letterblade: (onetruemindmeld)
So I've been idly commenting to friends for a while that I really should do a Best Of Voyager showing one of these days. (Context, for those who don't know: Voyager was my pet Trek through childhood and adolesence, and I'm still quite fond of it, in a loving bits of it and wanting to fix its flaws sort of way.)

This is not a scheduling poll, as I'm not insane enough to try to schedule anything until after Arisia and the rest of the January geek-fest has settled down, but a what sort of event poll, and also something of a survey of interest.

[Poll #1118118]
letterblade: (apocalypse)
Checked my phone messages; am not fired, at least not yet. And it's nice out. It'll be a nice walk to work, I can pick up my paycheck...and then possibly face my doom. We'll see. I'm one of the best workers they have, but I also majorly, majorly fucked up.

Still brewing the letter to my grandmother, though Mum will have a cow or six if she comes home and I'm not working on it, so I'll try to write some today.

Feeling...better. Not brilliant, but functional.

In non-serious-RL-related-news, have gotten through "The Wire" in second season DS9, and I think Garak/Bashir is now officially my Tertiary OTP (next to Shinji/Kaworu, the Primary OTP, and Tuvok/Suder, the Secondary OTP, and how odd is it that two of the three are in Trek?) They're just so...fascinating. XD

Yesterday watched Tank Girl and Unleashed. They both fucking ROCKED, albeit for very disparate reasons--the latter had me teary, the former had me dancing on the couch.

Still stalling on the remix. Tonight, I hope, though that'll depend upon how horrible my mother is upon return (she's coming back while I'm at work, so I'll get home from closing to find her. Joy. -.-)

But mostly the point of this post is to thank you all for your comments over the past few days. It takes me a long time to digest words of kindness when I'm this far gone, and there's a lot to sort through, but I want to make it clear that everything's read and appreciated even if I don't manage to reply. Even the internet's draining as of late, and I'm very very shy and afraid, but I do still love and acknowledge you all, even if I have trouble typing that into the six dozen comment boxes I'd need to properly respond to all you've given me. And I really hope this doesn't come across as rude and dismissive, because that's so not the intent.
letterblade: (writer)
Writing this with serious block is really quite excruciating. T_T At least I can cheer myself on by knowing that, when I finish, I get to read somebody's remix of my fic, and whatever other interesting stuff might be posted...

Would anybody be willing to give me a quickie beta when I am finished? Fandom is Voyager, fic is v. kinky girlsex, and I won't be asking for much more than a sweep for stupid mistakes, as it's a short enough piece that I wouldn't beta it at all if it weren't for a challenge like this. Though honestly at the rate I may not even have time to get it betaed at all. :/

*goes back to banging head against fic*
letterblade: (onetruemindmeld)
A little context: For a while now, I've been developing in this currently stuffed-up head of mine (cold, sadly, not great thoughts) a series of theories, some about characters, some about specific episodes, some about aliens or overarching developments or general issues, about how Voyager could have been better. Today, sick and bored, I randomly started writing one down; what follows is a lot of speculation about one of Voyager's particularly lusterless ventures into alien-culture-creation: the Kazon. What follows is more ramble than essay, I'll admit, mostly filled with wild speculation on how the Kazon could've gathered a little more grit and uniqueness. I hope it'll be interesting; I also hope that it'll be the first in a series. What'll be next? The underuse of the Vidiians? The lost potential of Neelix? Janeway's character flaws, and why nobody seems to notice them? How Kes Has Balls? Who knows? Probably just the next thing to sieze my attention.

A general sort of disclaimer: I am not a Voyager basher. I have a deep and t00by love for Voyager. I practically grew up with Voyager--it started when I was eleven, finished when I was seventeen. It's worth noting that I've shelled out for seasons of Voyager on DVD, yet not done so for TNG or DS9, both of which I think are better, simply because I like Voyager that much. Nor have I spent days upon days wrestling seasons of the other shows out of torrents, just to have them on my hard drive for obsessive rewatching--no, I downloaded Voyager first. (Sorry to show my love through piracy; am broke.) And part of the reason I like it is my fondness for picking over episodes, characters, aliens, plotlines, etcetera, and realizing just how much unexplored potential there was in the show, how much better it could have been. (And in a way this almost makes it easier to fic about, as there are more cracks for our bunnies to breed in.) So everything I say here is friendly, not antagonistic criticism, with a basic love for Voyager as a whole, but also with the understanding that it had some, ah, flaws.

