(Also at AO3)

She woke up, and that was a surprise.

Read more... )

The first two minutes are How You Do Worldbuilding Right. The Pearls are fascinating if also a horrible example of exoticizing the Noble Savage archetype. The CGI is trippy as shit… Besson must’ve seen Jupiter Ascending and vowed to one up the Wachowskis. The anti-colonialism message is heavy-handed but not horrible. Rihanna was great but tragically, tragically, TRAGICALLY underutilized. TRAGICALLY.  GIVE RIHANNA ALL THE SCI FI MOVIE ROLES EVER.  The movie did not pass the Bechdel Test, or the Mako Mori test. The side characters on Alpha were fascinating, I would watch a series about the General and his multi-culti staff running a city of a thousand planets, because give me all the interspecies misunderstandings and wacky alien hijinks plus shipboard life stuff 5eva.

Also: Valerian was annoying as shit (and Not Attractive), Cara Delvigne was (like Rihanna) tragically underutilized (and not to thin-shame anyone, but my personal opinion is Cara needs a sandwich and some seven layer dip, stat) and the heterosexual love story was so cliched and disruptive of the actual plot that I might go back just to hate watch and throw tomatoes at the screen.

Seriously. SO BAD. SO MUCH FRENCH MALE CHAUVINISM. VALERIAN IS A MALE MARY SUE. SO MUCH BULLSHIT FAUX LIBERAL STORYTELLING. Go in expecting the #patriarchy but stay for the opening scene, Bubble, and the Alpha personnel. Some talented vidder, please splice me just those scenes.

I am also hereby starting the hashtag #bubblelives.  Fic to come.

Bubble lives, damnit.


Jul. 16th, 2017 09:53 am
blcwriter: (Default)
Look.  I know that General Hux from the new Star Wars movies is a space nazi and murdered a star system.  I KNOW.  But.  But.  I, too, am surrounded by temperamental idiots who impede my doing my work, and am too surrounded by ineffective syncophants and a boss who is erratic and cannot be relied upon because all their directions are vague declarations.  Just.  Look.  I can kinda sympathize with the dude just tryin' to achieve his dreams of galactic dominion  without being ok with his space nazi tendencies.  (This problematic confession brought to you by the new Last Jedi behind-the-scenes looks with the Domnhall Gleeson bits.)
I have been poking away this week on a hockey rpf fic that will probably not see the light of day, not unlike the several hundred other stories I've started and not posted or finished in the last several years.  I have been hesitating over thinking too much about where the hesitation to post is coming from, other than that I disconnected myself a lot from fandom and now am having a hard time even keeping my toes in the water.  Maybe I'm worried about too much of a good thing-- or maybe the opposite.  I actually deleted a fic for the first time after continuing to get wank-filled comments from Steve Rogers stans who were hyperventilating about my refusal to accept Our Lord and Savior, Captain America--  I didn't have the interest in finishing the story after all the hate I was getting on my tumblr for daring to reblog content about Tony Stark.  (Not about Steve Rogers, or anti-anyone.  Just, merely about Tony Stark.)  

I sort of wish that I felt compelled to write Wonder Woman (2017) fic, or something in Mad Max: Fury Road, or even to continue on from the one story I started in The Martian fandom... but I think I'm mostly just content to reblog fanart and picspam and write a bit of meta in Wonder Woman tumblr about what a great story it is.  I have no fic ideas, or no prolonged ones-- I think in large part because I feel like there are no "gaps" in the stories as told on screen.   There are no significant plot holes, underdeveloped characters, or dissatisfying endings that I feel compelled to fix, and it's interesting to decide that that's why I write.  

MMFR generated a lot of wonderful stories, and so did The Martian.  I haven't stepped foot in any of the WW fic tags, and haven't been curious to. I guess I don't want to spoil the enjoyment of the movies qua movies because I was so thrilled walking away from them on first viewing that I don't want to go back and purposefully run a critical eye over things to try to find problems I'd then want to write about to fix.  All three movies have wonderful, wonderful world-building, though, and I am very happy for the people for whom those stories have created a playground to write next chapters or what-ifs.  For my part, though, I don't want to poke at the canon too hard.  

I even haven't gone back and watched Star Trek Beyond-- it was so very good, compared to Into Darkness and even the first movie that I don't want to find out I was wearing rosy-colored goggles and missed some real problems; which made me realize that not long ago I was recommending two books ("A Country Year," Sue Hubbell, and "A Month in the Country," J.L. Carr) to someone going through her own divorce/midlife crisis-- but I also haven't reread those books since the first time I read them and they saved my life. 

I probably should talk about this with my therapist, hmm?  Being afraid to make things up on my own, or re-embrace something important and meaningful because I am afraid I will just mess it up again?  Urgh, fandom, this is why you're a problem.  You make me think too much.

