I just signed up for hp_springsmut. It probably puts me on the 'accelerating across the horizon of the valley of the insane' side of bonkers, but what hey, Mr Spoon.
I'm actually not too bad with the old deadlines, though. I have both my slashfest fics finished *waves guiltily to kabeyk, 'cause it actually is 20,800 words ...* and I have only 10,000 words to go for big_bang_hd. Judging by this weekend's vomiting bug of creativity (six thousand words in four hours, two nights running? Well, the quality will show. I mean, what quality?), I'll be able to churn out something.
(I really want purty art, see. Only reason I'm doing it at all, because we -- me and Bert, whatever the hell my muse is called -- long since realised we can't plot for toffee.)
Not to mention another I have another article due for the newspaper; this shall be about obesity, because I said so. How long I can keep up writing a thousand-word, non-fic piece of shlock every fortnight is anyone's guess,but I might as well aim for the impossible, eh? (It's name is Eoin ... snh, snh, snh.)
I shall blame spectacular if my head actually implodes. But then again, maybe not, as I'd be dead. (Trust me, I know. I'm a sort-of doctor.)
ETA: Is so unfair I can't find Out of Range in HMV or Virgin, and am reduced to listening to it on the playlist of someone who actually calls themself 'the Honorary Canadian.' It's enough to make you stop believing in god, if you did.