I'm at my lowest point in life. I'm helpless to improve my situation. I wish I were dead. I'm not suicidal. But I do think that would be easier than the constant thrum of pain and regret and humiliation inside my skull. I've lost my family. I've lost my hope. I want to scream, but no one is here to notice or care.
Hey guys. It's a sad day. I was sick in bed, and when I finally emerged from the covers Space Marine greeted me sheepishly with the news about Alan Rickman and I cried on him and the toddler was confused but hugged my leg anyway. Naturally, then I thought of all of you because he's kind of a part of our bond, isn't he? Our special weird bond. Whether he's your head-canon Snape or not, he's certainly an icon of Snape, our human incarnation of an amazing man made of words, and he was fucking fantastic. And one headline labeled him right: everybody's secret crush. Not accurate, in my case -- it was a super blatant crush. RIP, Alan Rickman. You're still adored.
So, how do you distinguish a crackfic from a comedy?
I just started writing what I thought was a comedy when the absurdity of the story began to trickle into my consciousness. I'm sure there's a fine line. But are there any charateristics of a crackfic that you have in your head that could help me decide whether I'm on the dark path?
I can't write linear stories! I can't do it! My brain doesn't go in sequential order! It's so HARD! Also, the baby is doing headstands or something on my shoes right now, chasing the string of my coat like a cat. At least she's occupying herself. She understands how important the H/D love is. *pets baby*
GOOD GOLLY GOSH, PEOPLE. HD Erised sign-ups started at 6 AM my time! I wake up at 7 AM thinking I'm on the ball, and that shit's already bulging at the seams. Like Harry's pants are gonna be when I write the shit out of him because my baby sleeps through the night now, isn't that great? WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!
sad
stressed