As far as flaws go...ahhh, the Kazon. Possibly the most underwhelming major villain to ever growl its way out of the brains of the Trek writers, much mocked and maligned, and little, little missed. How the hell, most people doubtless ask, could the Kazon have been better? Better strike them out of the story alltogether. Spend more time with the angst-ridden history of the Vidiians, perhaps. Or trying to give Harry a backbone or Chakotay some verve.

Well, the answer lies in a quote I remember from some interview with one of TPTB: that the Kazon were originally concieved as a sort of interstellar biker gang.

Biker gang? Well, here we go! )

Possible points of expansion: the Kazon versus the Maquis. )

Origin stories need more than licks and promises, Trabe or no Trabe. )

Feminists Meet Kazon, Fur Flies. )

In which it is obvious that I suck at conclusions and am always a fic-writer by nature. )
letterblade: (onetruemindmeld)
Within the meld, with memories and lies in shreds around them, he still reached out. Two broken fingers in the darkness. Cold heart beating wet and meaty in his hands. It was like a blood kiss, like a strangled man hardening as his tongue blackened, a masochism so profound it revolted even one who understood. The brokebacked puppy whimpering love beneath the euthanasia needle. But, no, worse. Worse.

The killing meld was but a thought or two away from the marriage bond. But a breath and a twitch of the hands. He had known T'pel like this, T'pel this deep. His will wrapped round her medulla--except then he hadn't squeezed down, made her heart stutter in her chest--T'pel!

He was murdering this man. This man whom he knew as intimately as a lover. This man who loved him. This murderer.

The simplicity of it all blazed through their brains like stars upon stars. White light drenched them. His hands were burning, his hands were covered in blood, his hands held a naked life, helpless and wriggling, and squeezed knuckle-white and he wasn't fighting him, why wasn't he fighting him, didn't he know he was going to die?

His hands clutched. His hands spread like hawk wings over the desert. He was dying. He was dying too, naked together with him in the endless sand. Muscles clenched all their lives were slacking. His life was good, his ship solid, his sun hot. Somewhere far, far away black eyes stared half-lifeless at the ceiling, at the opening gates to beyond, as with one last silent scream he tried, tried to finish it.

He couldn't. He failed. He sprawled dry-mouthed in the sand for the vultures.

The meld snapped with a flailing. The murderer who loved him was still alive. He could not, could not, go on.
letterblade: (delirium)
...simply because it's currently providing me with less entertainment than my new Netflix subscription. DS9, here I come! Also got a chance to watch Caretaker for the first time since it aired; it was interesting, seeing what I remembered and what I didn't, seeing how different Doc was when he was first activated, the extra love they gave Chakotay's name before they got lazy with the pronunciation and stopped giving it that exotic tang, Torres in leather boots (mmmmmmmmmmmmm.......

*gets sidetracked*

...what? *halo*

Also placed my first actual Lab order yesterday. Holiday Moon too tempting. Plus bottles of Empyreal Mist and Shanghai, since I'm going through those the fastest, and a pack of imps, including a fresh imp of Fallen, to test about the decay, and some I've been looking for for ages on the comm without success (Dublin! whee!), though I forgot Yew-Trees and I've been kicking myself.

Have decided that every payday (read: Thursday) I shall buy myself an interesting-looking book with my employee discount, guilt-free. But if I don't finish it by next payday, I don't get another one. First purchase? The Glass Bees by Ernst Jünger. Dystopian near-future sci-fi from the sixties, highly literary and philosophical in focus and style, about a job interview. That's right. Dystopian lit about a job interview. I'm kinda glad I didn't read this when I was still job-hunting. o.O

Full review when I'm finished, if I have the wherewithall.
letterblade: (onetruemindmeld)
Every time I actually look at that picture and think about the meaning of it, I just laugh more.

Writing brain died. Chapter unfinished. FMA fandom hauled my ass onto IRC so that Vikki can fly in the face of reason. Beethoven is still a badass. I seem to be swinging a 180 and suddenly using very short phrases and sentences in my assorted writerly endeavors. WTF, mate?

Also, the four horsemen are saddling up--SciFi channel actually aired a good movie. WTFF, mate?

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