A Different Perspective

Tags

artwork, completely random posts, nature, silver carp, sir arthur conan doyle

Hello to all my readers! 😀

Today, I downloaded a few pictures from my camera (I was cleaning off my memory card in preparation for the March for Life next week–YAY! :-D), and I found a few pictures that offer a slightly different perspective on the world.

Enjoy!

A beaver chew; namely, a tree which has been (gasp!) chewed on by a beaver.

This is the enormous silver carp that jumped into Iris’s sister’s canoe when we were canoeing this fall. I’ll have to tell the rest of this story some time; it needs a post all its own!!!

This time, the beaver didn’t bite off more than he could chew. Maybe more than he could pull… ;-P

Two Fungi growing in a half-sawn tree. A different way of looking at things. 🙂

These next photos are all of the same book; one volume of my complete Sherlock Holmes collection.

Wow, I’ve been reading this book a lot… Those are all the bookmarks on my favorite stories. 😉

I’ve been reading this book too much, no? It should not look like this, methinks. 😛 Hey, at least we know it’s well-loved… 😛

This needs no explanation, I think.

I hope you enjoyed this post. Thanks for reading, and God Bless! 🙂

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The Climax

Tags

baronness emma orczy, bbc merlin, brian jacques, c.s. forester, horatio hornblower, madeleine le'engle, redwall, story dynamics, the scarlet pimpernel

One thing that a hero will always, inevitably have to face, is an emotional high, in which they either go into a berserk rage and completely destroy the villain, or finally turn their back on to coldly insult him and ultimately defeat him. It always happens. The climax is always very emotionally charged.

The reason why? It’s necessary. No one wants to read a story where the hero is an ice block with no emotions. No one ever wants to read a story where they are never shown that the hero has emotions.

A hero is always at his best when he’s stressed out, exhausted, angry, disturbed, or lonely.

In short, a hero is always at his best when either 1) completely wrung out or 2) on an emotional high.

You know why. We always love a hero more after seeing them at their best and worst, and a person who is never upset or joyful never reaches either. We always love a hero more after seeing them carry on, even though they’re exhausted or wounded or drained, or apologize to someone they insulted in anger.

Why?

Because then we know they’re human.

Just like us.

So have your characters feel! We’ll all love them the more for it. 🙂

Like these people:

Merlin, in The Last Dragonlord.

Arthur, in The Darkest Hour. (Both part one and part two.)

Percy Blakeney in The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Marguerite Blakeney, Percy’s wife.

Matthias in Redwall.

Meg Murry in A Wind in the Door.

Martin in Mossflower, Martin the Warrior.

Hornblower in… well, every Hornblower book.

And so many more!!!

People feel. They may deny it in themselves, but they like seeing it in fictional characters.

Have fun tormenting the people who live in your head!

“A plot is something I use to get revenge on the people living in my head.” –ErinKenobi2893

When Rebellion Isn’t Justified

Tags

bbc merlin, brave, disney, elanor h. porter, merida, pollyanna, star wars, tangled

I’ve been meaning to write this post for quite some time now, but I never quite got around to actually doing it.

Normally, I’d blame life or make some excuse right about… here, but this time I really can’t. I was just lazy, this time, or I kept on forgetting about it, for reasons which do not make any sense whatsoever.

The point is, this is an issue that needs to be addressed. And I haven’t addressed it. I have been remiss in my duties, and I will willingly accept any punishment that you, the readers of my blog, deem to be sufficient for my offense.

Anyway, this post is about the consistent themes that seem to abound in literature and media of all kinds.

For instance, in Tangled Rapunzel runs away from home, even though Gothel told her not to. In fact, the whole movie is riddled with everything Rapunzel does in rebellion against Gothel’s authority. We can try to excuse this by saying that Gothel’s authority is tenuous at best, since she is not Rapunzel’s mother; in fact, she stole Rapunzel from her parents, and Gothel’s motives are always selfish. But the fact remains. Rapunzel doesn’t realize that Gothel’s motives are selfish, nor does she know that Gothel has no legal claim upon her. For all she knows, Gothel loves her entirely and selflessly and is, in fact, her biological mother.

Rapunzel’s excuse? Following her heart.

Now, I wouldn’t have such a problem with this, if Rapunzel’s offense hadn’t gone entirely unpunished. Actions have consequences, people.

Where are those consequences!?

