DIARy of a fic fiend | official blog of kilby blades

Do you remember when you were little and your mom was taking you somewhere exciting (like the circus), how she'd make you take an extra nap?  She knew that between the place she was taking you and your excitement over that place, without a nap you'd tire yourself out.  But then, do you remember how you didn't want to take a nap, even though you knew you needed one, because the place you were going was so heart-poundingly exciting you couldn't settle down enough to sleep?  New Moon is my circus.  Today is the day.  And I am so f*ing excited.

I am a 30 year old woman, a productive member of society. If you saw me on the street you would think I was sane. I have never been in trouble with the law--never even had a moving violation, much less been arrested. I thought my status as a fine, upstanding citizen was more or less set in stone. Until today when I came dangerously close to learning whether theft is a felony or misdemeanor.

Do you ever get an update for fic so sweet, an update you've been waiting for so long, an update you know will pwn you so hard that you can't f-ing read it? I don't know whether this happens to you, but it happens to me. A lot.

I know what you’re thinking: you can’t afford to give right now. Not when your investment accounts just took a double-digit nosedive. Not when you might lose (or have already lost) your job. Not when the future of the economy seems so uncertain.

Trust me—I feel your pain. My net worth is falling. I did get laid off. And, nowadays, I don’t even check my bank account without a stiff drink in one hand and a good mood in the other.

Have you ever heard of anything so hilariously repulsive it made you pee your pants laughing and projectile vomit, all at the same time?

Two weeks ago, I was chatting with Sassenach Wench about the disaster that was "Breaking Dawn". She was graciously listening (again) to my requisite rant about how Stephenie Meyer should be stoned for her sorry excuse for a honeymoon scene, when SW reminded me of a passage so repulsive, so vile, so OOC, as to be uproarious and offensive and nauseating, all at once. She then pointed me to said passage, which appears on p. 723 in "Breaking Dawn" from Bella's point of view. Jacob is taking Renesmee to safety and Edward and Bella are saying goodbye:

I have suspected for years now that I was addicted to fanfiction, but now that I've actually started a blog that depicts drug paraphernalia on the banner, I figured it couldn't hurt to find out for sure. I consulted the Mayo Clinic's List of 8 Drug Addiction Symptoms and here's how I stack up:

Is it any wonder, then, that I prefer Edward to you? Edward smells fantastic, is twenty kinds of sexy, speaks with that smooth, deep voice, and (based on what I've had to surmise given SM's borderline criminal omission of detail) is devastatingly well-hung.

Sure, your true eye color is much better than that of Edward. Your English accent is endearing, and you clean up real nice for photo shoots. But the hobo clothes and the unwashed mop? Not quite panty-droppers.

The year was 1998, I was 19 years old, and obsessed with Dawson's Creek. My first laptop--a little Toshiba for school--was as heavy as a brick. Instead of schlepping it to class or lugging it around the city, it stayed in my tiny apartment, on my bed. On a 56k modem connection, I surfed the (then-novel) internet with fascination, until one day, I found "Popcorn".

"Popcorn", by Kate Andrews, was the gold standard of Dawson's Creek fanfic. It had solid writing, smart dialog, and a simple, but engaging, plot. It successfully juggled love triangles, UST, and smut. It was well-portioned, each chapter giving enough to both satisfy and entice. Most importantly, it gave the hearts of the characters deserving redemption where the real show jumped the shark.