically given by a humorless witch to another writer over a story. 'Cause it's okay to have a hostile tone, but it's not okay to indulge in a well-known past time for American comedy- Does anyone know Pamela Anderson's IQ number? No, of course not, you remember her cup size more. In fact, challenge the men to say what her eye color is- cause guarantee, the common objectivication of women means their eyes never went that high.

I've already given this blog post more thought than the vicious bitch from my list did in her posts. I realize something now, there are people on the CLex list that I don't want to read my stories, cause if they can't get a joke, they certainly won't be picking up on anything meaningful from my stories.

2001-12-03T17:34:00.000-08:00

The Art Test

I never do personality tests, but I did this one. Take two seconds and try it out.

This is me: You are Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa.
You are extremely popular and widely known. Although unassuming and unpretentious, your enigmatic smile has charmed millions. You are a mystery, able to be appreciated from afar, but ultimately unknowable and thus intriguing.

2001-12-02T05:34:00.000-08:00

Curiosity killed the cat.

I read Mako's blog, and then wondered which moron pissed her off on C/L list. So I checked my e-mail, and read a really really irritating post about how a ficlet wasn't a literary marvel. I can only hope that because the time on the e-mail said 6:20 a.m. on a Sunday, she (moron) was hopped up on drugs. The e-mail critiqued (read: ripped it a new one) a story, a harmless little fluff piece about how Lex's blue bottles of water feel about him. I thought it was cute, I never thought about writing a story in a POV of an inanimate object. The bitch-post was longer than the ficlet.

From now on, when I read mako's rants, I'm not going to investigate them. No. Because being pissed off at 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday (where I woke up alone to begin with) just sucks. Okay, who am I kidding? I watch train wrecks.

Damn my curiosity.

2001-12-01T15:42:00.000-08:00

http://www.egpaf.org/

Oh yeah, I love the people at the Elizabeth Glaser foundation. Thank you Reesa for giving me the URL. I gave 20 bucks today to them.

2001-12-01T15:40:00.000-08:00

I love my SO. He's the greatest. I got off work today, an hour later than I was scheduled, because I couldn't bear to leave my co-worker Rose alone in the store without backup. So I waited an hour longer than I had to, worked my ass off, and then left. I went next door to wear I work- (If you want to stalk me, it's BooksAMillion in Shirlington) the Capital City Brewary, had three Kolish beers, and met a facinating gay ballet dancer (male) whole served in the Navy, while an artist, and shared conversation over how shameful it is that Americans can only speak one language (Two if you are lucky) while the rest of Europe can at least speak three- Italians have German, Italian, English, French, and that rare Swiss dialect. Or those in France who speak, English, French, German, or Flemish. Anyway, he was a facinating guy, at 46, who was leaving the bar to go sell Christmas Trees down the street for his Church.

We spoke some in German, talked Harry Potter, and had fun making fun of the switch between "Philosopher's Stone" and "Sorcerer's Stone". His name was Lawerence. Heh. Not Larry, but Lawerence. Oh yeah, he was a visual artist, poet, and dancer.

Anyway, back to why I love my SO- he having keys to my flat, left his laptop for me to discover after I got home from work. Yes, I haven't received my own laptop back from Dell yet. So he left his, so I could check my mail, check my blog, and procrastinate with. God, I love him. Just what I need after three beers, and coming home to find my stereo on ( my cat jumps ontop of it, and turns it on) for the second work day in a row.

2001-11-30T14:19:00.000-08:00

And the good news keeps rolling in... Excite, who I think my cable company uses to provide my high-speed access, has filed for bankrupcy, and oh yeah, by Sunday night, midnight, I could be without service.

This I learn- after having bought my 200 dollar Toshiba cable modem.

2001-11-30T14:01:00.000-08:00

Blah. I made my first mistake at work- Apparently I didn't stress to a customer that the discount card had a five dollar fee. She looked at the receipt and freaked out over the price. Ended up calling up, and bitching out one of my coworkers. Yay me. I was so happy I sold the discount card to four customers, so now my total is three. Whoopee. The customer is coming back next week to return the card and get a refund. Hopefully she comes back on a day I'm not working.

Blah. OhYeah, and no one, not once all day long mentioned to me that George Harrison was dead. Jeeezus. I get the shock through e-mail. Two down, two to go. *sigh* I am going to miss George, but I'm happy he isn't in pain anymore. Cancer sucks.

2001-11-30T06:39:00.000-08:00

Snippet inspired by Jewel's "Everything Breaks Sometimes", look in the archives of my blog for the lyrics.

***
"So that's it?" It couldn't be. Lex didn't lose to anyone. He certainly didn't lose to a high school girl.

"I'm sorry, Lex." Clark dressed in his red sweater and blue jeans looked identical to the Clark Lex had seen a day ago. Of course the only difference was, today this Clark was telling him it was over, and yesterday's Clark had held him and said that he loved Lex.

"Sorry? You're sorry?" He laughed harshly, and closed in on Clark. "Sorry is what you say when you have done something wrong. You think this is the right thing to do, so don't say you're sorry to me."

"What do you want me to say? That's all I have left."

"Say you didn't mean it. Say you do mean it, but it's because of something I've done. Say anything, but sorry!" Lex wrapped his fingers into the fabric of Clark's shirt. He pulled him close, hardly believing he was reduced to this all because of a boy.

"It's not anything that you've done, or haven't done, Lex." Clark sighed, looking down at the pale hands that were holding him so tightly. "When I met you, I had two friends; Chloe and Pete. Now I have five friends; Whitney, Chloe, Pete, Lana, and Trevor."

"So you're not as lonely anymore? That's your reason?" Lex swallowed hard, feeling his chest tighten. He hadn't had an asmtha attack since he was nine, but god if this went on any longer that was going to change. "You don't need me any more?"

"No! It's just... it's a bad sign when the number of people I can't tell about you keeps getting larger. The more people who come into my life, the more I realize I want to tell them about you, and I can't. Not because I'm ashamed of you, but because I know they wouldn't understand. Then there's my parents..." Clark closed his eyes for a moment, before finishing, "I have to lie about a lot of things in my life, I know that. I just don't think I can handle lying about you anymore."

Lex wanted to say then don't. Don't lie, tell them. Tell them everything, Lex could handle it. The problem was, he knew Clark couldn't. They wouldn't understand, and then they wouldn't be Clark's friends anymore. After so badly wanting to be something other than a loser in high school, Clark was finally popular. Lex figured Chloe and Pete would understand and stick around, but the new-found friends wouldn't. Could he really blame Clark for not wanting to lose that? Did he want Clark to resent him for that? Even if after Clark left high school and realized there was more to life than having a circle of friends, something Lex had learned early on, did he have the right to rob him of that experience?

"Oh." He carefully let go of Clark. Now that the outrage and disbelief had cleared, he could feel the hurt setting in. "Clark, I ... I think I understand." No, he didn't, but it was time to be graceful. Lex wasn't going to beg. "I could be petulant, and say I'm not worth the effort, but I won't. I'll just say goodbye then."

"Lex..."

* * *

I haven't made any decisions about Conspiracy. I'm holding out for my laptop returning, heh. Which according to the Airbourne Express website, it won't be here until Monday. I've tried to write on "Expediency" but I'm coming up with big blanks. So, until my laptop returns, I'm going to do "Lessons in Prophesy" instead. Which, um, yeah, I'll write on after work today. Yep. Gotta go to work.

2001-11-29T07:42:00.000-08:00

What to do?

Lessons in Conspiracy- that beast I slaved over and cried over, has been sent off for grammar nazi beta work. I sent it to a few, pretty cool people for comments and help. Two came back, and one has written me this-"In the middle of beta-ing the story, but so much of it is now contradicted by the canon of yesterday's ep. Do you still want me to continue, or are you going to rewrite to take that into account?"

*sigh* Okay, so "Cool" (1x5) had a few points that didn't quite jive with my view of X-Ray (1x4). But I thought I could write around them- give them a new spin, so to speak. Then came "Hourglass" (1x6) and there's a scene that has Lex showing Clark the ruined car, and asking him what he remembered. Okay, so that controdicts my last scene in "Conspiracy" that has Lex telling Clark, yes, I know you have secrets, but you don't have to tell them to me. However- I thought I could write in "Lessons in Prophesy" (my redux of Hourglass) that the scene was a test how well Clark could lie under pressure- and a warning to Clark to be more careful about leaving evidence.

Now we have "Craving" (1x7). I think the big controdiction my beta was referring to was the scene with Chloe and Lex, where Lex says something like, I agree with your connection of weirdness to the meteor shower. He sees the wall of weird. Okay. I wrote in "Conspiracy" that Chloe goes to Lex for rebuilding the Torch offices, and they discuss the weirdness of Smallville. I can deal. Really. Maybe Lex is the type of person that treats everyone as a stranger he just met- unless he's shared mouth-to-mouth with him, or knows their aunt really well.

I just don't know. Part of me really really doesn't want to scrap what I wrote. The other part of me has noticed the nitpickiness of the list I'm on, and I know the inconsistencies will bother people. Do I leave the stuff in "Conspiracy" as is, and explain how it works in my later parts of the series, hoping people still want to read it after being annoyed by the details in "Conspiracy" ?

Or do I just stop writing, knowing every week there's a chance the show is going to take what I've worked on and piss on it? Or do I just write really really fast- and like post the next three lessons before next Tuesday's episode? Decisions, decisions.

2001-11-27T10:12:00.000-08:00

On an unrelated note, I talked to my aunt over Thanksgiving, via the phone. She's my dad's older half-sister. I have one of those- older half-sisters, and I wish mine was as cool as his. Anyway, she's a psychiatric nurse at a state hospital in Florida. She takes Paxil, and she's the *only* person I'm related to that understands what my days can be like. I found myself telling her how bad it would get sometimes- like when getting out of bed and showering were my highpoints of activity. God it was so nice to talk to someone who told me that wasn't anything wrong with taking prozac.

My dad has diabetes, and he relys on pills. So my aunt gave me the example- should my father feel bad about taking a pill to regulate his blood sugar? Why should I feel bad about taking a pill to maintain the chemical balance? Yeah. It made sense, why didn't I ever think about that? Of course logic doesn't keep my mother from thinking it's a crutch.

So I'm psychiatically hobbled, sue me.

2001-11-27T10:06:00.000-08:00

I'm home.

It's so good to be here, even though the food is better at my parents house. I can't go blathering about Clark and Lex there. Here, my cat Dylan thinks I'm amusing, but other than that, he ignores me and my slash addiction. My father nearly stumbled upon my slash, after I got up to answer the phone, came back to find him sitting on the couch next to my laptop, and causing me to hurridly shut the top. "You weren't reading anything pornographic, were you?" Me? No! Never. It was Tolstoy that had me breathing unevenly, licking my fingertip, and squirming every-so-now-and-then . TMI, eh?

I wrote yesterday- something I didn't do much of while I was on break, even though I had plenty of time to write in. See below about the lack of props. Anyway, there's five pages finished on "Lessons" four, and two index cards filled with notes about where to go next. I have to keep re-reading feedback, to keep me from hitting the delete key. I'm sad, aren't I?

I'm not so pathetic that entered "Lori L Smallville Slash" into Google to see what popped up. No, not me. I certainly didn't see only my blog, and mako's blog show up, along with the Smallville archive. *whimper* Okay, so it was me. And I was just curious to see what the other smallville slash blogs were talking about- cause it wasn't me. Not that everything has to revolve around me. No. Um. Yeah. Let me go get my prozac.

One positive came out of my googling- I learned debchan has horses. I had a giggle reading about her worming situation. I could clearly picture the horses reactions. And I know all about having to deal with other people's unhandled horses. I have to say, I never used a tube to go in the stomach, I just twitched a horse, stuck the injection tube behind their tongue, and shot it down their throat.

*sigh* I will not check to see if that Andulsion mare in Alexandria is sold yet- nope, won't do it. Do you think I could get 20,000 dollars for christmas? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

2001-11-23T19:51:00.000-08:00

2001-11-23T13:22:00.000-08:00

I have found episode 6!! Hourglass, you are mine! *wicked cackle*

Now I can retreat to my room and watch Smallville on my laptop. My parents have one television set, and one VCR that doesn't work. They have digital cable and lots of preview channels, but when there's just one television, and count them- 6 people in the house, let's just say I didn't get to watch "Get Real" or "Billy's Hollywood Screen Kiss".

In fact, the short ethernet cord is the only reason I'm even on the same floor as my football-watching family. I'm also sitting in the library looking at the shelves- most of these books are MINE! I want them back!! Damn the airlines for only allowing two bags. *sigh* There's always Christmas.

2001-11-23T07:25:00.000-08:00

I need two things to write. A Caramel Macchiato and self-esteem. I'm too far away from a Starbucks, out in bumfuck North Carolina, and well, I'm at home with my mother, my grandmother- yeah. So. No writing.

On a Smallville note, I have downloaded the first five episodes, and burned them onto a CD. However, "Hourglass", episode six, is being elusive.

2001-11-20T07:53:00.000-08:00

Where the hell did Monday go?

I worked on "Conspiracy" yesterday, managing to bring the page count from 25 to 31. I have a clear idea on how I want the next ten pages to go. Yes, I know I said this story was going to be 35 pages, but damnit, I couldn't wrap it up neatly. I was really pissed I didn't get 10 pages out yesterday. The reason my count was halved, after completing five pages, I took a break to read the Mightbigtv recap of "X-Ray", and realized halfway through, I had the chain of events in the wrong order. For some reason I though Lex met with the blackmailer *after* Tina's mother's body was discovered. He didn't, it was actually the day before. Bollocks! ARGH! So the next two hours was spent trying to salvage what I did write, and make the rest cannonically correct.

On a slashy note: Crossing Jordan last night had a same-sex marriage proposal. In jest of course, but still. Nigel, my favorite Brighton-speaking British coroner asked Bug, his cute, fanfic reading Indian co-worker to marry him, in order to keep from getting deported. Those two are so cute together! It was shame they aren't really good eyecandy. Nigel used to play Screed on Forever Knight, and Bug was the Indian guy from Office Space. Yeah, I'm probably the only person who has seen both examples of their work.

Creepy creepy serial killer on Crossing Jordan as well- A guy who kidnapped a woman, dug up some guy in a cementary, dumped her alive in the casket with a walkie talkie taped to her hand, and then reburied her, while listening to her last moments on the other end of the radio. Bloody fingernails and scratch marks on the casket each time the victim was exhumed- yeah, that's an image I'm going to have for a while.

2001-11-18T08:26:00.000-08:00

Not that anyone cares, I have a full bladder and both bathrooms are in use. I guess I feel like I can sleep with a woman's husband, but walking in while she's showering just so I can pee, seems wrong. It's weird how Ms. Manners reveals herself in my life.

2001-11-18T08:19:00.000-08:00

No writing to be done. Today is the Goodwill Book Sale at the DC Convention Center. Thousands and thousands and thousands of used books for nice prices like .50 cents, or 1.00 hardbacks.

I have my 20 page book list, and 40 bucks. I am a happy camper.

2001-11-17T08:30:00.000-08:00

So it's 11:30 a.m. and no writing has been done. I have however feasted on double-stuff Oreos, two cups of coffee, and now engrossed in an amazing Buffy story. Yahtzee's "Phoenix Burning" found through Torch's recommendation page. I've cried twice now. It's gen, but it's damn good. They bring Buffy back, only this time, it's not Willow, it's the Watchers, and it's three hundred and fifty years later. A biological war killed a lot of the humans, so now the vampires are winning the war.

Watchers reserrect this dream-team of slayers, Buffy included. It's a seriously addicting story, nice and long, I'm only on part 8 of 22 parts. So um... yeah, check it out, read it while you wait for new Smallville.

2001-11-17T06:40:00.000-08:00

All right. I have from now, 9:30 a.m. Saturday till 8:00 p.m Tuesday to make literary miracles.

Better go make some coffee.

I have some details I want to add to what I've written on "Conspiracy"- namely change the places where Lex is doing 70, to Lex doing 60 miles per hour. I'm only 15 out of 65 comments into revisions anyway, though, I think I might hold off until I actually finish the story before going back to where mistakes are. After watching X-Ray for the fifth time, I know that it's not Smallville National Bank, but Smallville Savings and Loan. Yeah, and in the midst of Law & Order, I was assaulted by my fingerprint mistakes- and got a refresher on that detail of "Conspiracy".

Mike, my fictional eyes in the Smallville universe I've created, is practically foaming at the mouth to have the chance to look at the body of frozen girl. And then there's the little detail like, Sean frozen in Lex's Lake.

"Lex, I'm looking at a cross section of the girl's brain. Did you know her cells froze within seconds? No sign- What? You want me to do what? A pick-ax? You got another frozen body? Cool."

2001-11-16T17:19:00.000-08:00

My dad, he's great. I love him to pieces, and he's been so good about providing me with material for my fanfic. You see, everything I have learned about business and being cool and Lex-like, I learned from him.

Now that's not to say he's morally ambigious bastard, he's not. He takes the high road, all the time. He also does it in such a way that you feel stupid for not following his example. He's got a job I love to hear about- he handles employee discharges for a big company. Yep, he fires people for a living. Well, more precisely, he upholds the company in union hearings over someone else firing an employee. He gets to tell people when they screw up, they pay the price (Both for the person who got fired, and the person who wrongfully fires someone). Poor guy, he has to deal with people that were promoted on the basis of time spent in the company, and not on merit- so yeah, he deals with ineffectual people.

My dad on the phone: "He left work in June? His leave ran out in July? And YOU'RE JUST NOW sending the discharge letter? DIDN'T ANYONE NOTICE?"

"Oh, well since we weren't paying him since July, it's okay then. No! No it's not okay!"

*me giggling*

Yeah, I get a lot of Lex from him.

2001-11-14T18:39:00.000-08:00

Wow. It was another 10 page day. I started "Lessons in Conspiracy", my third story in what looks like a long arc- and told myself- keep this one short- keep it to 20 pages. Well, I'm on page 20 now, and I'm thinking it's going to be a 35 page story. I'm on page 20, and in reality, since I write before, during and after an episode of Smallville, the show has only been on past the opening scene. Bam. So I have about 8 to ten more planned scenes, that I want to squeeze into 15 pages. I course, spent 20 pages on just 4 scenes.

*sigh* Lessons in Expediency, ha ha, irony, is also started. It's just two lines of dialog, and it's got an outline, but I want that bad boy done by Tuesday, before the next Smallville. Will it happen? Only if I don't sleep.

2001-11-13T11:59:00.000-08:00

On a LIGHTER note, I listen to this a lot since WTC:

Life Uncommon
Don’t worry mother, it’ll be alright
And don’t worry sister, say your prayers and sleep right
It’ll be fine lover of mine
It’ll be just fine
Lend your voices only to sounds of freedom
No longer lend you strength to that which you wish to be free from
Fill your lives with love and bravery
And you shall lead a live uncommon
I’ve heard you anguish
I’ve heard you hearts cry out
We are tired, we are weary, but we aren’t worn out
set down you chains, until only faith remains
Set down you chains
And lend your voices only to sounds of freedom
No longer lent your strength to that
which you wish to be free from
Fill you lives with love and bravery
And we shall lead a life uncommon
There are plenty of people who pray for peace
But if praying were enough it would have come to be
Let your words enslave no one and the heavens will hush themselves
To hear out voices ring out clear
with sounds of freedom
sounds of freedom
Come on you unbelievers, move out of the way
there is a new army coming and we are armed with faith
To live, we must give
To live
And lend out voices only to sounds of freedom
No longer lend out strength to that which we with to be free from
Fill your lives with love and bravery
And we shall lead...
Lend out voices only to sounds of freedom
No longer lent out strength to that which we with to be free from
Fill you lives with love and bravery
And we shall lead a life uncommon

2001-11-13T11:55:00.000-08:00

I need to write. I need to write. I need to stop checking e-mail, and write. So I've been listening to Jewel lately. Okay, I'm not going to defend the fact I'm listening to her, no, because sometimes, okay, so I'm defending- she has songs that make me want to hope. Or not hope. The vast majority of her radio songs are not her greatest songs- in fact, if I listen to "Foolish Games" one more time, I might shoot someone.