The movie was good, I’ll grant you that. But it would have been better still if the writer, producer, and director hadn’t been sappy and cowardly about it, and given Rapunzel’s action some consequences, and she spent the rest of the movie trying to make it up, like Merida did in Brave.

Over and over again, we see this same thread. Anakin Skywalker? Rebels. Excuse? Following his heart. Gets away with it scot-free (up until Revenge of the Sith.) Obi-Wan is great and all, but he needs to be a bit more of a disciplinarian in my opinion. You don’t have to be stern and severe to be a disciplinarian, though. If Obi-Wan had been a little less scared by the mood swings Anakin went through, things might have turned out a whole lot better. Qui-Gon Jinn? Rebels. Excuse? Following his heart. (Beginning to see a trend here?) Gets away with it. No retribution.

However, fortunately not all rebelling characters get away with their misdeeds. I think my favorite example of this is Disney/Pixar’s Brave. Merida is being pushed into a marriage with one of the noblemen. She tries to stop her marriage, going against her mother’s wishes. (Want to know her excuse?) She goes to a witch and buys a spell that will change Elinor’s mind and her own fate. Unfortunately, the spell changes Elinor into a beautiful, sleek, elegant, lovely black bear. (I think that no matter how awkward the beginning, Elinor still retains her grace while she’s in the shape of the bear.) Of course, they want to change her back. Merida sees that she made a mistake, and the whole adventure results in mother and daughter growing closer. (I still can’t believe that Merida cut a huge slash in a priceless tapestry, though.)

BBC Merlin has multiple examples. Gaius tells Merlin not to do certain things (such as healing Guinevere’s father) for a reason; Merlin does it anyway, and learns the hard way, growing as a character and man in the process. Outside of the movies (and in The Phantom Menace), Obi-Wan Kenobi has his rebellious moments too, but winds up repenting them, bitterly. Especially regretting his sharp-tongued comeback at Qui-Gon in The Phantom Menace. But more still on Melida/Daan, he decides to leave the Jedi Order and finds out that he can’t fix everything; the young girl he befriended (I don’t think there were romantic overtones, but frame it how you choose) died in his arms. But Obi-Wan’s different–it seems the galaxy has a grudge against him for some reason.

Never mind.

Anyway, I’ll tell you all what I would like to see, eventually.

I want to see someone who obeys their elders, even though the elders’ motives are not altruistic. I want to see a Pollyanna. I don’t care who says Pollyanna is old-fashioned. *glares at anyone who might mention it in the comments* Don’t do it. I will smack you. 😛

I want to see someone who obeys not out of grudging acquiescence or out of fear or out of laziness or ignorance. I want to see someone who obeys out of knowledge and love.

If you could kindly guide me in that direction, I would be very grateful indeed.

Thanks for reading this little rant, and God Bless!

The Blade of the Heart

Tags

j.r.r. tolkien, lord of the rings, original work, poetry, star wars, the hobbit

Okay, this was inspired by a quote from… somewhere in Star Wars… I don’t know where… But I think this is the full version.

“The crystal is the heart of the blade.

The heart is the crystal of the Jedi.

The Jedi is the crystal of the Force.

The Force is the blade of the heart.”

I may be wrong; it’s perfectly possible that there is more. Anyway, this small mention of the Force being the blade of the heart inspired me. Though, this is technically not exactly a Star Wars story… It could be compatible with any fandom, really. Who knows? This might even be Elrond’s thoughts as he prepares to defend Rivendell against the Shadow. Or it could stand alone.

Enjoy!

The Blade of the Heart

Against the dark for one moment to stand

In defense of my country, my family, my home

The blade of the heart now warms my hand

And then I know I’m not alone.

Candles blaze onward to the starless night,

Impossible to extinguish them all;

And now I make my stand, to fight,

And the ancient battle-cry I call.

My soul warms the chill with its pale fire

The blade ne’er wielded by mortal hand

And then to face the black-hearted liar

Who made me fall across this strand.

Glory is within my reach

And each second my coming death-song sings;

The dark one can never find what he’ll seek,

Ne’er touch my soul, even as it flies on unfettered wings.

