Monthly Archives: November 2012

On my new indie ship

Or: Teddy Lupin and Tom Riddle would make a rather nice slash pairing.
Think about it. Haunted by their pasts, both dark, good-looking teen boys, both fighting for a cause they truly believe in.
And they have no fanfiction. None at all.
Life is unfair. I don’t have the time to write them, but if I did…

Swing-By Friday

Dear friend,*
This week has been okay, all in all.
Who am I kidding? This week has been horrible.
My so-called best friend (we don’t like each other, but I’m tactful about it) is spreading rumours that I’m Bitch of the Week. I know that she’s only friends with me to use me, as one of my two only friends kindly told me, but I’m sick of it. Now half my year isn’t talking to me, and the other half have no idea which one “that bitch friend of Hollie’s” is. I can count on my hands the number of people I thought were friends not making snide comments behind my back. If you ever write a novel set in secondary school, trust me on this: the popular girls’ words are law, and if you decide to grow a backbone and object, they ignore you.
I started self-harming. Not because of that – well, not completely, anyway. If you think it’s ‘just a phase’, please, go read someone else’s blog. Maybe it’s because the amount of blood on my wrists is the only damn thing in my life I can control. Sure, I don’t eat until dinner – but that’s still eating. I can’t control that. Self-harm is the way I stay sane. The way I deal with pain. Ironic, isn’t it? But surface cuts, if you make them just deep enough, hurt like hell and can be easily explained away. No one needs to know it wasn’t the cat, or the rose bush, or my general clumsiness.
My Tumblr’s become far more depressing. Because I am depressed. I am starving myself. I am self-harming. I am contemplating suicide. And no one, no one at all understands. No one except the equally depressed, self-starving, self-harming, suicidal, wonderful people on Tumblr.
It’s like a family. I know that none of us have ever met, that it’s all done around likes, reblogs, and messages, but I love them all.
And I’m wearing my black ribbon today. Love to all who are. If you’re happy with yourself, or happier than I am, at least, you won’t know what it means, this black ribbon on November 30th.
Search it on Tumblr, if you’re that bothered. But you won’t be. Because honestly, does anyone really care about me? About us?
And no matter what you think, the answer will always be no.
Love always,
The Literary Perefticonist

* It’s a Perks of Being a Wallflower reference.

On post schedules

I’m going to post at least two times a week.
Mini Monday – a short post.
Writerly Wednesday – a post about writing.
Swing-By Friday – my roundup of the last week; you can swing by instead of looking at my Tumblr.

Mini Monday: Openings

My new novel starts with the main character being saved from suicide.
Emily Tallow, seventeen. Self-harmer, anorexic, but this is her first suicide attempt.
And I know what she feels like.

On the realms of otherworldly networks

Or – I have a Tumblr. (Is that it? Or do you say, “I am on Tumblr”? Or “I have a Tumblog”? Regardless, I am blogging on Tumblr.)
Tis a fandom blog. All the Potterheads and Wallflowers are Tumbling (Tumblring?), so I decided to jump on the bandwagon. You might see a few textilicious posts there, but for the most part, I shall geeketh.
(Oh, and by the way, this is how I talk online. I normally make an effort to be normal. Well, more normal.)
Of course, I’ll keep blogging here. But you shall see me in the Tumbland (rather than the Pressville) more often.
To Tumblr and beyond,
— The Literary Perefticonist.

On wallflower-ism

Not half an hour ago, I finished The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It’s taken me just under two days. I would’ve been quicker, but a) life interfered and b) it was on my phone in PDF format, and I don’t have my phone 24/7. If you’ve never read it, you need to. It’s incredible. Beg, borrow, or steal a copy and don’t do anything until you’ve finished it. Especially not read this blog post.

I’m sitting typing up this post listening to the Film of the Book’s soundtrack. And I’m wondering why I loved it so much.

I think we all have a bit of Charlie in us. Some more than others.

Me, I’m a wallflower. If I disappeared, no one would notice. And I can relate to Charlie. A lot. But that doesn’t explain why so many other people loved the book.

Charlie gives us wallflowers hope. Hope that we can actually be noticed. Make a difference. Be loved. Because if people love Charlie, surely they can love us.

On tattoo-able quotes

This was a product of a Top Ten post I was planning and the lyrics of a song called No One Does It Better.
“If I were an honest guy/I’d give this world another try.”
I think that would make a pretty cool tattoo. If you were an honest guy, you’d give this world another try. And for the record, as soon as I hit sixteen, I am getting tattooed. Probably not with that, but I. Love. Tattoos. (Remind me of that in a couple years. c:)
So, if I was a) sixteen and b) in a tattoo parlour with money, what would I get?
Expecto Patronum. Possibly with a silver doe.
Titillare dormientem draco, which is “Tickle a sleeping dragon” in Latin and a subverted Harry Potter reference. Because I can.
And so on, a Kurt V quote. And because whatever happens, life goes on.
A purple elephant, because NaNoWriMo will be a part of my life every November, and without the Purple Elephants (look on the Teens forum) I would never have gotten to 50,000.
That’s what she said. Doesn’t make it the truth. Plus, it’s funny.
A moustache on the side of my finger. Because I have a sense of humour.
Mischief Managed. To remind me of that reckless day I got a tattoo. Of all the awesome times the Harry Potter generation – fictional and real – have had.
Mudblood on my inner wrist. My right wrist. The one I write with and wear lots of wristbands over. Take that as you will.