I have been working, more or less steadily, since I was 15.  The only time in my life that I didn't work for more than a few weeks was between Memorial Day 2009 and late August, 2009, when I had a nervous breakdown, quit my job as a lawyer, and wrote a shitload of pretty good Star Trek fanfic while being very, very depressed and trying to figure out what to do next.
Read more... )

Rating:  PG-13 for homophobic and racist/ethnic slurs

Prompt/Summary:   Home for the holidays in Georgia, and Leonard's mother hates Jim.  They make it work, anyway.

Warnings:  Homophobic behavior, anti-semitism, black humor, general family holiday unpleasantness and toxic family nonsense, too many loving descriptions of food and random tourist facts about Savannah, Georgia. This is an accidental sequel to The Taste of All in It, a modern restaurant AU.

Link to AO3 here. Paul Simon's "Something So Right" was on repeat as I wrote this.

  • Generous, flattering pockets in dresses, pants and skirts

  • Free shipping on orders over $25.00

  • Parking space, complete with broken meter

  • One full glass of a new favorite wine (whiskey, beer, lemonade)

  • Your favorite actor getting great reviews for their new project

  • Cheese

  • Enough paper towels for the job at hand

  • No new work emails

  • New underwear

  • Your shoe size in stock and on sale

  • Lip balm that isn't too sticky and doesn't make you break out

  • Cats and/or dogs on the street want you to pet them

  • Polite, informative lady mechanics

  • That Indigo Girls song

  • A great new kale/quinoa/superfood salad

  • Cackling at your enemies' misfortune

  • Lanz nightgowns/pyjamas

  • New content from your favorite creator

  • Snappy banter

  • A really functional tote

  • Enough of your favorite pens

  • When your neck and shoulders pop in the heat of the shower

  • Swiffers

The New York Times posted this Op-Ed piece about Star Trek’s 50th today and how, essentially, the franchise has become too corporate and it’s all spoilt because it’s not low-budget and fly-by-the-seat-of-its-pants anymore.

As I read the piece, all I could hear were the sounds of whiny Comic Book Guys everywhere complaining that no one was allowed to enjoy anything new anymore because it had changed over time, adapted, survived, and as all things do, evolved into something that other people than the “Original” fans could also enjoy.  (TL:DR, this op-ed is the sound of one fanboy fapping about kids on their lawn.)

Read more... )


Aug. 28th, 2016 01:44 pm
blcwriter: (enterprise)
Yesterday was my five year singleversary-- the day I moved out & moved on.  I think what I liked about the day was how mundane it now feels.  It's just another day, not an occasion worth marking with either celebration or grief.

It's been a few years since I felt mopey about being being separated and not being part of a couple-- the more time that passes the happier I am in my own company and the more inclined I am to do as I please and to say what I think.  I've been more inclined to set boundaries, too-- "I don't think that's funny," or "That's not my job, so-and-so can help you," or "I wouldn't really enjoy that and would be a downer, but if you would be interested in doing X or Y some other time, I'd love to get together."  I like that these things are now normal for me-- I generally like myself and am capable of being content being alone, and I am not afraid to tell people what I think.

I like that I'm older, and that sometimes I even know better now.  

Flowers seen on my cooldown from my first Couch 2 5K run.  I hate running, but it's the only way I lose weight, and I need to lose weight because work stress has shot up my blood pressure.  (That, plus it's a sedentary job.)

I am going to try to plan my routes so I go by all the city's good yards, though, so that's something.

I was in the kitchen this evening, perusing pickle reciepts for the way-too-many cucumbers I picked today (5 pounds, and not one zucchini), and Prairie Home Companion was on, in the way that it is on Saturday nights on NPR.  But it wasn't really on, because the show's off the air, and they're only playing reruns.

I've been listing to PHC my entire life, pretty much every Saturday night.  I've seen it live three separate times.  I wouldn't actually say that I am a fan.  I would say that I have always valued the show for what it represents:  a sense of local place, a sense of smallness, a willingness to wait for the punchline, the patience to sit through a shaggy dog story that sometimes really isn't that funny, and is pretty much the same as the last Big Story you got sat down to be told, a sense of not-really-nostalgia, but likewise no sense of needing to proceed full speed ahead.

PHC took its time.  It meandered.  Sometimes it got a little off course.  Still, Garrison Keillor got you to the end of the ride, and in the meantime you'd heard several different things you mightnt've expected, even if you had to put up with some really lame Dad jokes.

I didn't always like the music, but I was glad it was being aired.  I am not a storyteller who could go on for hours, but I appreciated the art and the practice of it.  I am not a small-town resident, or a regular church-goer, but I appreciated that the smallness and ordinariness and regularity of those things as portrayed on PHC nevertheless coexisted with liberality of spirit (and politics), exhortations to be patient and kind, and an interruption of understandable cantankerousness to do the right thing.