How to Save a Life (In Which, I Ramble and Chatter Before Telling the Story)

Tags

bbc merlin, bbc sherlock, brian jacques, castaways of the flying dutchman, classics, completed stories, confusing nonsense, g.a. henty, j.r.r. tolkien, jonathan park, long rants, lord of the rings, redwall, rise of the guardians, sir arthur conan doyle, the scarlet pimpernel

Hello again! I’m back 😀

Okay, so everyone knows how I got into BBC Sherlock, right? Okay. Good. We’re all on the same page, then.

Needless to say, Sherlock is the first fandom that I’ve actually written a fanfic for, other than Star Wars. Believe it or not, some of the other fandoms I’m in (BBC Merlin, Redwall and Castaways of the Flying Dutchman, Madeleine L’Engle’s works, Kidnapped and Treasure Island, The Scarlet Pimpernel and sequels, A Tale of Two Cities, Rise of the Guardians, Lord of the Rings, various other books by Tolkien, books by G.A. Henty, the late, great Jonathan Park radio adventure drama, etc., etc.)… they’re not all that conducive to fanfiction. At least, I’m not inspired therein. So Sherlock fanfiction is really a new thing for me–broadening my horizons, so to speak. But, I’m not that good at writing mysteries or crime drama, having a tendency to break the suspense too soon, among other things… Fortunately, Sherlock lends itself well to character studies and character stories. Probably all my Sherlock fanfiction–that is to say, if I ever write any more–will be limited to one-part short stories. But that doesn’t really bother me. After all, the characters are great and fun to work with, and there’s an obnoxious high-functioning sociopath and a jaded ex-military surgeon who is probably also my definition of a good Christian, judging by his actions… what’s not to love? ;-D

Sorry about the long-winded explanation. Please don’t skip this bit.

This story, according to my standards, is a clean story. Knowing the nature of human-kind and the nature of the show itself, there are probably lots of horrible stories out there which involve things that would sicken me. The show itself is a bit dark, as well as sophisticated, definitely not something I would recommend for anyone under twelve. But this is just pure introspection, with no mention of adult themes, except that the good doctor is under the impression that Sherlock really is dead. So I’d rate this one PG, but only because it deals with inferences to suicide. Please bear in mind that I have not seen The Richenbach Fall or the premiere for the third season, so be merciful. ;-P

Oh dear. I didn’t mean to include a whole review of Sherlock in this! Oh well…

This song-fic is written to the marvelous song How to Save a Life, by The Fray. I understand this is a bit of an older song and is often confused with a movie with a similar name (aka the celebrated To Save a Life), but in my opinion it’s a song everyone should hear.

Enjoy!

How to Save A Life

Step one, you say, “We need to talk.”

He walks, you say, “Sit down. It’s just a talk.”

He smiles politely back at you

You stare politely right on through

Some sort of window to your right

As he goes left and you stay right

Between the lines of fear and blame

You begin to wonder why you came

                “We need to have a talk.” John said. Sherlock stopped for a moment.

“A talk?” he asked.

“Yes, a talk. It’s where two people sit down and agree to get things plain, clear and straight, for once.” John said, stressing “straight” in hopes that Sherlock would actually pay attention. If only it were that easy to get things through his thick head…

“So?” Sherlock began to walk away again.

“And we need to have one,” John said, rising quickly and grabbing Sherlock’s wrist. Sherlock frowned at him in annoyance. Though John was shorter, he was strong, and there was little to be gained by trying to escape his grip.

John could practically see the thoughts going through Sherlock’s mind. Sherlock allowed him to pilot him to the couch, though with a scowl that said he was patently not pleased. He could have gone and jumped in a lake as far as that look went, for all John cared.

“Why are we having a talk, John?” Sherlock asked. John fixed him with a steely glare.

“Ah, now that’s the right question.”

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

                Things were going wrong, badly wrong. John’s phone rang. He scarcely comprehended the conversation. One thing was clear. Horribly clear.

Sherlock was going to jump.

Let him know that you know best

‘Cause after all you do know best

Try to slip past his defense

Without granting innocence

Lay down a list of what is wrong

The things you’ve told him all along

Pray to God, he hears you

And I pray to God, he hears you

                “I think we haven’t been communicating nearly well enough, Sherlock,” John said as he sat down in the armchair across from his friend. “You’ve been shutting me out.”

“Have I?” Sherlock said, his voice level, but instead of the eyebrow that normally would go up challengingly John saw genuine surprise—or at least the Sherlock Holmes version of it—on Sherlock’s face. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe Sherlock wasn’t aware that he had been shutting him out.