But she has this song, "Everything Breaks Sometimes"... look for it on Audiogalaxy.

Lyrics:
Under the shadows, forbidden and hot
Desire grows, more often than not

I'm sorry's a stupid thing to say
Especially considering it's not like I planned it this way

But I'm sorry is all that there is left of me
I'm so sorry this love made me hollow and left you empty

Maybe I could have loved you better
Maybe you should have loved me more
Maybe our hearts were just next in line
Maybe everything breaks sometime
Everything breaks sometime

It's hard to believe its boiled down to this
It seems so surreal this won't be healed by a kiss
It's hard to stare at you knowing you like I have
I used to feel so close, now I feel so bad

My heart's filled with thunderstorms and I'm ready to burst
And I've lost my favorite harbor and I'll weather for the worst

Maybe I could have loved you better
Maybe you should have loved me more
Maybe our hearts were just next in line
Maybe everything breaks sometime
Everything breaks sometime
I'm so sorry,
everything breaks sometime

So yeah. See how I'm not writing? Agh. I caught myself singing that in the shower this morning. I blame Lex, the fatalistic bastard.

2001-11-13T09:24:00.000-08:00

So yeah. Um... another rant?

Eyebrows. It started over a question on my ClarkLex list over whether Lex Luthor has eyebrows. Yes, they are faint, but they are there. That's a nice answer to the question, not inflamatory at all... but the person who answered the question went on to say something like this (can't quote cause I deleted the e-mail in ire) : "He has eyebrows, why can't people pay attention to canon? I don't understand why people are writing him without eyebrows. I hate it when tall characters are protrayed short, or characters with blue eyes are written with brown."

I was stupid. I responded. I shouldn't have, but I did. My response:

"It seems like such a small compromise though. Minor physical inaccuracies
are forgiveable, IMHO, because eye color is subjective (hazel, blue, green,
light brown- change an outfit, you change a color) and height, well, we're
not talking about making Fox Mulder short. I think it's a graver injustice
to miss the characterization, like infantizing grown men into whiney
children or the chicks with dicks phenomenon, than it is to tell a white lie
about eyebrows."

I later when on to say, there's no reason why Lex has eyebrows. If the hair fell out on his head, then it should have done so everywhere else that was unprotected during the meteor shower. Including eyebrows. The only reason why Lex has eyebrows is the actor. Michael R said, hey, I can go cue-ball, but don't touch the bushy brows... However, the point of fanfiction is to go where the show can't or won't... so what's wrong with writing him without eyebrows?

Oh well, the person completely missed the point. I get that alot. Mmm... is it me? Nah. The person who missed the point, is also too-in-love with comic book canon- and hasn't grasped the idea that this could be a whole new vision of Clark Kent. Maybe Clark and Lex won't end up as enemies. Maybe things could be DIFFERENT! Whoa, what a novel concept. Having a different interpretation of canon, or the Superman legend...

I admit, I never read the comic books. I never watched the movies. I saw maybe two episodes of Lois and Clark. What I see on the Smallville show, that's what I believe. Nothing else taints it. Wish everyone else would grab that clue too.

Anyway. New Smallville tonight. Yum. Ten pages into "Lessons in Conspiracy" and I have 15 more to go. All before nine pm, tonight. *sigh*

2001-11-02T13:22:00.000-08:00

I have to rant.

So I've been reading Sara Douglass and her Wayfarer Redemption series (total six books already written and published in Australia). At first, I thought I had found a gem. She was introducing characters I liked, that I cared about, and that well, I got emotionally invested in- all good things. All things I wouldn't rant about. Except... okay, let me back up.

The first novel, The Wayfarer Redemption: The Axe, introduces Faraday. She's young, pretty, has a good head on her shoulders, and she's just turned 18. Of course, her father takes her to court, and having never been, she's immediately caught up with everything. Her mother, is Ms Proper and Style- utterly boring, the perfect anti-parent. Her father is ambitious, and wants to do right by his daughter, so he wants Faraday to marry well.

Faraday catches sight of this mysterous man at court who greets the King, and then learns he's Axis, bastard son of the King's sister, orphan, and leader of the religious military the Axes, he's BattleAxe. Love at first sight, though they never speak.

Okay, so we don't want things to be easy for Faraday, so her father contracts her to Borneheld, Axis's legitatmite, older half-brother, who hates Axis with a passion and is the Duke of Ichtar, and next in line for the throne. Borneheld starts off unlikeable, he's a military man who was raised without his mother (she died birthing the bastard Axis) doesn't really know what love is, but has fallen hard for Faraday. Hard.

She makes her unbreakable vow of betrothal to Borneheld, and the next day Borneheld is sent north because of some trouble, and Axis is left in charge of her safety. Axis and Faraday fall further in love, but Faraday resists being untrue to Borneheld, because she knows her intended husband would kill Axis if he found out. Now Is Not The Time for them. Faraday accepts this, says she'll marry Borneheld, because Axis dead is just unthinkable, and in time, when Axis has the power- he will challenge Borneheld, kill him, and marry Faraday.

Sounds bloodthirsty but sweet, right?

Then there's a prophesy. And it bungles everything. Turns out Axis is this Starman who will unlock various mysterious and lead their country into victory against a really big bad named Gorgeral. Turns out Axis is half-human, half-Iccarri (like men with wings, angel like without the religious implications). Turns out Gorgeral shares the same mysterious father. And it turns out that Rivkah, the mother of Axis and Borneheld isn't dead, but instead fled to the mountains to live with her Icarri lover and thier society.

There's a few plot loops, which lead Axis to think Faraday is dead (she's not, she just took off for Borneheld so she wouldn't distract Axis from the Prophesy) and then he arrives at Bornheld's castle and discovers Faraday is not dead, but alive, well, and married. And Borneheld, after trying hard to please Faraday, regresses into a jealous pig, who tries to get Axis killed on a number of occasions. There's a fierce battle against Gorgeral, and Axis does suffer mortal injuries, but Faraday, tapping into her new power as Tree Friend (yeah yeah, she discovers she's the link to the Earth and the Mother) saves Axis, in front of Borneheld. Last straw.

Borneheld challenges Axis, and the worst happens, Axis's cousin and long-missing father fly to the roof, revealing Axis's half-human half-Icarri hertiage, they are there to join forces again Gorgeral, only Borneheld kills Axis's cousin, imprisions Axis for execution, and starts believing the Prophesy is of the devil, and he's blessed by the God Artor to save mankind from both Gorgeral's ice demons and the Icarri.

Axis escapes, he builds his own army, is embraced by long missing father and mother, and things are happy happy happy, except Faraday is still trapped by Borneheld, who knows now he can't trust her. So still Now Is Not The Time. Axis meets a mysterious human woman living with the Icarri, who's buddies with his mom, and he's drawn to her. As his father. His mother, human, is getting older, his father Iccarri will live for six hundred years, so in the midst of all this, Rivkah breaks with her Iccarri husband, Axis sleeps with the human girl Azhure, and Faraday is still emotionally, physically isolated from everything, including her power of the forest.

Here's where my rant comes in. The ENTIRE book, has Axis and Faraday in love. Fighting to be with each other. Rah rah rah. I wanted it to happen. I did so bad. But at the end of the The Axe, Axis has to flee to his father's people, in order to build his new army so he can take the crown from his half-brother. Enchanter, the next book, begins. Azhure, the beautiful girl with the scarred back, who killed her father, never knew her mother, and is a pretty sympathetic character-- she starts to be useful. She is a remarkable archer, she is gifted with these loyal hellhounds, and has both Axis and Axis's father panting after her.

Axis, away from Faraday, sleeps with Azhure, gets her pregnant and falls in love with her. WHAT ABOUT FARADAY??? Did he forget that he made a promise to her? Well, Faraday, hating Borneheld, is still trapped in marriage, still thinks Axis is going to come back for her, and dutifully carries on a resistance group against her husband, in support of Axis taking the crown.

So I'm four hundred pages into "Enchanter", and I feel these little nagging feelings. Like... Axis isn't going to leave Azhure, and Faraday is going to be left with nothing. So I skipped to the last three chapters.

I NEVER DO THAT! But this time I did... and damn it, I was right. Axis kills Borneheld, leads the country to a rousing victory from Gorgeral, and gets the crown of the country. He rides into the castle with Azhure at his side, his toddler son, and Azhure pregnant with twins. Faraday... she finds out, and she's crushed. She gave up so much for Axis, her mother is dead, her only experience with a man was with the loathable Borneheld, and now, the man she loves, is unable to leave the woman he shacked up with in their separation.

AND if that's not the worst!!! Axis gives Azhure lands, titles, and declares only her children can inherit after him, not Faraday's future children. Turns out, in order to keep from getting pregnant with Borneheld, Faraday has made herself permenantly sterile. Her only gain is, that Axis is going to honor the promise to marry her, even though he loves Azhure more, and has children with her.

Faraday, god bless her, heals the scars on Azhure's back, tells Axis that he's hurt her, and she won't marry him, and she leaves, letting Axis marry Azhure.

She still loves Axis, still honored her vows, and she lost out!!!

WHAT THE FUCK??? How can that be a reward?? She did everything RIGHT and got NOTHING but heartache and more pain! She suffered for two years- and because Azhure had a tough childhood, Azhure deserves to have happiness in the end, while Faraday goes through more pain. AND EVEN WORSE- It looks like the next four books in the series follow Azhure and Axis, and FARADAY, the original main character of the Wayfarer Redemption, just convienently disappears.

