rsadelle: (Default)
Happy Halloween! Welcome to the eighth annual edition of virtual trick-or-treating.


Knock or ring the bell by leaving me a comment, and I'll reply with a treat of some sort. It might be a fic snippet, a picture, a song, or something else I come up with in the moment. My intention is to post all treats before I go to bed on Halloween. Lurkers and anonymous trick-or-treaters are welcome! (But if you're posting anonymously or with an LJ account that is completely friends-locked and you want a treat specific to your interests, let me know something about why you know me.)

(Not my actual door. Photo by Flickr user Nick Stanley, used under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license.)
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Some years I get it together to send Valentine's Day cards and/or presents, and some years I don't. This was a year I didn't, but I wish you all a very happy Valentine's Day anyway!

My morning walks are sometimes more productive and sometimes less. Today I was thinking about varying types of erotica, including run-on sentences, of which variety I think I've only seen two or three people write, and I'm not sure I can remember who they were. Anyway, the point is that I was writing my own run-on sentence erotica in my head. But it's Valentine's Day, and I didn't send anyone cards or presents, so why not share this with you?


Two Heterosexual Porn Run-On Sentences )
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FISH! The Powers That Be at my (paying) job have decided that we ought to adopt the FISH! Philosophy. We had the last of our series of occasional presentations about it at our weekly staff meeting this morning. This morning we did a little exercise to get to know a bit about each other. I've faithfully reproduced the exercise below.

A Five-Step Psych Test

There are five things going on simultaneously which need to be taken care of:

6. The telephone is ringing.
7. The baby is crying.
8. Someone knocks at the front door or rings the doorbell.
9. There is laundry hanging on the line outside and it begins to rain.
10. The water faucet in the kitchen is running.

In what order do you take care of the problems? Jot down your order.

We don't know why the five things are numbered 6 through 10 either. Just prioritize them before you take a look at the supposed interpretation. )

Don't read this book. The book in question is Edward Windsor: Royal Enigma by Wendy Leigh. She seems to like him at the beginning, but she seems to detest him by the time she finished the book. Sophie doesn't come out looking very good either. Leigh has a dozen different people describing Sophie in the exact same words.

Of course, one of the real problems with the book is that Leigh is trying very hard to make it exciting and suspenseful, yet it's not. And since I've been reading a whole bunch of stuff at Crime Library over the past couple of weeks, I kept imagining the pseudo-suspenseful parts being narrated by Bill Kurtis from American Justice. This is how I see it:

Bill Kurtis: It would take a New York evening to bring the rumors out. And out they would come with a vengeance. (Cut to commercial.)

Bill Kurtis: At the Aspects of Love premiere in New York on April 8, 1990, Edward met Stewart Dickson, a reporter for London's Daily Mirror. (Still image of Edward talking to Dickson. Video of generic people in fancy dress, none shown above the neck.) Dickson watched from across the room until Edward seemed more approachable. (Still photo of Edward drinking.) Then Dickson approached Edward a second time. (Different still image of Edward and Dickson.)

(Video of Dickson repeating to the camera his question to Edward that evening.)

Stewart Dickson: In London there are a lot of rumors that you are gay. Are you?

Bill Kurtis: Dickson had asked the unaskable, and now the issue was out in the open. (Still image of the Daily Mirror dated April 10, 1990 with the headline, "Queen's Son Pours His Heart Out to the Mirror; I'm Not Gay.")

At which point I, and the rest of the audience, say, "So what?"

Even if you, as Molly did, find a bargain basement copy of the book for only a dollar, don't buy it. Now if only I could make it all the way through Christopher Anderson's Diana's Boys.

Scene from an unwritten movie.

(Background. The first piece of the movie is a standard high school Pygmalion--like She's All That, but with someone nicer than Freddie Prinze Jr. Just at that point where everyone's supposed to live happily ever after, things don't go quite as expected.)

HIM: I'm sorry. I can't do this.

HER: You did this! You made me into this person. You made me like you. And now you can't do this? Why not? What's wrong with me?