“You’ve been… distant,” John continued, somewhat more sympathetically. “And I want to know why.” I want to be there for you. Because that’s what friends do.

And where did I go wrong? I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

                In amidst the anguish of watching his best friend die, John could not help but wonder why he had never spent more of the nights when Sherlock had been awake with his friend. He thought over all the moments he had lost, wishing that he had been less careless. He remembered something his orderly in the army used to say: No one lives without regret.

It was all too true.

As he begins to raise his voice

You lower yours and grant him one last choice

Drive until you lose the road

Or break with the ones you’ve followed

He will do one of two things

He will admit to everything

Or he’ll say he’s just not the same

And you’ll begin to wonder why you came

                “Don’t worry about it, John,” Sherlock said confidently. “It’s all well in hand.”

“But I still want to know about it,” John insisted. Sometimes, it felt like he was driving down a dead-end road. Or maybe he should try another tactic? “Sherlock, I’m your friend. Please, tell me. Other people do this sort of thing all the time.”

“I’m not other people,” Sherlock said.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

                Who had Sherlock been kidding? It had never been under control. And now everything was… was wrong.

As John ran around the building to his friend’s side, he couldn’t help but wonder, why?!

Why, Sherlock?!

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

                Pointless.

How to save a life

                So utterly pointless.

How to save a life

                Like his life, after he had been honorably discharged from the army and before Sherlock.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

                As he knelt by Sherlock’s side, searching for a pulse, he couldn’t help but wonder why, again.

They took his best friend—his first friend—his only true friend—away in an ambulance, but John knew the bad news already.

It was as good as taking him away in a hearse.

Sherlock Holmes was dead.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend

Somewhere along in the bitterness

And I would have stayed up with you all night

Had I known how to save a life

                He left 221b Baker Street for a new place the next day, with a farewell (tearful, on her part) and many thanks to Mrs. Hudson.

He looked at the wall, which was already being repaired and re-papered after Sherlock’s stunt with the smiley face in spray paint and bullet marks. So easy to erase, so quiet…

Unlike his memories.

How to save a life

                Sherlock watched John, for the first time in his life, almost shy. It was finally time to come back… two years later.

He was strangely afraid, curiously awkward, though he couldn’t wait to see John again. He wanted to tell his friend all the things he had never been able to say—and knew he never could. But John would understand anyway. He always did.

He wanted to tell John how it was the thoughts of him, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly had kept him going.

He wanted to thank him for getting him off the drugs.

He wanted to tell him thank you for never stopping believing in him, even when times got rough.

He wanted to tell him thank you for saving his life.

Because, in so many ways, John had.

How to save a life

                “Hello, John.”

Tarnished Silver

Tags

alternate universe, completed stories, heather dale, short stories, song-related fiction, star wars

Okay, I’m finally back to writing, I think. Here’s another song-fic, this time to Tarnished Silver, by Heather Dale. Why the obsession with Heather Dale? Because she is just too awesome for words! 😀

The story of this one can be a bit difficult to follow, because some of it is… well. Brothers have a special place where no one else can enter, somewhere deep inside and at the same time, far, far away. As Obi-Wan is dying at Darth Vader’s hand, both he and Anakin slip away for a long moment before they have to part. The song is from the point of view of Morgan LeFay, who is carrying her dying brother Arthur Pendragon to rest on the island of Avalon. I suppose that this fic could be considered partially AU.

Enjoy!

Tarnished Silver

Sleep, my tarnished silver

Let me dull you once again

And let our battle end

                The sounds of the glen were stilled around them, an ethereal glow gathered. Breath was slowly stilling, dying out in a chill rattle. Obi-Wan Kenobi lay dying, in the arms of his killer.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Anakin choked out, holding his mentor—father—brother—closest friend—close. Obi-Wan smiled, the paleness that blossomed like a fresh breath across his face melting age and pain away.

Sleep, my snowless winter

Let me warm you once before I go

And I’ll pretend to know and understand

                “It had to be this way,” he said softly. “They said our stars were crossed, Anakin. I chose this, Anakin. I sealed my fate.”

“I could have changed it!”

“Had you not turned to the Dark Side, Anakin, it would have happened anyway. You would have seen me change—you would have killed me without meaning to. I’m not—not immortal.” A fit of coughing broke the silence.