I'm pissed.

2001-10-11T12:52:00.000-07:00

Jae Gecko.

She has a direct line into what pain feels like, smells like, and even tastes like. She can take a moment that we've all felt, and then tried to hide under layers of "it doesn't hurt, I'm better off" bullshit, and crystallize that moment in words. She makes it breathe for me. I've read "Turning Myself Into You" more times than is probably healthy. Each emotional stab in the story makes my own scars wince in sympathy, and in remembered pain.

Sometimes you know the world isn't a nice place. Sometimes you want to believe it is. Sometimes you love someone, and you know no one else would possibly understand or accept. Doesn't keep you from loving, does it? Knowing the only logical thing to do is to walk away, doesn't help. It doesn't make it easier to do so. You can tell yourself, over and over, that maybe another time, another place, things would work out right- until you realize that other time, is not "this time". You can even tell yourself you're better off, a little pain now versus a lot of pain later- but still, it hurts no less. "Turning Myself Into You" is that story. Trying to be that other person, who doesn't outwardly seem to mind the secrets, trying to turn yourself into the that other person who sees the world in terms of 'what is' instead of 'what could be'. And yeah, as hard as you try to be like that, the more it sticks in your throat. The more the words "that's my friend" appear, when you really wanted to say, "that's my lover".

Could you live like that? Allowed to love within the walls of your house, but only friends when it came to the 'real world'? Could you say 'friend' over and over again, when you really mean 'lover' and not realize one day you don't mean either?

Read Jae Gecko. www.jaegecko.com It's West Wing, but god, when you write a story like "Turning" it really doesn't matter what fandom it came from- you can see yourself where the names, Sam, or Josh appear.

2001-10-08T09:59:00.000-07:00

Drivers are you ready? Start Your Engines

I just drove to Safeway by myself. For the first time. And the car is still okay. My legs are still shaking, but it's a step.

2001-10-08T08:29:00.000-07:00

So I'm watching the Other Half, and they are reviewing Danny B's life. You know, the redhead kid from the Partridge Family. He's a cool guy, because he has seen the bottom, and didn't throw in the towel. But anyway, on to the funny- the subtitle of the next segment of the show was "Wife to the Rescue" : "How do you know your husband is in trouble?"

First sign of trouble: I think I can sum that up with "I used to be on the Partridge Family".

Second sign of trouble: "Got a tissue? My nose is bleeding again."

2001-10-04T08:14:00.000-07:00

Almost a month later, but hey, I have to post something. I don't know why, but writing has been close to impossible. (Impossible would be me understanding Calculus) Maybe it's because I'm not "going to school" but merely working at my own speed. Sitting in class is great for writer's block, not much else to do. I can't write, but lately, I can read. It wasn't so long ago that I despaired of ever finishing a book again. In the past two weeks, I've read "She's Come Undone" (36 hours) and "I Know This Much Is True" (48 hours) by Wally Lamb, "Green Rider" (3 days) by Kristian Britian, "The Big Sleep" (12 hours ) by Raymond Chandler, "Grapes of Wrath" (24 hours) by Steinbeck, and "Jerlayne" (24 hours) by Lynn Abbey.

I caught one of my favorite episodes of Sports Night "Special Powers". It's the season two opener, and I have watched it, close to ten times. Dan-fans tend to hate this episode because he's urging Casey to ask Dana out. Dan-and-Casey-fans hate this episode because Casey does kiss Dana, and that's just wrong on so many levels. Out of context- it's not great episode, but when you think about the fact that Dan is vulnerable because Rebecca went back to her wife-beating husband (he promises things will be different) and is in therapy dealing finally with his PTSD, depression, and panic-anxiety problems-- and you know that Dana manages to screw up her chance with Casey in the next episode with the infamous "dating plan" (Yeah Casey, you go date someone other than Dana, while she dates, just so you realize what a catch Dana is and how you won't want to screw things up when she does give you a chance-- That's REALLY going to work). Err, to finish that last sentence- when you put those two things together, it's magic, "Special Powers" is the middle of the peanut butter and banana sandwich- tastes good on it's own, but when you slap a couple of pieces of bread around it- it's nummy.

The real star of "Special Powers" is the Dan-and-Isaac exchanges, and the Natalie-and-Jeremy exchanges.

JEREMY: I want to say while acknowledging that not everyone shares each other's view of the world, and while most situations between two or more people involve various shades of gray as opposed to black and white--
NATALIE: What are you trying to say?
JEREMY: I'm trying to say that I'm right and you're wrong! And what's more, you know I'm right and you're wrong!
NATALIE: No, you mean you're right and I'm cute.
JEREMY: Natalie, they wanted you to be damn weather girl!
NATALIE: They wanted me for local sports and human interest.
JEREMY: You turned down the job! Why are we still fighting?
NATALIE: You know why we're still figh--.
JEREMY: No! I really don't!
NATALIE: "They want you because you're cute"?
JEREMY: No, they wanted you because they're idiots.
NATALIE: Thank you. (Starts to leave the room.)
JEREMY: You know what I mean.
NATALIE: I do know what you mean!
JEREMY: You weren't gonna get to do any writing. You weren't gonna get to do any reporting. They were gonna hand you wire copy and dress you great.
NATALIE: I understand that, Jeremy! I've been doing this a few years! I'm talking about you being upset I got the offer at all!
JEREMY: I don't know why you think I was upset!
NATALIE: You were acting like--
JEREMY: You're wrong!
NATALIE: I'm not!
JEREMY: And even if you're right? I don't know what's so wrong about being bummed because you might move to Galveston, Texas.
NATALIE: Nothing. Except that's not what you were bummed about.

Then... there's Jeremy's great apology-
JEREMY: No! They don't! You know why not? Because women don't have special powers! Let's dispense with that theory right now. Women don't have a sixth sense. Women don't have intuition. Women don't have special powers! You were being offered a job in Galveston. That meant that I was going to have to, like, go there. I was going to have to go and live there and get a job in Galveston! And I wasn't going to get offered a job in broadcasting. It was going to be ranch work for me, okay? Or big game fishing. Either way, my life has taken an abrupt and bizarre turn. Because one minute I'm paying my bills with money I'm earning at my dream job, while dating the most beautiful woman on the planet, and the next minute I'm on a cattle drive and I'm dating the weather girl from "Good Morning, Galveston." And I'd have done it! I'd have moved to Galveston with the heat and the cattle and the malaria. I'd have done it because that's how much I love you, and that's how much I want what you want. But you can't expect me to be wild about the idea! (Pause) What?

NATALIE: You are so cute.

*happy sigh" I love cute Jeremy. Where is that man, I say? Where is he today?

2001-09-10T06:43:00.000-07:00

I wrote an email that Reesa says should be a blog post. So having nothing else to put up here, I caved.

This is in response to Chocolately Goodness author Mad Poetess's blog.

"But it's dark and it's heart-gnawing and it's adult and I feel like what
I've written is just so bloody childish. I don't deny the fact that Spike
and Angel are vampires, in CG, but I certainly don't revel in it. Or let
them do so. I mean, I let them fight, and enjoy it, but no graphic memories
of blood-soaked nights. No raging desires for violence even when they're
with their human lovers. Instead, I'm giving them Dawson's Creek
relationship angst, or that's what it feels like to me. Sure, I don't have
to write about blood and guts and raw, raging sex if I don't want to, but
then I shouldn't pick vampires to write about. Right? Is CG Spike an example
of the fluffy-head Spike whom Te hates? (I do not have to assume that people
are talking about me when they coin phrases about things that enrage them in
fandom. But I almost always wonder.) Is he even anything like the real
Spike? Am I treating the characters unfairly?"

It was a little creepy - in that you were thinking the same things I have-
reading your comments. Those are tough questions to pose, especially in the
age of self-indulgence of fan fiction where authors want to be ego-stroked -
I applaud the introspection, and the courage it takes to ask that in the
face of work posted. My opinion is - look at the show itself. Are Buffy and
Angel (the shows) unrepentant in their depiction of vampires, bloodlust,
violence, etc? - of course not, because there are still censors and it's not
a cable show like Oz or the Sopranos- therefore, the echoes in fan fiction can
be lighthearted or serious, because the show itself is both. I get
frustrated when trying to define Joss Whedon's world to those who don't
watch, or don't get it- there's been nothing like it before.

I think the interpretations of the characters are broad enough in reality
that there is canon-support for both the serious, and the lighthearted, the
agony and the relationship angst. Buffy is not just a cheerleader-type who
kicks ass. She's not just shallow, but she is a teenager who can be
self-involved. She's not a selfless
I-save-the-world-because-it's-the-right-thing goody-goody, she has moments
where she wants to be normal, she wants to be free. Xander is not just
man-of-short-employment, or a Scooby gofer, he's "let's put some reality
into the situation", he's the definition of courage (or the definition of
realistic caution. Willow, Tara, Giles, Anya, the entire cast because Joss
is brilliant- have so many facets, that it never gets boring, and the sky's
the limit with plots/characterization.

When I read Chocolately Goodness, I do it to keep myself in touch with the
spirit of the show. The story makes me laugh, and it makes me suffer with
the characters. "Ritual Sacrifice With Pie" is wonderful because it runs the
gamut. Reflections of better days with Xander's family, the quirkiness of
the demons, the denizens of the cafe, etc- I loved every bit. I could see it
taking place on Tuesday nights.

Jessica Walker's stories, of which I'm only familiar with "To Take You In"
and "Fractured", has the spirit of the show, but it's more the spirit of
specific episodes, like "The Body" "Surprise / Innocence" "Passion" "I Only
Have Eyes For You" "Becoming Part Two" "Amends" and some more recent stuff
that I can't remember as clearly- those were all painfully wonderful
episodes, that I cry during, or after. That's just one part of Buffy though,
it's not all ain't-highschool-hell stuff. There were episodes like "Bad
Eggs" "Superstar" "The Replacement" where I laughed, and had "oh neat"
thoughts.

