Nimphie

Primero, mis felicitaciones a toda la comnidad por las festividades y las celebraciones. Mis mejores deseos de que sean fechas de alegría, bendiciones y mucha felicidad y convivencia con sus seres queridos y amigos!!

En seguida, mis disculpas.
No he podido avanzar con los demás, me ocuparon otras cosas en estos últimos días (dos semanas, digo), y sólo he podido terminar los siguientes fics.

Pero bueno, espero en los siguientes días tener un poco más de regalos terminados para irlos colgando en el árbol de los deseos.
Por lo pronto, ¡¡Un ENORME abrazo a todas!!



Regalo para: le_mousquetaire 
Título: Fraternidad
Personajes: Tonny Dinozzo/Tim McGee
Advertencias: Fic de amistad. No hay spoilers.
Raiting: Todo público.

 

 

( Fraternidad )

Regalo para: miss_black91 
Título: Intimidad
Personajes: Tonny Dinozzo/Tim McGee
Advertencias: Fic Slash, aunque sólo mencionado. No hay spoilers.
Raiting: Todo público.

 

( Intimidad )

Regalo para: penelope_ziva 
Título: Drabble de un pensamiento fugaz.
Personajes: Tim McGee, Ziva David.
Advertencias: Ninguna, creo. Al menos, no hay spoilers.

 

( Drabble fugaz )

 

¡¡Un enorme abrazo!!
 

Que yo sé que es tarde y que no debería hacer esto así nomás a lo "probicito", pero en serio, que ha sido uno de los años más tremendos en cuestión de tiempo que no alcanza, y familia que no se pone de acuerdo, y cosas que hay pendientes, y cenas que no se dejan cocinar, y cosas parecidas, pero bueno, que no puedo dejar pasar la fecha.

Aquí todavía no es media noche, pero nunca es tarde para venir a desearles una noche llena de bendición, y las fiestas de la Natividad llenas de amor con sus familiares y sus amigos y seres queridos.






¡¡Un enorme abrazo!!

Y muchos deseos de que el Salvador sea parte importante de sus noches, de sus vidas, y de todo lo que planeen para realizar en estas fechas.

Van K.

¡Hola!

Aunque este año he estado bastante alejada del slash no es por falta de ganas si no por trabajo... habría querido participar en los relatos navideños pero lamentablemente mi inspiración está de vacaciones.

Pero no quería dejar pasar la oportunidad para enviarles un fuerte abrazo navideño y una tarjeta que he preparado con mucho cariño.

Un enorme abrazo

Aca estoy, escuchando fuego artificiales desde las 17. Un viaje con muchos retrarsos (un bus llego tarde, el avion dos horas tarde, un ferry que no salio y etc ... ). Pero aca estamos, festejando, y todo esto, a parte de descargarme, es para deseares una muy buena nochebuena y navidad.
Besotes y brindare por Uds.

So I guess I had a pretty massive freakout over the past couple of days. It's chronicled on Twitter, more or less. To me it seemed to start with a horrible dream I had Monday morning. In this nightmare I was making a real effort to reconnect with my characters, but I'd gotten the wrong ones, which were more or less the Cure. (Anybody with half an eye can see the Cure's influence on Lost Souls, or so I assume.) They had all gone down to Shell Beach and commandeered barges, a tugboat, and some kind of tanker, with which they were planning a terrorist attack. Samuel L. Jackson was tearing down the Reggio highway in a furious attempt to stop them, but everybody knew it was my fault and hated me, including Chris, who promptly dumped my ass.

Some of my worst dreams are those in which I'm back with one of my exes. I remember Chris and feel the lack of him, but know I have to be with this once-beloved foe instead. It is the hollowest, loneliest feeling I've known in dream. Usually I wake up, become aware of him sleeping beside me, and feel tremendous relief. This time I woke up within the dream and knew I'd really done it, I'd finally fucked up bad enough to lose him (by putting the Cure on terrorist barges in Shell Beach, yes, I see the absurdity of this, but it didn't help at the time). I saw life without him, an endless featureless plain the color of a bruise. I cried and woke myself and him up saying "Chris. Chris. Chris" and babbling about wrong characters on barges, trying to explain this utter incoherence.

The ensuing day did not pass well. Even tranked to the gills, I couldn't seem to stop sobbing and panicking and doomsaying. I could not bathe. I could not even consider leaving the house (this has been a problem lately). I finally called my intermittent shrink and sobbed and babbled some more until she agreed to give me a few, VERY few, barbiturates to help me function over these next few days. I don't stress much about the holidays (we stopped doing gifts years ago, stocked up on stuff and unable to afford it), but my mom and a dear friend are coming to visit, and I would like to be able to act like something resembling a human being around them. Those who were reading back in the dark days of 2005 will remember my adventures with Dr. Jesus and the Great BUTALBITAL. Butalbital has come into my life again, with its idolatrous-sounding name and its extremely short-term help. Short-term because it's addictive as shit and not even slightly appropriate for treating long-term depression, but thank God she heard enough of the fraying in my voice to throw me a quick merciful lifeline (a scant 10 pills to be parceled out carefully over at least 4 days, worryworts) until I can go see her and figure out why my usual shit's not working anymore. Pharmaceuticals, you've nearly killed me and you've saved my life, both many times. Just like a goddamn lover, ain'tcha? ("Almost had your hooks in me, din'tcha, dear?")

So today my Butalbital and I did laundry, cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the house, and baked a lovely chocolate chip-pecan pie. Tomorrow we'll greet our guests and try to absorb their love through the merciful haze that says so kindly, "No, that bruise color isn't filling your vision, you don't reek of rotting meat, these people love you, they're not counting the hours until they can get away or silently analyzing the stupidity of everything you say."

So that's the story of my big freakout. As ever, I tell it because of my determination to chronicle the life of one writer's journey through loss, depression, addiction, sorrow, joy, and sometimes redemption in the wake of the post-Katrina federal levee failure. I've written no fiction in three years now, so this is really all I have to offer, and I give it to you without shame. There's no reason for shame. I wasn't like this before August 29, 2005. I'd dealt with depression off and on since I was 17, but at the time of the levee failure I was on no psychiatric drugs, writing prolifically, and (I thought) fairly happy. Now I struggle most days just not to be a mess, and there are a hell of a lot of people who are a hell of a lot worse off than I am ... and a hell of a lot more people who survived the levee failure and its aftermath, but not the lives they tried to piece back together afterward. They gave themselves to the Great Subaudible. I tell you these things in part to keep myself from doing the same.

Hace tiempo que no posteaba.
Y es que andaba terminando mi novela. Es una dicotomía esto de escribir algo hetero, medio rosa y convertirlo en libro antes que la seguidilla de historias homo que tengo desperdigadas en el PC.
Pero bueno, así se dio y ya es una realidad.
Aquí está el link.
A los alérgicos a lo hetero, a lo rosa y a lo romántico empedernido, abteneos señoras, señoritas y señores; intermedios también.
Al resto, bienvenidos, es la primera y merece un minuto de atención.
D

Espero que te guste :P

( Un L zombie y ... )

VIVA estoy de VACACIONES!  ＼（＾∀＾）メ（＾∀＾）ノ

Tengo que despotricar en algún lado o reventaré. Acabo de ver The Lair, esa serie de vampiros de los mismos que hicieron Dante's Cove.
La verdad, como ni siquiera pude acabar de ver Dante´s Cove, debí imaginarme lo que vendría, pero juro que al inicio no me pareció tan mala, pero los 3 últimos episodios casi me hacen destrozar la PC.

Y AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, pero Dios mío, qué cosa tan mal hecha... protagonista bizco, actores sobreactuados, trama malísima y poco creíble. Ni siquiera se salvaron por los lemon.

Francamente, con lo mucho que me disgusta Gravitation, debo reconocer que tiene más sustancia.

Habiendo tantas historias slash buenas, ¿por qué tienen que llevar a la pantalla ESO?

Yes, I decided to make my LJ a little more active and I choose to begin this more-activity-thing with free publicity and how better than to start with new bands (maybe not so new, but still) that for me, and for many others, have that spark.




Stephen Schriner: for now is a solo artist, make covers and:

My heart has been a part of music since before I started grade school. Starting out by singing, then picking up my first guitar once I reached 5th grade. I was a part of multiple bands with different friends throughout my middle school and high school years, playing a variety of different types of music. I attended my first Warped Tour in 2007, and I heard the band All Time Low and I fell in love with the pop / punk style of music. I was pulled into the scene of music and it totally changed how I expressed myself, I started listening to new bands and trying new styles. During the end of high school my friends and I formed the band At Our Best. It went strong for a little while, but we were all at different points in our lives and it eventually just fell apart. Since then I started perusing a solo career. Now I’m promoting myself in an attempt to find another band that fits my style of music.

That's the information he has on his MySpace.

There you can find All Time Low covers. He's a boy that has talent, and you can tell it. You can follow him on Twitter too: Stephen Schriner

I've just wasted the last hour notifying various file-sharing sites to remove illegally posted copies of my books. I'm not even going to say what I think about so-called fans who use these slimeball sites to steal work from writers, except this. I hate to give these sites any publicity at all, but I will say that other writers should check scribd.com and 4shared.com for stolen work.

A few days ago I tweeted the statement, "I think art about New Orleans, especially post-K, should be made by New Orleanians. #thereisaidit" I define New Orleanians as people living in the greater New Orleans area long-term as well as devoted exiles. I do NOT include jet-setters who own New Orleans homes that stand empty 90% of the time or those who left the city post-K and don't want to return.

But my Twitter statement still makes me antsy, because in general, I don't believe in using the word "should" around art at all. I've always been deeply suspicious of any statement beginning "Artists (writers, whatever) should..." that doesn't end "...do the best work they're capable of, full stop."

As well, I had made a hero's exception for Josh Neufeld, author of A.D.: After the Deluge, and a friend e-mailed to ask why. My friend wrote, "I bought that damned book because I thought he was a New Orleanian. Boy was I pissed when I got it and found out he was a New Yorker. I think it's a good book but if I had known he was a New Yorker living in New York I never would have bought it, to be quite honest. If he's giving profits from the book to the people who need it most, I'll feel ok about it, but I feel kind of like a duped schmuck as it is!"

I replied, "Neufeld = honorary New Orleanian because he did major, major rescue work down here after the levees failed, Like, lifesaving work. He has also put together a great A.D. website with tons of Katrina info & resources; http://www.smithmag.net/afterthedeluge/ . I couldn't find any indication that he had donated proceeds to us, but I'm kinda OK with that. I know how much it costs to research & make a book, and graphic novels sell even worse than regular books. Most likely there are no 'proceeds.' He also financed his own book tour, & I noticed that many of his signing events were also benefits for Common Ground & other local charities, so that's good."

But I realized that if I believe Josh Neufeld could get it right, there must be other non-New Orleanians out there who can get it right too. And for me, at least these days, that's what is most important in art about New Orleans: getting it right. Even before the storm, so much of it didn't. And if you haven't lived or spent major chunks of time here since the levees failed, you do not know what it was like those first couple of years. You can't research it. You can't imagine it from the footage you saw on TV. You might think you can, your heart might break for us and you might try to tell people why we still matter and if so I thank you, but you don't know the stenches, the tears, the daily assaults on the mind and spirit. You can never know these things if you weren't here. And you should be glad.

So I'm trying to at least modify my "should." It's hard to come up with another pithy line, though. Art about New Orleans, especially post-K, is less likely to suck and be offensive if made by New Orleanians? Art about New Orleans, especially post-K, has virtually no chance of getting it right if not made by New Orleanians? I don't know. Artists will, and should, make art about the things that grab them by the throat and won't let go. So if what happened to us after the federal levees failed does that to you, then by all means, go with it. At least your heart will be in the right place, and that will show even if you don't know the Ninth Ward from the Lower Ninth Ward. But if you decide -- as many already seem to have done -- that "Hey! Post-Katrina New Orleans would be a really cool, edgy place to set this!", then may God have mercy on your soul, because New Orleans will not.

Does anyone remember/can anyone track down the post I made here back in '05 or '06 about the (I thought) non-confrontational but brilliant way Chris handled the racist man who sold us a car in Bibleland during our exile? I wanted to show it to someone, but after looking through two months' worth of post-K posts, I can take no more.

Hace poco más de diez años, mientras trabajaba en un bar y mantenía su trayectoria como líder de la banda The Brood, Troy Duffy escribía sus frustraciones al ver cómo la ciudad se hundía bajo el poder y el gobierno del crimen organizado, surgiendo de esa forma el script de la película The Boondock Saints.

Si no la has visto, te la recomiendo. Trata de dos hermanos que darían todo el uno por el otro, que saben que han sido elegidos para ser el brazo ejecutor de Dios, y pelear contra las fuerzas criminales, ayudando a quien lo necesitara, a las personas buenas, a los inocentes (cofcofcof¿los Winchester? cofcofcof).
Tienen un padre, que fue quien los inició en esta carrera, y con quien terminan uniendo fuerzas al encontrarse de nuevo, huyendo de la ley, alojándose en moteles y manteniendo identidades de bajo perfil para continuar con su llamado. (¿El negocio familiar, kimosavi?)

Te dejo el tráiler, para que puedas ver las similitudes con lo que Kripke, 5 años después del estreno de la peli, realizó con su serie para que te animes a darle una vista y te diviertas, y te emociones, y tal vez te vengan a la imaginación cientos de ideas que maduren en fics y situaciones geniales entre estos dos hermanos.
Ah, el único warning. Es una película en clasificación C, por violencia, lenguaje y algo de desnudos. Pero de eso... bué, la tv está llena.



¿Interesante? A mí me encantó.

Pues bien, me acabo de enterar que en este año, justo en el mes de octubre (las incapacidades y sus inconvenientes. Me la pasé en cama todo ese mes, sin enterarme, caramba), se estrenó la segunda parte de la hisoria de la familia McManus.

The Boondock Saints II:All Saints Day.

Por supuesto que la voy a ver, así llueva, truene o relampaguee. Así que estaremos pendientes de su estreno por estos lares.
El Tráiler, para que te emociones al cuadrado, y te animes a hacerte fan de estos dos geniales hermanos.



Y esperemos que al muso también le brinque la neurona, y se ponga a trabajar como debe ser con los fics que me debe de los McManus.
Mientras tanto, a disfrutar con los fanvids que hay por ahí de ellos.