personal epiphanies of the less uplifting variety

[truepenny]

I came to the lowering realization today that if I were put in a quest fantasy, I would not be the Plucky Farmgirl or the Hard-Bitten Mercenary (Starhawk FTW, in case you were wondering). No, I would be the Whiny Princess, courtesy of the AGONIZING FOOT CRAMPS caused by the tendinitis in my feet whenever I do something radical like, say, exercise.* My feet believe my purpose in life is to lie on a divan and eat bonbons. See? Whiny Princess, unmistakably. I figure my best hope is to get into a modern quest fantasy with a slightly pomo sensibility, and then maybe I can upgrade to Hapless Scholar. Where, you know, I'll still be a lead albatross around the party's neck, but at least I'll apologize for it. And perhaps be able to provide useful trivia to further the plot as well.

ETA: Also, as the Hapless Scholar, I will not be inexorably forced to marry the protagonist. Which is a bonus.

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*I admit, the foot cramps are not quite as awful in the privacy of my own home instead of, oh, halfway up a wall at a climbing gym in Michigan with matociquala on the other end of the rope wondering wtf is wrong with Mole NOW. But that's a variable of situation, not of the Platonic ideal of Cramp my feet are endeavoring to achieve.

Comments

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

I think my fate depends on how the author views people who are domestic. If domestic people must be plump and cheerful and illiterate, I am doomed as well. But I might get to be Nice Baker Who Supplies Party Briefly if Hapless Scholar is already taken. If the author doesn't have preconceptions about the shape and literacy of Nice Bakers.