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apollaMy internet was down earlier, so I couldn't get on until after work, which wasn't over till eleven pm. I hate work. I've applied to a job at my old school, of all places, for a Learning Resources Centre (fancy name for library) Assistant. Ah well, I only hated every second i was there. Should be good torture/therapy if I get it.
Managed to trap my thumb between the doors of the fridge (we have one with one door for the bottom half and one for the top) which I think rates up there with the time I burned my arm on the oven door trying to retrieve meatballs. That scar still isn't entirely healed. This new injury means it hurts to hold my pen (is my right thumb) so work was really fucking dull without being able to write much. Still managed an R/Hr ficlet, which I really tried to make so positive but I think it just came out cynical. I think I'm gonna post it at the Cookie Jar to see the reaction it gets. Largely negative I'm sure, but whatever. Would you like to read?
More Than This
If you had told ten year old Hermione Granger that she would one day grow up to marry a red-headed man and have some children, she would have impolitely snorted with laughter and sternly informed you that she was going to be an astronaut.
Had you returned five years later and said the same thing, Hermione would have raised an eyebrow, laughed and told you that she harboured no romantic feelings for any red-head (certainly not Ron, her best friend) and in any case, she was going to be an auror when she left school and would campaign for House-Elf rights on the side.
Twenty-five year old Hermione would not laugh, for it was her reality. She couldn't pinpoint the moment she and Ron became a romantic item and she rather suspected that it had 'just happened'. She had wanted to wait a few years after school before committing to anything, but somehow she got married to her red-headed man six days after her nineteenth birthday. The first child arrived ten months later and by her 25th birthday she had two sons and twin daughters. She occasionally freelanced for the Daily Prophet as a kind of celebrity reporter (the Granger Weasley name meant something, you know) but she had no time to do more.
This is not to say she didn't like her life. She supposed she loved Ron and she supposed she liked staying at home. She knew she was glad that she could spend all her time with Sam (now five), three-year-old David and the not-yet-one Susie and Vicky. Like every mother she sometimes got frustrated with only children for company all day, but she loved them. She got tired doing nothing but washing, cleaning, cooking and chastising, but she loved them anyway, even when they were being devils or throwing up constantly from some virus. She loved to read to them and adored the sparkle in Davy's eyes when Mummy announced it was time for a bedtime story- he just loved hearing about Odysseus.
She didn't really mind how people compared her to her mother-in-law, although it wasn't always favourable. Molly was a role model, Hermione thought, having raised seven children almost single-handedly while Arthur slaved away at the Ministry. What she did mind was being expected to produce babies like she was a sow. What she did mind was being regarded now she was a Weasley wife, of being little else but a cook/cleaner/mother/wife. Her first Prophet piece had been on house-elves but now all they asked her for were housekeeping tips or Weasley family recipes.
Hermione loved her family and she loved the whole mad Weasley clan, but she looked at Harry's bohemian life of travelling, experience and freedom and envied him. She supposed she loved her life, but surely there was more than this?
The End
I'm sure I'll go to Sugar Quill Hell, but I'm sure I'll see a lot of familiar faces. Let me know what you think, guys!
Speaking of fanfic- has anyone else noticed the worrying glut of Sirius' secret daughter fics? I'm sure they're not all raving Mary-Sues, but does it even sound like something good to you? I don't know... maybe I'm too cynical in my old age. Maybe it's that, at 100 degrees here (in Britain! I know! It's a record!) it's too fucking hot for anything. Am going to now write a relevant H/Hr ficlet around a Van Morrison song I've wanted to use for ages.
Love to you all!
Managed to trap my thumb between the doors of the fridge (we have one with one door for the bottom half and one for the top) which I think rates up there with the time I burned my arm on the oven door trying to retrieve meatballs. That scar still isn't entirely healed. This new injury means it hurts to hold my pen (is my right thumb) so work was really fucking dull without being able to write much. Still managed an R/Hr ficlet, which I really tried to make so positive but I think it just came out cynical. I think I'm gonna post it at the Cookie Jar to see the reaction it gets. Largely negative I'm sure, but whatever. Would you like to read?