I can't say that her stories are better or worse than yours, or anyone else's
for that matter- they are different. It's not the "Dawson's Creek" versus
"Law & Order", child versus adult difference. As much as I liked
"Fractured", I know I'd never see it on screen- nor would I want to, because
it would crush my hopes of Angel not being a broody-people-user that is
present in that story; yeah I like that characterization sometimes, but I
don't want it to be canon. Applying value to culture is tricky, something I
personally wrestled with and used to isolate myself. When everyone in middle
school was watching "90210" or "Party of Five", I was watching X-Files, Law
& Order, Highlander, etc. I looked down at my peers, and found myself very
lonely because I was intolerant of their tastes in the "different" or as I
thought in the "shallow". Again, I'm probably babbling at this point, but
value judgments on culture are hard for me to make these days, because I
either find ways to explain my lack of friends and justify my depression, or
I find myself lacking in the face of everyone around.

To veer away from that trip down too-much-information- and what I babble
about to my therapist- I have to say I wouldn't want Chocolately Goodness to
sound like "Fractured", because it wouldn't be you. It wouldn't be the story
I love, it wouldn't be original, it wouldn't be a work of the Mad Poetess.
It would be something of Jessica Walker's or another author, and good or
bad, that's not the same. Buffy is my pop culture buffet- I can munch on
various goodies, without becoming sick of just one taste- one tone- one
plot, etc.

"And I looked up to CV. Not because it got me started in A/S, as Avarice
says it did her -- I'm only a secondary A/S shipper, and the one A/S piece I
did manage to do still had Xander in it. Not because it's won so many
awards -- I've seen things that made me go 'what the fuck?' all day, win
awards. Not because Spirit is an utterly flawless writer-- she's not. None
of us are. But because the writing was good enough to make me not notice the
flaws (and they're *tiny* ones, at least the ones I can find) until I went
back to look for them, and still fall in love with the characters. "

I echo that sentiment entirely- and about Chocolately Goodness.

I have more thoughts, but this email is getting long. I have to say, for a
"mature" story, I read "A Long Time" once a week, without fail.

2001-09-10T06:41:00.000-07:00

Mindless Ravings of the Mad Poetess

2001-08-17T12:47:00.001-07:00

DUE SOUTH RECs

The Politics of X : by Zen&nancy: Angst. Fraser stoned. Ray tossing the right thing to do out the window. More angst. I like RayK being emotionally broken. It's cool.

Baresark: by LauraJVyou know when RayK can't come up with a word? Interesting backstory to that in this story.

Bone and Aristide... what more can I say? read all their stuff. Just finished "Unguarded Protectorate". Kinda facinating twist on, whoa-I-don't-like-guys-but-no-one-kisses-my-partner-but-me scenario. Oops, did I give too much away?

All found through this rec page- scroll down for the dueSouth.

2001-08-17T12:47:00.000-07:00

Heather's Ginchy Page o' Recs

2001-08-17T12:28:00.000-07:00

No new fiction, sorry. But a post none-the-less-

It’s kinda weird, sitting in a mall, reading Fraser/RayK slash and start humming along to the elevator music that’s playing. What’s even weirder, is studying the galling familiar tune, and realizing it’s Collective Soul “Run”. Collective Soul in that weird MIDI format basically.

I can’t believe I recognized it.

Oh well, back to RayK and Fraser.

I nearly socked my mother this morning on a long car ride to a fabulous fabric store. She started going on about how women were climbing the ranks of companies these days, and a few of them are making a point of firing any man who’s had the job longer than them. Those long-time management types, who all play golf together and root for football teams. Types like my dad.

Then she said they were lesbians. She practically sneered the word. I didn’t think the term lesbian could sound so offensive coming out of the mouth of another person, but it did from my mom. She went a little longer about a particular woman at UPS who was out to get the men who were in their 50s (Dad is 51) and been with the company for a long time, and this woman was a lesbian.

I wasn’t sure which part that my mother hated more- that it was a woman in power or that she was a lesbian.

I made the point that if it was a man who was firing the middle management to save the company money, then he would be admired, he was climbing the company ladder. If it’s a woman, then it’s because she hates men, or is doing it out of revenge.

I suppose if anyone had the right to get revenge in this world for the way they’ve been treated, it would be the gay community- maybe the lesbian only wants to be invited to play golf with the boys (they are probably scared of being beaten) or have her partner be welcome at company functions the way the wives are at UPS.

Back to the mall muse- I have to admit, I love reading Fraser sucking Ray’s cock, while sitting next two little old church-type women who have grandkids and crosses on their necks. I kinda hope one tries to read over my shoulder.

2001-07-18T18:20:00.000-07:00

Harmless Love (7/?)

The sun was just breaking the horizon as they walked toward the track. There were a few horses heading back, steaming from their finished workouts, and more than a few heading in their same direction to begin work. She loosely held the reins in her left hand, and began the painful task of stretching, then fisting, her right hand.

The black lycra gloves she donned that morning hid the swelling from view. While she had been mucking out the stalls, she had taken a few breaks to dunk the hand into a water bucket for relief from the heat coiling around her fingers. She had long since stopped noticing the pain, having learned in the past to dissociate from it around horses.

“Okay, Ferron here is needs about a three furlong work. I want him sharp before we ship up to Delaware. The first quarter in :24, and then pick it up from there, I’ll be clocking from the sixteenth pole to past the wire, so keep an eye on him about lugging out.” Francisco unclipped the lead, and turned Bucket to the grandstand.

Laura nodded, and shortened her reins. Ferron easily broke into a trot, as she moved her weight into her stirrups, balancing on his withers. The air was still cool from the evening dew, and her arms broke out in goosebumps past her short-sleeves.

Ferron stretched his head and neck, gliding in a long strided trot around the first turn. He grunted in pleasure as she signaled for a canter. Part of the reason he had stayed healthy through four seasons of racing, was that his confirmation was close to perfect despite his unremarkable breeding. The balance that nature had given him translated into smooth gaits, and an even faster gallop.

After loping around the track slowly, she stood up fully in her stirrups, and grabbed a handful of his black mane. The trauma of the previous night, the worry about the bills, and even the ache of her hand were light-years behind her as she squeezed him into a gallop.

They flew down the backstretch effortlessly, passing most of the schooling horses, but a gray on the rail who was already working at a full gallop. She lowered her hands on his neck, giving him his head as they passed the sixteenth pole. Ferron switched gears, and flattened his ears in response to the horse ahead of them.

“On your right!” she yelled to the rider ahead of her, giving them full warning of their approach. Instead of pulling up as Ferron closed on the gray, the other rider cracked the crop against his mount.

“So it’s a race you want,” she mused to herself, urging the old campaigner on, as they drew even. She could see Francisco up ahead on his unmistakable pinto, and waved her whip at Ferron’s head for more. He lengthened his stride, and began to slowly pull away from their challenger. The wire flashed ahead of them all too soon.

Laura gave the horse a quick smack on the shoulder when she felt her horse begin to pull up out of habit. “Come on, we’re not done yet,” she crooned to his ears, and galloped him out, pulling him to the outside rail once they’d passed the mark Myers had set for them.

Puffs of steam escaped him, as he pulled on the bit aggravated. She sat back, and began slowing him even more with her seat. At first Ferron fought the restraint, before settling into her hands and dropping into a slow canter, then a trot.

“Good boy, good ole boy.” She clapped his sweaty shoulder fondly, and turned him back toward Francisco, thinking about their time.

“Nice last quarter, he really closed for you. How’d he feel?” he greeted, leaning out to snap the rope to the horse’s bridle.

She dropped back into the saddle, feeling for the first time the twinge of her hand. “Oh he felt good, really went after that gray in front of us. He got a little lazy past the wire, wanting to stop, but he got back on track after that.” Laura took the bottle of water from his saddle bag, gulping a swallow, before handing it back. “You wouldn’t know he was such an old man at seven, to look at him.”

Myers nodded, “let Henry know he needs his special treatment, I want to make sure he stays happy before he ships. Oh, and by the way, good job pissing off, Greg Hoskins.”

Her eyes went wide at that name, Greg Hoskins was probably one of the worst of the womanizing old men on the backstretch. More than once, she’d heard him say women were too soft for racing, and weren’t good for lazy horses. “That was his gray?”

“Yeah, he had Billy Matto in the saddle. I think he wanted Billy to do that last quarter in :21, but he didn’t.”

“Maybe he was too soft for the horse,” she joked, as they strolled toward the in gate where Henry was waiting with her next mount.

“Well you get your chance to prove him how soft you are in the eighth, Fe’s up against his new filly from Churchill Downs.”

Henry walked up and grabbed a firm hold of Ferron’s bridle, as she slipped her right foot out of the stirrup, and then eased her way down. Her foot hovered over the saddle, as she twisted to the side, kicked out her left foot and dropped neatly to the ground. Experience made the maneuver as smooth as silk for her.

Rosco, or Red River Racket as his halter read, stood restlessly in the hold of Myers. “He’s feeling his oats today, hope you’ve got good strong hands this morning.”

She sighed to herself, and stepped into Henry’s laced fingers, sliding her leg over the colt. Before her weight was settled, he spooked to the side, bashing into both Ferron and Bucket. The veteran squealed, and kicked out at Rosco.

Bucket, pinned his ears, but stood still against the antics of the colt. Francisco swore, and heeled the lead pony out onto the track, away from Henry and Ferron. “Oh yeah, he’s feeling really good today.”

Rosco reared and twisted, rattling Laura’s teeth as he dropped hard on his forelegs. After a few half-hearted bucks, he settled into an eye-rolling trot alongside Bucket. “Okay chief, what next?” she asked, wrapping a good hunk of mane between her fingers for extra security.

