Fuzzy Fish

TTTO "rich fantasy lives" by Tom Smith and Rob Balder:

That guy in the store,
Buying yarn by the score
With a fever that I think that we know
With his hunched look of guilt;
There's a half-finished quilt
In his bag, and three skeins of merino.

As he unpacks his order,
Which he can't afford,
He'll sigh, feeling worn and defeated.
And the walls of the room
Strain to hold spindles, looms,
And projects that won't be completed

Poor impulse control
When fiber craft calls, he is held in its thrall.
Half-finished tapestries, unravelled shawls,
Speak of poor impulse control.

The QA you hear frown
From three cubicles down
Has scrolled now for two solid hours
She tried not to be grabbed –
But a (1) in the tab
Is holding her under its power.

It sings her a song
Of some guy who is wrong
On the net and must now be corrected.
She will close the tab, then
Have it open again
In a span of time barely detected.

Poor impulse control
She tries not to fall into feeding the trolls.
Her emails unread while the net takes its toll
Of her poor impulse control.

We do what we can
But whatever we plan
There's nothing but chaos behind it
The brains we have got
More often than not
Will grab onto joy where they find it

So don't be unkind
To your struggling mind;
Work with what you have, not against it.
Take care of yourselves
And make room on your shelves
For the days when your resolve is tested…

Poor impulse control
We need to feel whole in our spirit and soul
And sometimes that means extra cinnamon rolls
Poor impulse control

To the tune of "Nuts from the Hazel Tree" by Echo's Children

Recording from OVFF 2019

When I was young I used to look for fanfic on the net
Geocities, long disclaimers, terms that I forget
Browsing with a mighty greed
Now we can fulfil our need
n00b and BNF both read
Smut on the AO3

Websites, they take away
Fic in fandoms small and random.
Now our gay fanfic stays!
Smut on the AO3

I used to post on FF.N, but then they banned my fic.
LJ had the Strikethru and cut writers to the quick.
We’re no longer here alone
With the Archive of Our Own
We can write how werewolves bone
Smut on the AO3

Advertizers pay good cash for websites with good hits.
Free sites sell your information, every single bit.
For the servers we must pay.
If you can, donate today!
Let nobody take away
Smut on the AO3

I come to feast my eyes upon the wealth of written word
Now and then a vid is viewed, or podfics can be heard
Everybody now can give
Work that is transformative
Where in peace our slash can live –
Smut on the AO3

(To the tune of “The Boxer” by Simon and Garfunkel)

I am just a fangirl, and my story’s seldom told,
I have squandered all my hours
On a kindleful of yaoi, such are interwebz:
All cats and porn. Still, a girl reads what she wants to read
And other things she scorns.

When i wrote and published a WIP, i was no more than a n00b
In the company of ficcers,
In the silence of that comment section, no one wrote.
Waiting still, i would prowl the realms of LJ, seek the kink memes with a will,
Hunting for the new prompts waiting to be filled.

Asking only for some comments, I went posting up a fic,
but I got no feedback,
Just a “come review my game” from spammer viruses.
And as you’d think, there were times
when I was desperate enough to click that link.

Now I look at all my working drafts, and I’m wishing I was done, signing off
Where the cruel anons that bug me will not yell at me
Telling me
Delete your blog

In the forum stands a fangirl and a writer by her trade
and she carries the reminder of every concrit written in a comment till she cried out,
in her anger and her shame,
“I’M DELETING! I’M DELETING!“
but the orphaned fic remains