My Friend "Johnny Depp"

So, I have this friend. Not a close friend, just someone I see out and about quite a bit. We sit and chat and smoke, which puts us out on the street, because you can't smoke indoors, in our state.

And occasionally, while we are sitting and chatting and smoking, someone will come up to my friend and say, "Hey! I love your movies!" and my friend will say, "Sorry, not that guy." Then the stranger will say, "That's amazing! You look just like him!"

My friend, at this point, has only one polite response, and it's terrible. What can one do except pause for an awkward moment, then say, with as little irony as possible, "Um. Well. Thanks."

I mean, really, who wants to be mistaken for someone else? Aren't we all unique and beautiful butterflies? Why must it be a compliment to look like another person, just because the other person is famous?

Frankly, my friend doesn't look all that much like Johnny Depp. It's mostly an age and style thing. My friend could start wearing pink polo shirts and Bermuda shorts, bleach his hair, and shave twice a day, but why should he? Johnny Depp isn't changing the way he styles himself, because he looks like my friend. Why should my friend have to change himself?

Yesterday, after the stranger had insisted on shaking my friend's hand, then took himself off, all chuffed over the near-celebrity encounter, I observed, "that's a lot of stranger contact."

"It really is," my friend replied.

It's odd for him. It's doubly odd, because my friend's appearance is as much a part of his professional success as style is to an actor. My friend isn't an actor, or a Johnny Depp impersonator, but he is part of the backstage art, theatre, and fashion industries. In those worlds, my friend doesn't look like Johnny Depp; Johnny Depp looks like my friend.

FIC: The Beryl Chess Set

Title: The Beryl Chess Set
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: Case fic based on the ACD story of The Beryl Coronet. Briefly referenced in "The Scientific Method." Sherlock demonstrates a deeper grasp of human relationships and their myriad complications than he usually gets credit for.
Word Count: 7277
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not really theirs either, though.
Spoilers: None

The Beryl Chess Set

FIC: The Scientific Method

Title: The Scientific Method
Rating: Gen-ish. Some mature language and themes, and sexual situations.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: John is not gay. Really.
Word Count: 2623
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not really theirs either, though.
Spoilers: Maybe? Nothing specific.

The Scientific Method


Title: The Least Among Us
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."
Word Count: 4394
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not really theirs either, though.
Spoilers: Through Reichenbach

Note: It's been a hella long time since I've posted fic and this is my first (perhaps only) in this fandom. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed thinking it.

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Lest auld acquaintance be forgot

Apparently there is some QAF US nostalgia still lurking on the interwebs, because I've received a few off-LJ inquiries about my fics, recently.

I purged LJ for RL reasons, planning to archive stories elsewhere when I got "a round to-it," but I subsequently suffered a catastrophic hardware failure. A friend has possession of that hard-drive, and may, someday, be able to retrieve some of those old exercises. If that happens, then I will follow through on that plan.

In the meantime, I did happen to save the two longest stories (Medley and The Adventures of Stickman and Blob) to an archive, back in the day. Those may be read at

(I'm still pretty happy with Stickman and Blob. Huh. Who woulda thunk?)

Anyway, if anyone happened to save any of my stories, in any fandom, please send me a copy. I'll promptly post on An Archive of Our Own and put links in the comments of this post.


I have this photo on my drive and I don't know where I got it! I would like to attribute the artist, and/or get permission for semi-commercial use. Do you recognize it? Can you steer me true?

The Internet is for Cats

Meet Maraca, our foster cat.

We call her Maraca, because when she shakes her head, she rattles.

Something bad happened to Maraca, but she's doing much better now.

Maraca is sooper kewt. Gross.

Ahead of schedule

So NaNoWriMo is going very well. I'm worried. It's only day three, but I'm already at that place where I want to show everyone, say "look what I made!" like I'm bringing home a Christmas ornament made of green paper, dry pasta, and gold paint.

I know me, and over the years I've become the sort of person who chokes at feedback. I'm proud of myself for being consistent, for writing past my minimum word count. And I'm also pretty proud of the story. I like it. I'm entertaining myself, although I'm aware that I'm almost 6100 words in and nothing more exciting than breakfast has happened.

I'm okay with that. I am actually excited by it. There is a tremendous freedom in long fiction. I don't have to get directly to the point. I don't need a lede, to keep it crisp and snappy. I can stretch my vocabulary, explore character and motivation in lovingly microscopic detail. I had forgotten this, as I always do when the writing gets hard.

Maybe I needed to take such a long break. Perhaps I needed to grow up and calm down, a little. Whatever the reason, I am so glad I committed to writing a novel this year. This feels right.