Sleep, my fallen cedar

Let me have your weakened pride to hold

And join my barren soil

                “Dust to dust. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.” Obi-Wan murmured, speaking his own funeral rite.

“I could have saved you!”

“No, you couldn’t. You never were supposed to save me, Anakin. I was meant to save you.”

Sleep, my aimless river

Let your torrent rest against my shore

And leave me what was washed away before

                “I’m giving you hope, Anakin. I kept your son safe, all these years.”

“My son?” Anakin echoed. Obi-Wan smiled, coughing hollowly.

“And Padme’s. Her child is… your savior… Strange how… in the end, it’s in your fall that you receive your second chance.”

Time’s been kind to you, my love

As the world had never been

Kinder than to me

                “You had Qui-Gon. You had Siri. And you had me.” Anakin muttered.

“And I lost them all, Anakin. The only measure of our suffering is whether we inflict it on ourselves—and others—or whether it’s something we accept—take the burden off of unwilling shoulders—You never wanted to suffer, Anakin. So I had to.”

Strange, the things that we regret

You wanted me to leave

I found enough to give you that

                “You said you wanted me to leave.” Anakin murmured.

“I never said that. I only said that I wanted to leave. There’s a difference.”

“I said I hated you.”

“I asked the Force that you’d never have regrets, Anakin. It’s the only thing I ever wished for—and the only thing I never received.”

Sleep, my darkened chapel

Let me kneel before you now, as then

Unworthy as I am

                “You’ve always been my beacon,” Anakin whispered. “What am I going to do, when you’re gone?”

“I told you once that everything dies, Anakin. But if a star goes out—that doesn’t mean that it never shone, does it?”

Sleep, my flameless shadow

Let me cool the lingering fires of old

And carry only ashes in my soul

                The Jedi Master’s still form sank to the ground, at peace, at last. No funeral pyre had need of lighting, for the frail form that had attended the strong spirit in life was immolated by the flames of the pure heart in death.

Sleep, my tarnished silver…

                Darth Vader looked down at his former mentor’s empty cloak for a moment, then he stooped and picked up the fallen lightsaber, its crystal still chiming with the echoes of its owner. Then, he turned away.

Somewhere in the Force, a Jedi Master watched and waited for his younger brother to come home.

At Least Relatively Anonymous

Tags

2013, bbc merlin, counting blessings, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, new year, writing

I was thinking back on everything I did in the past year today. And I guess I decided something: 2013 was pretty good.

Needless to say, it wasn’t perfect. For instance, people gave me several let-downs (I don’t agree with the current presidential administration’s policies, for one thing,) and I had to undergo a horrendous amount of grief concerning forms, form letters, job applications and special training, but all in all, it was a good year. Here are some highlights:

1. I turned **. I’m not saying exactly how old I am, for safety’s sake (no offense, but some of the people who visit the blog might be predators for all I know!) but I’m almost a legal adult. Scary thought. But at least I got lots of hugs from my friends!

2. I drove myself–all on my own–for the first time in January ’13. It was also the first day of school, which was a hair-raising combination. But I wasn’t late to any of my classes. EVER. (Well, there was that one sociology session, but it had been cancelled anyway!)

3. I got all A’s and B’s.

4. People thought I was a genius (even though I told them I have an IQ of ***, which is just barely above average; it’s just inside the gifted range. Minimally.)

5. I started writing out the adventures of a young, just-out-of-college detective named Shannon Holmes, and her close friend and former military doctor Jamie Watson. As a result, my own powers of observation and drawing conclusions jumped. People thought I was a genius. (Again.)

6. I got my first job. Okay, so it was only part-time, but still.

7. I signed on Nanowrimo for the first time in April.

8. I did Nanowrimo again in July and November. (November was my first failed Nano, but hey! That’s progress too!)

9. I got back into the Merlin fandom.

10. More than ten good things happened! (So I’ll carry right on.)

11. I got this blog.

12. I embarrassed Iris by hugging her full-on for the first time. (She only does side-on hugs, normally. :-P)

13. I wasn’t seriously sick at all. (Which is weird. But then, I was unwell due to stress-related stuff most of the time.)

14. I hiked all the trails at our local nature association.

15. I discovered that I do, actually, have a life after all, and one that’s at least relatively anonymous.

Here’s hoping 2013 was as good to all of you, my treasured readers, as it was to me! Thanks for reading, and God Bless! 😀

My Dad is a Closet Whovian

Tags

bbc sherlock, doctor who, life, sir arthur conan doyle

In other words, Fandoms in the Incubation Period.

