writers block. what fun.
Jun. 29th, 2011 11:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
letsgofridayYay, I've got writers block. At the minute I'm writing a Panic! fic about Brendon moving to Nevada. It's gonna be at least 10,000+ as I already have 3,000 words and I've only got the first part and another bit that I needed to get down because I was in the mood for it, but there is a huge gap in between those bits and at least 7,000 words after. Eek. It will take a while to get this done, ugh. And every second Google search is something about Mormonism. It's damn confusing, I'll tell ya, being raised as a catholic and then having to learn a whole different system, so similar and so different. I've found some handy primers but I've had to resort to *shudder* Yahoo! Answers. Um, no thanks. I also need a beta but I'm too lazy to get one because I don't even know if I'll bother finishing it, though I'd like to.
May as well post a snippet :)
“I like your top,” she says suddenly, nodding at it. Stunned, Brendon looks down at it. It's a shirt. White with pale blue vertical strips. Nothing special. “It's nice,” Greta continues. “Very elegant and mature.”
That's the first time Brendon has ever been called mature. He blinks at her, a bit confused.
“Look at what all the other boys are wearing,” she elaborates. Brendon obediently looks around the room. It's true that most of the guys are wearing jeans and a top, but some of them look good, like Hazel – Ryan Ross. Ryan Ross is wearing a long sleeved grey top, with a short black waistcoat over it, and black skinny jeans with boots. In Utah people didn't wear clothes like that, but Brendon finds himself really liking it.
“I mean, look at Ross,” Greta sighs disparagingly, shaking her head. “He's trying to be all mature and stuff, but he just looks like a scene kid, which he is. With a scene girlfriend.”
“Scene?” Brendon asks. He's never heard of this before, and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.
“Scene!” Greta says. “You know? Like, on livejournal, with messy dyed hair, listening to rock music and writing mournful poetry.”
Brendon shakes his head. “I've never heard of that before,” he mutters, dropping his eyes. There is so much he needs to learn. Greta gives him an odd look.
Um, so I don't know if that was any good. Heh. Nervousness. Woo. Kbye.
May as well post a snippet :)
“I like your top,” she says suddenly, nodding at it. Stunned, Brendon looks down at it. It's a shirt. White with pale blue vertical strips. Nothing special. “It's nice,” Greta continues. “Very elegant and mature.”
That's the first time Brendon has ever been called mature. He blinks at her, a bit confused.
“Look at what all the other boys are wearing,” she elaborates. Brendon obediently looks around the room. It's true that most of the guys are wearing jeans and a top, but some of them look good, like Hazel – Ryan Ross. Ryan Ross is wearing a long sleeved grey top, with a short black waistcoat over it, and black skinny jeans with boots. In Utah people didn't wear clothes like that, but Brendon finds himself really liking it.
“I mean, look at Ross,” Greta sighs disparagingly, shaking her head. “He's trying to be all mature and stuff, but he just looks like a scene kid, which he is. With a scene girlfriend.”
“Scene?” Brendon asks. He's never heard of this before, and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.
“Scene!” Greta says. “You know? Like, on livejournal, with messy dyed hair, listening to rock music and writing mournful poetry.”
Brendon shakes his head. “I've never heard of that before,” he mutters, dropping his eyes. There is so much he needs to learn. Greta gives him an odd look.
Um, so I don't know if that was any good. Heh. Nervousness. Woo. Kbye.