More Than This
If you had told ten year old Hermione Granger that she would one day grow up to marry a red-headed man and have some children, she would have impolitely snorted with laughter and sternly informed you that she was going to be an astronaut.
Had you returned five years later and said the same thing, Hermione would have raised an eyebrow, laughed and told you that she harboured no romantic feelings for any red-head (certainly not Ron, her best friend) and in any case, she was going to be an auror when she left school and would campaign for House-Elf rights on the side.
Twenty-five year old Hermione would not laugh, for it was her reality. She couldn't pinpoint the moment she and Ron became a romantic item and she rather suspected that it had 'just happened'. She had wanted to wait a few years after school before committing to anything, but somehow she got married to her red-headed man six days after her nineteenth birthday. The first child arrived ten months later and by her 25th birthday she had two sons and twin daughters. She occasionally freelanced for the Daily Prophet as a kind of celebrity reporter (the Granger Weasley name meant something, you know) but she had no time to do more.
This is not to say she didn't like her life. She supposed she loved Ron and she supposed she liked staying at home. She knew she was glad that she could spend all her time with Sam (now five), three-year-old David and the not-yet-one Susie and Vicky. Like every mother she sometimes got frustrated with only children for company all day, but she loved them. She got tired doing nothing but washing, cleaning, cooking and chastising, but she loved them anyway, even when they were being devils or throwing up constantly from some virus. She loved to read to them and adored the sparkle in Davy's eyes when Mummy announced it was time for a bedtime story- he just loved hearing about Odysseus.
She didn't really mind how people compared her to her mother-in-law, although it wasn't always favourable. Molly was a role model, Hermione thought, having raised seven children almost single-handedly while Arthur slaved away at the Ministry. What she did mind was being expected to produce babies like she was a sow. What she did mind was being regarded now she was a Weasley wife, of being little else but a cook/cleaner/mother/wife. Her first Prophet piece had been on house-elves but now all they asked her for were housekeeping tips or Weasley family recipes.
Hermione loved her family and she loved the whole mad Weasley clan, but she looked at Harry's bohemian life of travelling, experience and freedom and envied him. She supposed she loved her life, but surely there was more than this?
The End
I'm sure I'll go to Sugar Quill Hell, but I'm sure I'll see a lot of familiar faces. Let me know what you think, guys!
Speaking of fanfic- has anyone else noticed the worrying glut of Sirius' secret daughter fics? I'm sure they're not all raving Mary-Sues, but does it even sound like something good to you? I don't know... maybe I'm too cynical in my old age. Maybe it's that, at 100 degrees here (in Britain! I know! It's a record!) it's too fucking hot for anything. Am going to now write a relevant H/Hr ficlet around a Van Morrison song I've wanted to use for ages.
Love to you all!
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no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:21 (UTC)Hey my fic (ch. 1) is up on Schnoogle!! I'm bouncing!! and good luck with your job apps. Glomps, Anne U
no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:36 (UTC)Oh, and I've already reviewed!
no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:39 (UTC)Good luck on the job, and I hope your thumb gets better! I also can't wait to read the H/Hr ficlet :-D
*hugs*
~Erin
no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:40 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:43 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:47 (UTC)I didn't know you were an adoptive mama- you should get to talking with my mum some time. She's got the nicest poem somewhere about it all... I'll fish it out for you if you like.
You know something? We were driving through London recently and I recognised the court building where it happened for me and later my brother. I'm 21 years old and I was three when my bro was born. How mad is that, man?
Hugs,
Clare
no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:50 (UTC)Maybe you could ask your mum how long the process took. Email me, mate... We should discuss this somewhere other than on LJ :)
no subject
Date: 2003-08-06 20:51 (UTC)