HIM: Nothing's wrong with you.

HER: Then what's wrong with you?

The silence draws out as they stand there looking at each other. Finally HIS shoulders drop.

HIM: I'm gay.

(And that provides the force of the movie. She, as the only person who knows his secret, struggles against her wish for revenge, and he lives in fear that she'll tell all to the wrong people at the wrong time.)

My subconscious writes an Outer Limits episode.

We gather inside the Cathedral, a mixed group of young people. We stand around the open doors and watch as it happens. Flashes of light that turn into blackened crisps that used to be human beings. One singed person stumbles toward us. We don't leave the safety of the building. One of the flashes comes from a car stopped at a corner across the plaza in front of the Cathedral. Later I will think of the bumper sticker: "In case of rapture, this car will be driverless."

It's some time later. The Cathedral has become a commune of sorts, one complete with a nightclub lit in red. I wander among the fangirls seated in two neat rows of tables, but I can't find whomever it is I'm looking for. I head out of the club and into the back areas. I knock on the metal shutter that comes down over a back window for the kitchen. It opens, but what I'm looking for isn't there either.

It's later still. I'm sitting on the counter in the kitchen. There are other people there, and we talk about needing some gadget. One of the other people opens a hidden cupboard and pulls out just the thing we need. There's also a large green jar full of coins. There's another half-full jar in the open, but we pull out the one in the cupboard.

There's a commotion in the kitchen with a blond boy in the middle. "The army is coming for him," someone tells us. Later I will think to wonder how an army survived the Apocalypse. There are hugs all around and he leaves for one of the other communes. I stand at the window for a moment and look out over empty fields.

Then I'm back on the counter. At the table in front of me are Dara and three or four other people. Misha sits on Ruth Gifford's lap in the chair next to me. It's Dara's birthday, but she refuses to let me do anything for it. I have an idea, but she won't let me tell her what it is. I start to write it down instead, when Misha says, "We should have a birthday party for everyone." I say, "That's exactly what I was thinking!"

Reality intrudes. One of the stories I've been working on has Hermione having an abortion at age 16 and it being a traumatic experience for her. I've been highly influenced by Inga Muscio's "Abortion, Vacuum Cleaners and the Power Within." Unfortunately for the plot, although fortunately for women there, abortion is a much simpler thing in the United Kingdom than here.

People in the UK become adults at age 16. Mifepristone has been approved for use in the UK since 1991. According to The Harry Potter Lexicon's timeline, Hermione would have been 16 in 1996. And to make matters even worse for the story, I read this today, which tells me that in the UK, women over the 16 can get the "morning-after" pill from a pharmacist without a prescription.

I think I may be able to work around it. Suppose Hermione gets pregnant. She's upset and worried about other things, so she doesn't even think about it within 72 hours, the window of time during which the "morning-after" pill is effective. She only realizes she's pregnant a week or two later. She goes to a clinic where she finds out that it's an ectopic pregnancy, which means that mifepristone is not an option for her. That would let her have the more invasive sort of abortion which would leave her traumatized in the right kind of way for the story to work.

Any thoughts, especially from those of you who may be British, would be greatly appreciated.
rsadelle: (Default)
I don't know what this is. It sounds like it could be an obsessed stalker or a serial killer, or even an obsessed, Mulder-like profiler. I think that, even though I haven't started reading it yet, the used copy of The Silence of the Lambs I bought for thirty cents this morning is starting to affect me.

It doesn't matter that you won't talk to me. I still listen to what you say. I read what you write. I watch what you do. I know who you are.

You can stop me from being your friend. You can stop me from knowing your innermost secrets. But you can't hide from me. I'm inside your head. I know you.
rsadelle: (Default)
Title: Smoking
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Rating: FRT
Summary: A short tale of cravings.
Author's Note: Although this is an original fic, the guys she's watching belong in From Eroica With Love, a manga written by Yasuko Aoike.

Smoking )


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Ruth Sadelle Alderson


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