Maybe that's because Emilie loves, loves, loves bagpipe music. I remember thinking that she might while I was pregnant, and again during those early, insane months when she would stop crying to listen. All suspicions are now confirmed. The girl stops what she's doing, and grins when the pipes come on. And, oh boy, is that ever cute! She loves the sound of the pipes, but she also loves the accompanying drumming--well, the drumming as found in the music of The Wicked Tinkers. She is fascinated with rhythm and drumming of all kinds, now. (Go Em!) I can amuse her for almost a half hour by simply drumming my hands on my jeans. (She touches my jeans, but can't figure out how to make the slappy sound yet.)
I'm nearly done with the last fanfic story. I'm annoyed with myself for not having finished it already--but life intruded with graduation and family craziness. I'm to the end of the fic, now, where the fluff comes. This might be the favorite part for some writers, but I dread writing fluff. I wish I could say that I dread writing it because I love reading it so well (which I do!!)
Alas, emotionally, I'm about twelve when it comes to this sort of thing. When mushy scenes came onscreen when we were children, my brother would leap behind the couch and make farting noises with his armpits. Similarly, when I come to a "mushy" scene in my writing, even if the scene only hints at mush-to-come, I'm leaping behind the couch...
Dang. I wish I could make farting noises with my armpits.
::sigh:: Some people are just way, way more talented than me. :P