Hearing the echoes of all that compressed meaning, rebroadcast tonight, makes me sad because I worry who will fill Keillor's shoes, especially with the insanity that is the election this year and the assault on blacks, women and queer folk by those people whose smallness of mind and of heart make it impossible for them to remember patiences and kindness.  Who will take the time and make the space for slow and steady?  Who will remember that a sad story is best followed by mid-tempo music, and that you've got to have at least one long-winded joke?  Who will remind us that duct tape and rhubarb are treasures of the republic (or who can remind us what it truly means to be a republic)?

I caught myself feeling like an alien-- if I came here because of the Prarie Home Companion broadcasts and found that people did not sit on their porches playing the fiddle and more-or-less-tunelessly singing old hymns, wouldn't I feel very misled?  Would I be consternated by the violence in deed and in word that takes up so much space, so much air?

Who will remind us to be above-average now?

When we went to Norway, I fell in love with the simple but differently spiced food.

Of course, most Scandinavian cookbooks aren't in English, or are Magnus Nilsson's doorstop, which can make it all a bit inaccessible.  (At least until you realize it's all Irish cooking but with more dill/ginger/cardamom/caraway.) 

Its worth it, though.  Darra Goldstein's Fire and Ice cookbook has a really simple quick pickle of finely sliced rhubarb and cucumbers (these are from my garden) with grated ginger & crushed pink peppercorns.  So delicious, and really crisp & tangy.  

The garden this year was by turns a success and a bust.  I've taken over the gardnening, mostly, from my dad, who now finds it too hard to stoop much, and whose shoulder and back hurt if he does too much digging.  While I was a brat about getting sweaty and hot as a teen, now I don't mind it at all; the pruning and trimming and digging all have realizable results, and sometimes when people are being awful elsewhere, there is nothing like a good day with the electric hedgetrimmer or chainsaw to get out the aggressions.  (Yes, I have a chainsaw.  There's a vicious vine on the other side of the fence and twice a summer I have to cross the boundary to cut it all down to the ground so it doesn't uproot the third fence we've put in in ten years.)  I like the medium-term return of a vegetable garden, and cut flowers inside the house, and homegrown things to cook into dinner.

Read more... )

If you’ve followed me at all for any period of time, you know I used to blog pretty often, and then I got into fanfic, and wrote a lot of that, too.  Whether or not I was any good at any of that-- the personal blogging, the fic writing-- is another question.  The fact was, I wrote.

For a while, it felt good.  I had online people who read and commented, who agreed or sympathized with things that I said.  I even met some of those folks in real life, and they were all terrific in their own, separate ways.  When I wrote fictional stories, people liked them.  They thought I was funny, or poignant, or smart.  And I met some of those folks, too, in real life, and they were also terrific in their own, separate ways.

At a certain point, though, I stopped.  Stopped personal blogging.  Stopped fiction writing.  Stopped.

Read more... )

I have not used this journal actively much in the last several years, but I am still blogging and fanning at the tumblr for lettersfromeleanorrigby.  Please feel free to come find me there.  Most, but not all of the fic here, has been brought over to AO3, under the writer name blcwriter.

Hope you are well in your corner of the internet.

Reposted from my tumblr, inspired by a ridiculous picture of someone like Jim holding a kitten. AO3 link is here.

Three days, he figures— three days is a record for not mother-henning, and he’s goddamned entitled, now that it’s been that long, to go back and fuss and fume and check as much as he fucking likes. Not that the break hadn’t maybe been good for both their blood pressures.  But it was either strangle the whining sonofabitch (superhuman serum apparently didn’t affect personality, Jim was the same horrible patient as ever) or get the hell out and rely on the sensors SMA’d let him put in, that and the reports he got from the visitors he’d carefully scheduled to make sure Jim did not venture out of his apartment and catch something weird while they were still trying to figure out what the long term effects of 1) coming back from the dead and 2) Khan’s blood, may that asshole stay frozen forever, were going to be.

Read more... )

Link does what it says on the tin.  I am happy to talk more about it until I am Andorian blue in the face with anyone here (or at tumblr if you're there and want to msg me), and I'll admit right now that for all my complaints, there were a lot of things that were lovely and right.

It's just, right now I can't see past Pike's death and all the sexist, racist bullshit, that and the fact that Abrams & Co. never saw a recycled storyline they didn't like to be able to really do a "Things I loved about the new movie, in depth," post.


PG-13, Gen, ST: AOS, Tag fic for one of the ending scenes of Into Darkness

Kirk/Enterprise, Kirk/Everyone, Spoilers for the end of Into Darkness

No, really, major, major spoilers for the end of Into Darkness.  If you haven't seen it yet and don't want to be triggered, don't read, because I'm not going to be more specific in my warnings.

AO3 version here.

He wished he wasn’t so... afraid, so confused about what-all he’d fucked up where to get to this point... )


blcwriter: (Default)

July 2017

23 45678
91011121314 15
161718192021 22


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Aug. 17th, 2017 01:34 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios