Dumbledore Came To See Me Today

Not actually, of course, just in my head. We've run out of pesto. And I think the curd cheese has gone off.

Errrr, you remember when I talked about really not being a writer? I'm really not. I'm really really not. And yet for some reason, I sat myself down today and started writing.

*shakes head in despair*

It's a Harry Potter thing, and so far I've only killed Percy off.

*grins proudly*

Well, I've killed Lucius and Voldemort as well, but they hardly count, as I wouldn't have had a story without that. Arthur and Ginny Weasley are also on the critical list, but I think they'll pull through. I will not succumb to the temptation to just kill all the major characters off. Been there, done that, loved every minute of it, have sworn not to do it again.

This particular plot-bunny bit a while ago, and I've been toying with it ever since, but feeling no need to actually write any of it down. I don't know why, but the plot-bunnies of my head seem to have been breeding with each other lately, resulting in an abundance of new, slightly demented and often crossover-ing plot-bunnies. This has become increasingly more disturbing, and in an attempt to focus some of what seems to be a slightly over-enthusiastic imagination, I am trying to exorcise it all by actually writing one. Hopefully, this will go the same way as most writing endeavours of mine, ie it will be thought out in painstaking detail and then never be written past the first couple of chapters. I would have liked to have written the bunny fairly normally, in 3rd person from the perspective of "the goodies". Somehow I have managed to end up writing it as Draco Malfoy's journal. I would just like to state for the record, that I don't like this boy's head, and I don't like being in it. I have, however, been disconcertingly surprised by how much easier it makes it. It also makes it feel like I could stop at any moment, and it wouldn't matter or mean that the story was unfinished. Just the few entries I have written have turned into an interesting character study, if nothing else, and are probably worthwhile even without a continuation. There's probably a lot of personal angst in there too, but if anyone else so much as hints that this might be the case, then there will be Big Trouble. I'll send it off to Cathy to get a beta (poor Cathy), and then after she's thoroughly lacerated my spelling and grammar capabilities I guess I'll post it somewhere. It's not a fun piece. And I only seem to be capable of two types of writing, wannabe-humour-turned-quirky, and completely and utterly depressing depths of despair. Considering the psych angle on the characters, I think it falls into the latter category. Poor Cathy.

There's something amazingly luxurious and indulgent about eating ice cream out the tub. It's just not the same if you put it in a bowl.