Drunken Revelry and Fan Fiction

I’m out of it today.

I have quite a good excuse–yesterday was the Red Storm Christmas Party, and James’s company does one hell of a bash. (Think lavish open bar. For about seven hours.) James generally only gets completely obliterated once or twice a year, which I consider perfectly reasonable–all things in moderation, even moderation. Definitely best to do it on someone else’s nickel, too.

I bailed out early this year, at around 12:30, because another friend of ours got obliterated a wee bit quicker than usual, and since I don’t really drink, I was perfectly happy to take him and his wife home. Driving home the really wretchedly drunk is always rather amusing, mostly because they’re dreadfully apologetic. No matter how much you say “No, dude, it’s fine, really, I really genuinely don’t mind–” they either don’t believe you, or more likely forget that you’ve already had this conversation eight times in the last twenty minutes. (I really, genuinely don’t mind. They’re good friends, and my inability to stand the taste of alcohol might as well be of use to somebody.)

Unfortunately, in order to keep conscious enough for such antics–drink wasn’t a problem, but too much food was–I had drunk three cups of absolutely vile coffee, the sort of bitter, excruciatingly potent brew that makes you wonder if you’ve stumbled on the recipe for the black drink of Mordor. And between the caffiene content, which was through the roof, and the difficulty my plumbing’s had with coffee of late, and the fact that after thirteen years, it’s a little hard to sleep without James in the same bed–well, I was up until about 5:30 AM.

But I had this really great idea for a story.

Part of it is all the fan fic. After a few days of noodling around, the inevitable happened. I had this character show up that was just too good to waste on somebody’s else’s universe. I was writing page after page where nothing at all happened, just to listen to her rant about life, death, ethics, the nature of good and evil, and her unnatural fondness for–well, never mind that last bit. I could hear this character talk.

When you can hear ’em talk, cling to them with all force, because those are the ones with staying power.

So I had been trying for a day or two now to think of some way to kick her into something else, because damnit, I couldn’t consign this wonderfully foul-mouthed character to fan fiction, and suddenly, there it was. At about three in the morning, twitchy with caffiene, bladder as restless as a dog at the vet, WHAM! I knew how to make it work.

And she brought a friend, whose first words were “If you wish to buy a cheap cure for some unspeakable social disease, come back tomorrow. I do not begin saving the world, one hooker at a time, until after eleven in the morning.”

So A) fan fiction’s awesome for some things, and I am sorry I said bad stuff about it, B) I am drug out and exhausted today, and have taken several naps, but they’re hard because I can hear these characters fighting with each other while I’m trying to sleep.

I still have no urge to paint at all, but at least there’s an inch of squishy slime at the bottom of the writing well again.

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