“Slow trot once around, then gallop him for six furloughs slowly. Keep him under wraps, he’s going in two days.” He smiled and unclipped the lead. “Have fun.”

Her long day yesterday was followed by a long morning today.

* * *

An half-hour before post time in the second race found her in the jockey’s lounge, with her fist in a bucket of ice. The wrestling match with Rosco had left her shoulders aching, even though the rest of her charges that morning had been quiet, including Steve Wayton’s pair of two year olds.

“Don’t tell me you went off and slugged one of your rides,” Gary teased, pulling up a seat next to her on the bench. In one hand he had a bottle of mineral water, and in the other was a cup of nonfat yogurt. Her stomach audibly growled at the sight of the plain yogurt, proving just how long ago her breakfast was.

“Not quite. I caught my hand in a stall door this morning, guess I was half-asleep.” She lied.

2001-07-18T18:18:00.000-07:00

Harmless Love (6/?)

Laura laughed, shaking her head in amazement, “what if she doesn’t win? What if she doesn’t even make it into the starting gate?”

He swung open his door, grabbing his coffee. “Well she’s got that part down, the gate. Trouble is she keeps busting through before the race starts.” Francisco winked at her, “Never saw a horse tank so much entry money without even getting a chance to run.”

She slung her bag onto her shoulder, and followed him over to barn 12 to the yellow and green buckets that signaled the start of his horses. Horses were creatures of habit, and the moment they saw their carrot-toting trainer, the racket began.

“Kimber! Get your hay burning ass out of the way…”

Francisco leaned his head into the second stall, “Henry, what have I said about cussing in front of the ladies?”

The tall, assistant trainer shoveled a pile of soiled straw into a handy muck bucket. He saw Laura approaching behind Francisco, “Ladies? I ain’t see no ladies here. Just ole Laura Coochie.”

“That’s Calcucci, boy.” She teased back, watching his young, twenty-two year old face flush. Kimbernite, one of Francisco’s tough campaigners, whickered between them, before shoving his dark brown head at the trainer for a treat.

“Enough you two, before I take one of you across my knee. Course you sorts might like that kind of thing.” Both Henry and Laura laughed harder at the threat, since they both knew who the trainer would choose. Francisco didn’t just get his nickname from his birthplace, but his personal choice in dating scenes.

The Myers barn was full of just that sort of misfits. From Francisco’s unsaid, but unhidden, choice of companionship, to Laura being a woman in a man’s world of riding, and finally to Henry, with his twenty-two years behind him, had spent six of them divided between juvenile detention and prison for stealing cars. It was an unlikely team to be working together from all standpoints, and maybe that was why the few and far between victories were sweet.

Laura mused to herself as she picked up her wheelbarrow to begin mucking out the other end of the barn, that she was lucky to have met Francisco. He was quite possibly the only man she could spend time around without facing the suspicions of her husband. Dan wasn’t threatened by ‘the fairy’, at least not to the extent he was with other men at the track.

The track wasn’t a haven for trustworthy men. If they didn’t drink, then they gambled, most combining the two with a devastating loss. More than half of the track’s workforce was likely illegal labor from Mexico and Cuba, working for half the minimum wage. The race track by nature was transient, horses shipping in for better or lesser competition, trainers trying different surfaces for better luck, and the grooms moving north when the heat became too hostile to work in down south.

Following the money, the way sharks follow the blood, made for hard living, and hard life on most. Every once and a while, there really is someone who works for the money, and saves it, instead of losing it at the track. Every once and a while, there are a few who respect not just the horses they train, but the people they employ. Most times it wasn’t the case.

“Hey Laura C, you ready to climb up on the monster today?” Henry called across the aisle way from the two year old colt Graphic’s stall. The young colt was busy nosing at the wheelbarrow blocking the stall’s entrance in hopes of tipping it over.

“According to him, you’ve got some sort of plan to turn the demon into a delight. Nobody has explained exactly what that is, though.” She pushed the mare, Midnight Frolic, out of the way, and moved to her next stall.

“I’m a miracle worker, what can I say?” Henry caught Graphic’s nose between his hands, before dropping a kiss on the colt’s dappled gray nose. The prison time he’d done might have hardened him toward people, but every horse in the Myers's barn knew he had the softest touch, and the most treats. “See? He doesn’t even try to bite.”

“Maybe he outgrew it, like he outgrew his milk teeth.”

Graphic laid his ears back and snapped at the air in her direction, before returning to his gentle search of Henry’s jean pocket.

Laura laughed softly, before unlatching, the allowance runner, Ferron’s stall. He was one of the most consistent of Franco’s horses, usually coming home with a share of the purse. At seven, he was the venerable old gentleman of the barn filled with young two and three year olds.

The air was filled with noise, from squeals of hunger to the thunder of stalls being kicked. She could smell the fresh bag of sweet feed that Francisco was measuring out to his charges, and so could the rest of the barn. The rhythm of the work was punctuated with his good-natured bitching about the cost of feed, the amount each horse seemed to guzzle down, and the fact not one of his four-footed friends ever seemed grateful for the meal. They were hungry, and they wanted it now.

Spanish Teaparty was no exception to squealing. The young bay was pacing restlessly back and forth in her stall, as she watched the others suck down the grain without her. It was race day for her, which meant no grain, only light oats and a flake of hay. Six hours before the race, her hay would be pulled, and two hours her water buckets would follow.

She was wary as she walked by the filly’s stall toward the tack room after the stalls were cleaned. The dark ears were laid almost flat on her skull, and her tail was swishing angrily at the morning flies. If there was a definition of being pissed off, she was it. “God I hope you know what you’re doing, Henry. I do not want to ride her if she’s going to be in that mood race time.”

“Don’t you have faith in my plans?”

“Hey, kid, is that a trick question?” Laura shook her head, as she fetched the saddle and bridle, while Henry lead her first mount, Ferron, to the crossties.

“Very funny, Coochie.” Henry rolled his eyes, and began the quick work of saddling the chestnut. Francisco’s lead pony, a big-boned pinto named, Bucket, was already saddled for the trainer and waited patiently for them. He was a fifteen-year old veteran, and knew the routine probably better than old Ferron and Laura put together.

“You two still jawing, or are you actually finished with the work?” Francisco barked, as he came out of his office, stopwatch in hand.

Henry boosted Laura into the saddle with ease, and then tightened the girth for a final time. “Hold your gizzards, Franco-man, we’re ready. You know how ladies like to chatter instead of work.”

A glint of a smile came to the trainer’s lips, as he swung into Bucket’s western-style saddle. “You know better than I do about that, kid.” He reached out for the lead line clipped to Ferron’s bit, and started toward the track, with Laura in tow. “Be sure you’ve got Rosco, Ginnie, and Dino ready to go when we get back,” he instructed, using the barn names instead of the registered names of his horses.

Because of the usually ridiculous things most thoroughbreds were named, more often than not they got barn nicknames. The more exotic the name, the simpler the nickname. “Rosco” was a three year old colt who raced under the name Red River Racket, “Ginnie” was short for Gypsy Curse, a two year old filly, and “Dino” was the barn name for Midnight Frolic, who hated dogs.

Henry had taken to calling Spanish Teaparty, the temperamental mare, Fiesta, or Fe.

Laura personally thought ‘Loco’ was a better choice.

2001-07-13T06:15:00.000-07:00

Harmless Love: Some notes

I don't think this is very good. Really. It's not even me being hard on myself, because I love "Sidewalk Strangers" and "A Cut Above" (formerly West by West). This is just ... stuff I've written lazily in class in lieu of paying attention. Part of it came from a dream where I was married to a jockey (I was Dan, which freaked me out), and the other part from the chapter on substance abuse in my psych book. (I wonder if this counts as class work).

The title is from a Ferron song, chose not because of any relation to the theme, but because I had a file named "Harmless Love" already, with those lyrics in it, and I couldn't bring myself to create another file with another portion of story on my hard drive. I haven't spell checked it (lazy again) and I haven't read it out loud, a few parts have been reworked, and I do plan on at least trying to describe what my characters look like.

Disclaimer: I got lazy with names, Laura is the closest I've ever come to naming a character after myself- even though I'm not her, and I wouldn't want to be her. It's my want to name a character based on the letter on my keyboard that my finger randomly hits. Gary was named that in honor of my dead uncle who I never knew, and Dan, because it rhymed with man, and I was watching the Man show when the idea originally hit. Not that anyone would sue, but Seattle Slew is a real stallion, and I lazily reworked last year's Oaks winner Secret Status into Status Symbol. Coronado's Quest exists, and he was a real son-of-a-bitch when he ran, but I have no idea if his temperament is genetic.

Wow, I blabbed a lot. Err, back to the story. Should I try and sell it to Lifetime? Women in Crisis? Movie of the Week? A Hallmark Hall-of-Fame production. I make myself want to heave. :)

2001-07-13T05:59:00.000-07:00

5/ ? (REVISED)

Chills swept through her body the next morning. Disorientated, she wondered why the right side of her body was wet and cold. The alarm clock informed her that it was almost four, around the time she needed to get up for work.

Her hand was heavy and sore, the ice pack lay forgotten next to her. Muddled she got out of bed, reassured that at least she knew why she was cold and damp. More than once she didn’t remember what had happened. Sometimes it was the pills, sometimes it was the whiskey, and all the time it had something to do with Dan.

As quietly as she could, she pulled a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from the dresser drawers to wear. It was sheer agony pulling up her jeans, and she had to wonder what it would feel like later when it was her hand gripping a piece of leather instead of denim, pulling against a thousand-pound animal, instead of a few rolls of skin.

Laura grabbed a bottle of vegetable juice and an apple from the fridge, before slinging her riding gear bag onto her shoulder. She had about ten minutes to get down to the corner of the street for her ride to Pimlico. Just as every afternoon, Gary drove her home, every morning, she hitched a ride with Francisco, a trainer she rode for occasionally.