Isn’t it strange how sometimes one gets very excited about an out-coming book or movie or TV show (or one that one has not seen yet)?

Depending on the intensity, one may actually be considered a fan, even without having properly entered the fandom!

Of course, this is how we get into fandoms. It has to begin somewhere.

It may as well begin here.

For instance, I was a fan of BBC Sherlock before I had even seen the series. Mainly due to my taste for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works, probably, and the whole premise intrigued me, and besides, I knew that the BBC normally does awesome stuff. (It’s been a long story, perhaps even longer than the journey… *sigh*)

And my good friend Iris was a fan of Frozen before she hit the theaters to see it.

You see, it all has to begin somewhere. Even if I haven’t been infected with the Whovian virus.

Yet.

I don’t want to jinx it.

I’ve seen about three episodes and can’t even remember the biggest details of two of them. But my dad is a Doctor Who fan. And so is my little sister Jewel.

See? I don’t want to jinx it. ;-P

For the record, my dad is also a closet Sherlockian.

I’ve been drafted…

Tags

bbc sherlock, long rants, sir arthur conan doyle

By the Sherlockians. Specifically the Cumber-bunny Sherlockians.

Is it even possible to get in on a fandom without even seeing an episode of the show? (Don’t answer that…) Possible or not, I think I did it. (Maybe this is just a stage of obsession, but it’s one that you occasionally never move past…)

And then…

This afternoon.

The Blind Banker. The Great Game. A Scandal in Belgravia.

I’m in shock.

Call me when I’m sane again, okay? ‘Cause right now I don’t trust myself not to freak out.

*takes several deep breaths* Okay, I think I’m good for now…

All right. Reasons.

4. The soundtrack. Need I say more?

I think I just might anyway. I have not heard such an awesome soundtrack since The Lord of the Rings and Rise of the Guardians. The music perfectly mirrors the emotion in any given scene. The tension piece is especially good.

3. The sheer brilliance of the show. It’s amazing. Sometimes you don’t catch everything (at least, not everything that Sherlock catches), but you re-watch the episodes and go, “OH! That’s right! *facepalm*” Fortunately, I’ve been a Conan Doyle aficionado ever since I was maybe eight, so I can generally follow where it’s going, and identify the short stories they pulled bits and pieces from. Then, too, there’s the amazing quality of how they interpolate different stories. For instance, there will be several cases that get solved in a given episode, aside from the main one. The unexpected about-faces are as thoroughly refreshing as are the straight up, no chaser flashbacks.

2. Moriarty.

Oh my. Moriarty.

TOTALLY INSANE.

How can anyone sound that evil?! How can anyone act that depraved?!! HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!

Oh, and his music preferences clearly show. He’s evil. ;-P (At least, in my opinion. THAT SONG IS EVIL. ;-P)

1. Dr. John Hamish Watson. Beyond a doubt he’s my favorite character. Probably because he’s the easiest to relate to, but also because Dr. Watson is often underestimated; despite being constantly put down, I think he’s really smarter than anyone gives him credit for. By the way, have you seen his blog?

And then there are all the other people therein. Like Mrs. Hudson.

Favorite clips: Sherlock rescuing Mrs. Hudson in A Scandal in Belgravia, and then knocking the burglar out a window and “loosing count”; Mycroft saying “Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson” and then Sherlock snapping “Mycroft!” (he really sounded like the eldest for a minute there!); John arguing with a checkout machine. (I mean, really? A CHECKOUT MACHINE! That completely equals epic. ^_^)

Least favorite character so far: Irene Adler. She’s interesting, but I really liked her better in the books.

Why does the BBC always seem to do things so much better than Hollywood?

And they said instant addiction was impossible… ;-P

Quick Rant

Tags

author, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, insanity, small rants

I hate form letters.

And forms.

And writing emails to people I don’t know.

Gah! I’m a creative writer! I need room to work!

Sorry about that… Just feeling the frustration. I hate writing letters that always feel so stilted. I wish I could do it by hand, but email is easier and doesn’t require postage. I’m such a geek, people probably don’t think that they sound stupid, but it’s the principle of the thing! Grrrrr.

I just can’t believe I’ll be spending the rest of my life filling out irrelevant forms.

Rant over. You can go about your lives now. 😛