writing, tv

Today I wrote the second of my three assignments for remixthedrabble and may or may not have finished the third – it's at 100 words but doesn't really feel complete. I'm also fiddling around with an extra ficlet for purimgifts, though I'm not sure if that will come to anything. If I count the unfinished ones, between those two ficathons I've written in seven different fandoms, three of which I'd never written in before. So that has been a lot of fun, as has writing mostly about female characters.

But where is my Frodo writing mojo? How the heck am I going to write my fic for the Frolijah exchange (and get it betaed!) in the next nine days? I reread a few pages of LotR this afternoon and will read some more later to get some canon details and try to get into the spirit of things, but I really am anxious about this one, even though I have a great assignment.

Meanwhile, I've made my way through most of season three of Doctor Who with Netflix DVDs. It's probably my favorite season so far since I like both the Tenth Doctor and Martha so much, and yet lately whenever I'm watching it I find myself wishing I were watching Torchwood instead. Dude, I'm so sick of the Daleks! Doctor Who stories in general just don't interest me as much as the Torchwood ones. And it's not just the sex. I mean, yeah, the sex and kissing and such on Torchwood is awesome, but it's also the darkness of it. Not the gore (I wish Torchwood had less gore!), but the, I don't know, heart of darkness. This feeling not just that the characters' lives are incomplete but that they always will be, that they don't even know what they're looking for. I watched a lot of Torchwood last weekend and now I think I've seen almost all the episodes that have aired on BBC America, everything through "A Day in the Death" except for "Reset" (because there was a mistake with the recording information).