Sheesh, Bean!

Er, what's the fannish etiquette surrounding swiping someone else's fic idea? There IS no real fannish etiquette for that, is there? Beyond, of course, "don't do it."


Because...I've done it. Had a conversation with someone about a fic they wanted to write. Sat around wondering how that fic idea would work. Got an idea for how to make it work. Started writing it...


And then, 2,000 words in, it has JUST hit me that I COMPLETELY SWIPED THE IDEA. I never once really thought about it, because honestly, my track record for finishing fic is so terrible. I never thought I'd actually finish it. (And I haven't, as a matter of fact. Not even close.) The idea of my actually finishing a fic is so laughable that I was treating this as...basically an abstract concept. And it might as well be, since I'm sure I wouldn't have finished this one either, except...

Except now I've realized that if I actually DID, on some off chance, finish this fic, posting it would be low since I stole the concept. *facepalms* Oi. So I guess I shouldn't bother working on it any more, then?

LORD, THAT IS TERRIBLE. I can't believe this has really only just occurred to me. That bothers me more than the actual swiping, as it's still only on my hard drive now anyway and thus still private.

SHEESH.

Look up!

( Oh, YOOO-HOOO! )

From here.

It's a little bit PostSecret.

[Because] pleasing everyone isn't like you...

Did I mention my boss gave me the week off?

Well, she did. And honestly, there's a LOT I should be doing with it and have been slacking on because I've not felt well and have been sleeping a lot. But I'm refusing to think of it for the next few hours, anyway. I'll get to some stuff tomorrow; but with that promise to myself in mind, I'm definitely taking this evening OFF.


Because at the moment I'm all alone in my house. My mom just went out to a party. My sister is out with friends at a movie. I'm completely by myself. How could I waste this?!

So I'm blasting, "I Can't Decide," by the Scissor Sisters at top volume, reading fannish stuff, dancing stupidly and getting pleasantly-but-not-stupidly drunk off my mother's red wine. (I don't think she'll mind. She can't drink that much red anyway, she's allergic to this stuff! How'd she ever get through half a bottle? And lest anyone be concerned about my alcohol consumption, I drink about three times a year. I'm capable of getting trashed off one cooler.)


It just doesn't get better than this, I tell you.