nny: (where the stories are)
[personal profile] nny

Today I read something beautiful and sharp-edged about fairies, and I remembered that yesterday I was writing about a half-giant who's the stoop-shouldered shoe-gazing reason her mother had to buy a minivan instead of the coupe she wanted. In my head there's a girl hauling around furniture and dusting behind it before the social worker gets there, muttering furiously about how much quicker she could do it if she went on elf-contract for her magic like all of her friends (even though she'd promised her father, even though he never came back from the deal he went to make and her mum still kept getting sicker anyway). In my head an angry wizard undertaker carries the bones of his misanthropic lover in a black gladstone bag and orders velvet drapes for the comfort of his vampiric best friend.

And when I attempt to put words into some kind of order I default to using names and faces from the telly box and freeze up and tell myself I'm all kinds of useless because the words just won't come and I feel like I'm trying to get a car out of a too-small parking space because fanfic, fanfic, no pressure, it's safer, it's easier, right?
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