Francisco, whose name real name was Frank Myers, was known as Francisco because of his roots in the Bay Area. He had a modest string of thirty horses in training, and kept her busy in the mornings exercise riding. Before he had met her, he’d had a hard time keeping workout riders, because of his predilection for having hard-to-handle horses in his barn.

He said his horses didn’t try and throw her, because they liked women. The sole exception was the filly that had kicked her last month, Spanish Teaparty.

His old blue Ford pick-up was idling at the curb, by the time she had made it down. Even though he could afford something better, he stubbornly clung to the truck, because it had carried him across country to Maryland several years ago.

“Hey beautiful,” he greeted, holding a cup of coffee up. Horse people, particularly race horse people were by nature early-risers, and morning people. Half a days work was finished by ten a.m., even though it was always after eight at night before anyone left the barn. Francisco could be consider downright gleeful in the morning, his blue eyes always giving away his mood.

Laura laughed, and pulled open the cranky door awkwardly with her left hand. “Sorry I’m late, I thought I had left myself plenty of time to walk down here.”

Francisco held up his sunburned hand, halting her apology. “You’re not late, I’m early. I got you coffee.”

“You’re buttering me up for something, what gives?” She watched him out of the corner of her eyes, taking a long sip of the steaming brew. Plenty of sugar, non-fat non-dairy creamer, and a sprinkle of cinnamon, just the way she liked it.

appreciate the blend of sweet, cream and Columbian coffee beans, grinning. “That’s good coffee, isn’t it? My sister sent it to me from San Fran, special-like.”

It clicked in her head just then what he wanted. “Oh dear god, you want me to ride that filly again, don’t you?”

He laughed in delight, and nodded. “You’re a quick one, aren’t you? Yes, I want you to ride Spanish Teaparty today.” He resettled his ball cap on his head, hiding the beginnings of a receding hairline. “I rode her myself three days ago, and she worked a fast five furlongs, without even puffing.”

Three days ago. It was getting more and more frightening this morning, “We’re not talking about a workout, are we? Dear God, you entered her today?”

“Eighth race, maiden special weight for three year olds, open field.”

Laura started shaking her head before he’d even finished, “No no no, no way. Unless she’s stopped taking chunks out of …well everything she can get those teeth into, I’m not doing it.”

“She did the first quarter in :23, and the half in :44, that’s three seconds faster. Barely blowing, and with my big ass in the saddle. She’ll fly with you up there today.”

The times were tempting, but speed was one thing, temperament was a whole other basket of eggs. “We both know she’s fast. I clocked her two weeks ago doing a beautiful 1/8 in 11 seconds, of course, she had lost her rider a furlong before that. What I want to know, is have you managed to school her in the gate?”

Francisco flashed another grin her way, as he exited off the highway. “Henry has a plan,” he replied sagely, mentioning his assistant trainer and head groom, Henry Copeland.

“Unless it involves a barbiturate, it ain’t gonna work.”

“No drugs, something better. You just wait, she’ll be an angel.”

“She better be.”

“I knew you would do it.”

Laura half-smiled, “Don’t I always? The things I’ll do for money. I’m just curious, why did you talk to me, instead of Joey?”

“Your agent choked on his hot dog when I asked him. I guess he must have thought it was funny.”

For Joey not to have discussed it with her first, meant something. It meant she was crazy for even considering it, since he usually took any rides that were offered her way, even the no hopes. If someone had entered their kid’s Shetland pony, and it needed a rider, Joey booked her, he knew how bad she needed the money.

It was near four thirty by the time his truck pulled through the rickety old neighborhood that surrounded the track. The head-lights caught more than one set of eyes, that weren’t human. Sixty years ago, the two story homes with proud antebellum porches were where only the wealthy stayed. Now it was more of a sanctuary for those who afford something better than a one-room apartment in Fells Point, but not anyone who was looking to move south to Chevy Chase. Working class, not even the middle class dwelled here.

Barbed wire stretched over top of the fences lining the property Pimlico sat on, discouraging four and two legged species from breaking in. Faint puffs of steam came from the aisles, as the army of grooms went about watering, and feeding.

The few turn-out areas were already claimed by various trainers, Francisco could only get the turn-out pasture by his barn after ten at night. They were more coveted than the parking in the stable area.

She watched the tractor pass in front of them, carrying a few barrels of manure and straw. The hours between four and eleven o’clock were the busiest on the backstretch. During the afternoon races, it was like a ghost town, most of the workers gambling away their weekly pay packets on their version of a ‘can’t lose’.

The sticker on the truck gained them access past the security gates, more of a gesture than anything else. Francisco’s truck was pretty well known to the track denizens.

“I’ve only got four that need work today, but I talked to Steve across the way, and he’s got a pair scheduled to breeze, plus two more that need a gallop. I’m afraid that’s about it, though, most everyone is fixing to ship south to Colonial, or north to Delaware.”

It was the tune she was hearing more and more often these days. A moment didn’t pass that she hadn’t thought about what she was going to do when the racing moved on. It meant less money, certainly, because riding workouts for the trainers that were based here didn’t pay as much as racing. It meant more stalls, and a job off the track.

She didn’t nearly mind the extra stalls, because at least it meant being around the backstretch. Working off the track was foreign territory, and every job she had taken, had been a slow grind on her. Once she had found a home on the back of a thoroughbred, she was loath to give that up just to wait on tables, or stock grocery shelves.

“You keep me plenty busy, Francisco. I don’t thank you enough for the work I get from you.”

“I know, and you don’t have to keep thanking me, you’re good people. The horses like you, and that’s all I have to know. Listen, will you just think about coming with me to Delaware? Henry’s got a girlfriend who needs a roommate up there, and it’s only two hours from where you’re at now, Dan could drive and see you every weekend if he wanted…”

Again, she had to shake her head before he’d finished the offer, “Thank you, really, but I’ve got work lined up here, and Dan’s looking at a good job at the garage over in Warrenton.”

Francisco turned off the truck, and looked straight out at the track. He was quiet for a moment, before turning to look at her, “You change your mind, you let me know first. Even if … things don’t go right with your husband. If you need some money or something to come to Delaware, I’ll find it for you, okay?” He cracked a smile, dispelling the seriousness that had descended in the truck cab. “Besides, I’d hate to have to put someone else up on the filly for the Delaware Handicap.”

“Now I know you’ve lost your mind. How you going to keep that reputation for picking my and Henry’s pockets if you keep on offering money? I’m not even going to get into the fact you want to enter an untested, maniac into a graded event. Don’t you think you’re counting your chicks before they’ve hatched? She hasn’t even broke her maiden yet.”

“But she will, cause Henry has a plan, and I trust him. She’s worked just as good, or better than that Seattle Slew mare that’s heading the field. You know the one, she wired last year’s Kentucky Oaks.”

“I’m going to have you and Henry committed. Number one, no matter what his plan is, I don’t know how you could adjust that horse’s attitude in three weeks, and number two, most importantly, Status Symbol had a four for four record last year.”

“But she got hurt, and maybe she won’t be the same filly that won in Churchhill. Let’s not worry about Delaware just yet, you’ll be convinced after today’s race, promise.”

2001-07-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

Harmless Love (cont) 4/?

Refreshed from another shower, she found Daniel waiting outside the bathroom holding an ice pack, just as she suspected. It was the kiss-and-make-up time for him. Sometimes it was nice, sometimes it lasted for a longer period than it took for her heal from whatever temper she had provoked. Sometimes not.

Sleepily she smiled, unable to really grasp those last thoughts with more than a passing musing. The codeine was working it’s magic on her. Playing her role with practice, she murmured a thank you to him, coupled with another ‘imsorry’.

“Let’s get you tucked in, since you have an early day tomorrow.” He guided her toward the bedroom, his hand on her back, his thumb brushing an old bruise. “When you get home tomorrow, let’s go shopping. I see your boots are getting worn, and maybe we can find you a new pair.”

She nodded absently to his suggestion, letting the towel she wore drop to the floor by the bed. The sweet song of sleep was calling her, and she didn’t want to fight it. Wafting in the daze, she was vaguely aware of Daniel joining her in bed.

His hands began to roam her body, “let me make it up to you…let me love you, please? I love you so much, please let me in…want you so much.”

Laura sleepily protested with a moan, that Dan interpreted as desire. She lacked the coordination to fight him off, and with the scotch, she really lacked any feeling whatsoever.

Her apathy and lack of response didn’t deter him, as he hurriedly pressed his body on top of hers. She moaned again in pain, as he settled on her still-healing ribs, and twisted half-heartedly to get free.

“I know you want it…I’m gonna give it to you, you want it hard, baby?” His fingers worked roughly at her entrance, gathering what moisture there was to help ease his way in. “Oh so good…” He sped up his thrusts, mindless of her gasps of pain.

Eventually she stopped making noise, knowing in her addled state, that it was only encouraging him. She lay there, her eyes firmly closed, and waited for Dan to finish with her. Her injured right hand clutched the ice pack, comforted by the numbing cold. Her body slowly numbed itself to his touch, and she was scarcely aware of him pulling out.

Remarkably, Dan was asleep before she was. Sex was a faster working agent than drugs, it seemed.

* * *

2001-07-11T08:38:00.000-07:00

Harmless Love (cont) 3/?

By the time she had put away the mower, watered the plants, and then showered herself, she was ten minutes past the time Dan had said dinner was ready. Feeling lightheaded from the exertion, she didn’t even think as she sat down in front of her bowl of salad and picked up her fork.

“We still say ‘grace’ don’t we?”

Flushing she dropped her fork, and bent her head in benediction. “Thank you Father for the favor you have shown us, for the food you provide for us, and for the love we share.”

Three years, and the only thing that had changed from the evening prayer was her conviction that it was true. Silently she had come to add for herself, ‘please let Dan have a good day’ at the end. A good day meant peace.

“Amen.” He smiled, gesturing for her to eat, as he dug into the rich cheese lasguana. Her green salad with vinegar was insultingly bland in comparison to his plate. Just another sacrifice for keeping the weight down.

Laura tried not to think about the ranch dressing that was in the fridge, or the mouth-watering smell of the meat sauce from Dan’s plate. She chewed the tasteless sprouts, raw spinach, and cucumber slices mechanically, out of habit than a real appetite. The space in her stomach was filled with the numerous supplements she took, in the lieu of real food, and two glasses of water.

“How many rides do you have tomorrow?”

Mentally she added up the commitments that her agent, Joey, had found for her. “Four.”

“Only four? I thought there was ten races on the card. Why only four?”

“Joey says with the end of the season coming, a lot of the horses are already shipping out to Delaware or Colonial.” She could feel her throat closing around a bit of carrot in reflex. “Four was the best he could do, more than some jocks have.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes, “How many does Torretto have?”

She couldn’t lie, knowing he’d check the program in the morning. “Seven.”

His fist crashed down on the table, startling her. “Goddamnit, why does he always have more rides than you? You’re lighter and better than he is, and still, he has more horses than you.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, having long since abandoning any pretense of defending herself. Explaining the politics of the racetrack never made any difference to him once he was enraged. The men didn’t like putting women on their horses, because of sexism, and the few women trainers didn’t like catering to female jocks, because it made them look less professional. She was caught between both. She owed the rides she did get to her smooth-talking agent Joey Hughes, and the loyalty that a few trainers showed her when she won races.

“When we first met, you had seven or eight races on every card. What’s changed since then? Is it your weight? Have you been slacking off your diet? Or are you getting lazy when it comes to riding, now that you have a husband to live off of…?”

Hungry and tired, the old bits of rebellion that still slept within her despite her experience with him, roared in her ears. “What’s different?! I’ve *lost* weight since then, I ride just as hard as I ever did… the only thing different is you! You hounding me every day, taking my rides apart the way you do- maybe that’s why I’m not winning as much. Ever think of that?”

The silence that stretched between her words and his fist made her regret losing control. Pain radiated from her abdomen, and blood rushed loudly in her veins, as the clatter of broken plates and the overturned kitchen table rang in the background.

He was breathing hard, standing over her with his fists still clenched. “Don’t you blame this on me, bitch! I’m the only reason why you have a roof, instead that shithole of an apartment you had. I’m the only thing standing between you, and homelessness. You should be grateful, instead of constantly mouthing off!” Dan pulled back his leg, to kick her where she laid, panting on the linoleum floor.

Her knuckles pressed against the cool floor as she pushed herself off the ground. “You? You can’t even keep a job, you ruined my credit”- her words were cut short as a scream of pain forced it’s way through her. His boot heel stayed on her right hand, as his weight pressed down. Tears came to her eyes, “I’msorry, Daniel, sosorry, please not my hand, please…ican’tridewithout myhand…please, sorry, sorry…”

Abruptly he stepped away from her, laughing coldly. “Is that the only way to get you to sound grateful?” He bent down to the floor, and grabbed Laura’s short hair, prompting another squeal of pain, “get up, you look pathetic down there.”

Shaking, she used her left hand, to right herself, keeping the now-swelling one close to her body. “I’m …sorry. I didn’t have a good day today. I’m sorry, Dan… for taking it out…on you.” The old apology, complete with the always present sobs, was the only way she knew to pacify him.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Just as quickly as he rose to anger, he was back to concern. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and put some ice on your hand.” Dan’s dark eyes met hers, as he brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. He licked his thumb, and wiped away her tear marks like she was a child. “I’m sorry too, it’s just when you get crazy like this, I get crazy too.”

“I’msorry.” Laura hiccupped, moving away from his hands, and fumbled for the bathroom. “I’m going to go …calm down.” Her ribs ached in concert with her hand, and all she wanted was a cold ice pack coupled with a half-dozen ibuprofen. Trembling she locked the door between them, and turned on the shower.

Steam coated the mirror, hiding the resignation in her eyes. It wasn’t getting better, despite all his promises to get help. It wasn’t getting easier, despite all her promises to be patient. She took a deep shuddering breath, and opened the cabinet under the sink.

Her left hand easily found the golden bottle of whiskey, masquerading as a perfume atomizer. Inside her prescription for birth control were several tablets of codeine, hording just for these occasions. She swallowed several shots of the scotch whiskey, along with two pills.

It was the only way she knew to calm down.

2001-07-11T08:33:00.000-07:00

Harmless Love (cont) 2/?

“That you, babe?” Dan’s voice came, from the bedroom.

She set her bag in the closet, and leaned down to pick up the few stray bits of fuzz from the carpet. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late, the bus was crowded.” She ran her finger down the top of the in table on her way to bedroom, checking for dust build-up. Dan liked things to be clean, pristine even. His philosophy was good housekeeping made up for not having expensive furniture.

‘Pride in your house makes even the cheapest couch worth money.’

Dan was laying on top of the neatly made bed, watching the end of that days replay of races. “I saw Torretto won on Pistollero in the tenth. I thought you said that horse couldn’t run?”

She winced inside, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. Every night it was the same, he watched the races, and then asked why she hadn’t won. Or why she hadn’t ridden the winner. Or why she didn’t have a ride in a race. At least her husband took an interest in her job, but on some days, she just wished he greeted her with something more than, ‘why did you screw up?’.

“I was riding a tired horse those past few starts, and Gary got him off a two-month layoff. Maybe the rest recharged him, or something.”

“Why did Torretto have him after the layoff? Why didn’t the trainer stick with you?”

She reached into her pocket, and pulled out that day’s pay of five hundred dollars. “I was second in the fourth race today, did you see that?”

“I did. I thought you should have won it, and you would have it you hadn’t pressed the pace so hard on the backstretch. You wore out the horse, so he couldn’t hold on for the win.” His dark eyes looked up from the money, and seemed to harden. “We were talking about the tenth, why didn’t you have Pistollero?”

“The trainer did offer me the horse, but I had already committed to ride Jerry Sanchez's colt, Catch Twenty-One in the race. The colt came up with a cough this morning, so they scratched him, and well, Gary had the ride on Pistollero at that point.” She shrugged, “it was just bad luck, that’s all.”

Dan scoffed, “You shouldn’t believe in luck, in fact, you make your own luck. You should have known Sanchez couldn’t keep his horse fit, didn’t you tell me last week the new horses from Louisiana had come in with a cough? And how far away is Sanchez's stalls from the shippers? If you spent more time with Marshall, and less time with your buddy Torretto, you would have seen he had his horse ready to win.”

“You’re right.” Acquiescence was the best path, for debate just led to conflict. Reminding Dan that he had his own bad luck in getting a job, or that she couldn’t have predicted the future, would have been wasted breath. She was half-way convinced he was right regardless. She pulled on a sweatshirt over her tee-shirt, and looked out at the weeds in the yard. They seemed to grow overnight just to spite her. “What time will dinner be ready, babe? I need to go out and mow the lawn.”

He glanced up from the tennis match which had replaced the racing coverage, and squinted at the clock, “Probably an hour. You have plenty of time.”

She nodded, and walked out to the backdoor of the house, slicking her short hair under a baseball cap. As a teen she had very long, thick blonde hair, that had been her mother’s pride and joy to comb. Under Dan’s advice, she had cut it all off, in order to shave the pounds. When it came to riding, she was willing to make the sacrifices necessary, even when it meant seeing her mother tear-up over the short, boyish look she now sported.

The sweatshirt and long jeans gave her insulation to sweat. In July, she looked out of place in her heavy clothes. Another sacrifice. Laura pulled on a pair of work gloves to protect her hands, and sidestepped the various auto parts that Dan had in the garage.

In the center of the garage was an old Mustang he was busy restoring, while he looked for a new job. Just as her magic was with horses, his was with engines and cars. It was how they met in the first place, her car breaking down on I-295 on her way to Pimlico one morning, and he had pulled over to help her get the car started.

He charmed her with his dark Italian looks, and soft New York accent. He was a Calcucci from Queens, he had told her, in the same manner one of Britain would say they were a Windsor of Buckingham Palace. Her car never did start, but by that time, she didn’t care as long as he kept looking at her in the way a man does toward a woman he’s attracted to. In a way she hadn’t been looked at in a long time.

Her flat chest, short torso combined with long legs made her ideal as a jockey, but placed her far away from the Playboy pin-up that most men lusted after. At the time, her long hair and feminine face was the only thing that she had in common with a pin-up. Now, she didn’t even have the hair.

Daniel Calcucci made her forget all of that. His dinner invitation was snatched up so quickly, that she half-feared he could see how lonely she was. That afternoon, he stood in the stands and cheered her each and every time she went out to win. The magic he infected her with carried over to her rides, gifting her with two victories, and a second place finish. Her purse was heavy that night with her all too infrequent visitor- money.

Again her ribs ached, as she leaned down to start the mower. Motrin had kept her in a state where she could ride, but that day’s painkillers were wearing off as she pushed against the thick grass. Sweat trickled down her forehead, into her eyes, stinging them with salt, not unlike that of tears.

Dan was right, she shouldn’t have moved so quickly in the fourth race. Her mount, a six year old veteran stallion, named Dune, had ran his heart out for her in the stretch. Twenty yards from the wire, he was out of gas, and they both knew it, still, she thought they could hold on and win this one. The old boy had stuck his head out, and stretched as the wire flashed by them, trying to edge the fast closer on their outside. Her hands extended on his mane, giving him as much rein as she could, hadn’t been enough to win.

Second, whether by a nose, a head, or eight lengths, was still paid the same, not as much as the winner. Not enough. It was the breaks that racing dealt, and the trainer had understood. Dune had done his best, better than the owner had expected, and had earned a bit of money. Right now, he was probably being showered with carrots and ‘good boy’ pats by his groom.

Carefully she turned the mower, and started down the side of the house, cutting a checkerboard pattern in the fresh grass, just the way Dan liked it. The should-haves continued, as she mentally analyzed each of her five rides that day.

She ran out of grass long before she had finished her review.