Oh, my children, it is that time again. Yes, that time. The end of November, which is naturally followed by the beginning of December.
That's right, my children. It's time for another Impossible Project.
The goal is for me to write one piece of short fiction (fan, original, or otherwise) or poetry every day until the end of the year. Thing is, last year I was riding the high from having just discovered Naruto and Death Note- and both those series were going through some mighty high times (do I even need to mention how much of an impact the Kakashi Gaiden had on me, or can I just mime stabbing myself in the eye?).
Now, however, I get no inspiration from Naruto- I still haven't forgiven Kishimoto for his poor pacing in the latest arc, and I'm really not feeling Sai. I haven't looked at Death Note since chapter 58. Bleach gives me nothing; I don't follow anything else with any sort of regularity.
So this is where I beg for recs and requests: recs can include anything from music to manga to fic to shiny art, and requests can include absolutely anything, from anyone. Dun care if you're just a random person floating out in the internet and you happen to see this 'cuz you mistakenly clicked the blog while looking for naruto porn (that's my most common search engine query now; it used to be fat girls. What is this world coming to?), anyone can make a request, at any point between now and the end of the year.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Sunday, November 27, 2005
For 'Drakos: Thirty Five *Million* Apologies For This Travesty
Er. Happy Birthday, vaguely belated? (You have a real gift that isn't a poorly done drabble, but I'm just a bum about most things, like punctuality and post offices.)
The Wacky Adventures of Theron and Drake, Part III!
or
Brenon Hates His Job, Sometimes, and So Does Finbar
or
...yeah, I got nothin'.
------------
"I like him," Theron slurred into Bren's shoulder.
Brenon rolled his eyes. "No, you don't. You don't like anyone, remember?"
"Oh. Right." Theron let himself be rearranged into a position that was easier to carry; he was completely shitfaced, and reeked of alcohol, ashes, and gravedirt. Bren was glad he didn't know the details of his friend's night out. He was fairly sure he'd be reading about them in the morning paper, anyway. "I forgot."
"I know you did; if you hadn't, I wouldn't have had to post bail on you and your new friend. How's yours?" He turned to Finbar, who had a semi-comatose Drake draped over him.
Finbar gave his companion a disgusted look. "He's not really that drunk; he's just using this as an excuse to grope me. I'd drown him, but I don't feel like getting my clothes wet."
"Er. Switch? Theron's harmless when he's this smashed, I promise."
Finbar dropped Drake so quickly the other man almost cracked his skull on the pavement. Brenon handed off Theron, who muttered something about bats and tuna fish, and picked up the necromancer.
"Mmm, Scandinavian farmhand. Now the boy's safe, but what about you?" Brenon twitched as Drake spoke in his ear.
"Married." He could feel a pair of hands wandering in places they shouldn't have been able to reach, given the way Drake was slung over his shoulder.
"So?"
"Most people don't find clinical insanity attractive," Finbar muttered.
"Just because you don't..."
This was a little ridiculous. He was starting to feel definite sympathy for Finbar; at least Theron had never picked up on the concept of flirting. "Hold on a minute, please." Bren propped Drake up against a wall and ignored the drunken leer the other man gave him. "This'll only take a second. I do this to Mordant all the time; I only wish it worked on Theron."
He pulled a few threads of earth out of the air and looped them into a loose Weave. He tied the ends off with a few threads of air and slapped the whole construction over Drake's mouth. "There! Now behave yourself, or I'll do it to your hands, too, and if you really annoy me, I'll fix your pants so you won't be able to take them off for a week."
Drake tried to open his mouth, but the threads stretched and snapped it shut.
Finbar gave him a curious look as he picked up Drake again. "Magicrafting," he explained. "Arcanists and mages never see it coming." Chances were Drake would figure out how to unravel the gag eventually, but it would hopefully keep him quiet and occupied until they got back to the shop.
The rest of the journey passed in relative peace, aside from the times Finbar had to kick Drake for making insinuating noises through the gag.
The Wacky Adventures of Theron and Drake, Part III!
or
Brenon Hates His Job, Sometimes, and So Does Finbar
or
...yeah, I got nothin'.
------------
"I like him," Theron slurred into Bren's shoulder.
Brenon rolled his eyes. "No, you don't. You don't like anyone, remember?"
"Oh. Right." Theron let himself be rearranged into a position that was easier to carry; he was completely shitfaced, and reeked of alcohol, ashes, and gravedirt. Bren was glad he didn't know the details of his friend's night out. He was fairly sure he'd be reading about them in the morning paper, anyway. "I forgot."
"I know you did; if you hadn't, I wouldn't have had to post bail on you and your new friend. How's yours?" He turned to Finbar, who had a semi-comatose Drake draped over him.
Finbar gave his companion a disgusted look. "He's not really that drunk; he's just using this as an excuse to grope me. I'd drown him, but I don't feel like getting my clothes wet."
"Er. Switch? Theron's harmless when he's this smashed, I promise."
Finbar dropped Drake so quickly the other man almost cracked his skull on the pavement. Brenon handed off Theron, who muttered something about bats and tuna fish, and picked up the necromancer.
"Mmm, Scandinavian farmhand. Now the boy's safe, but what about you?" Brenon twitched as Drake spoke in his ear.
"Married." He could feel a pair of hands wandering in places they shouldn't have been able to reach, given the way Drake was slung over his shoulder.
"So?"
"Most people don't find clinical insanity attractive," Finbar muttered.
"Just because you don't..."
This was a little ridiculous. He was starting to feel definite sympathy for Finbar; at least Theron had never picked up on the concept of flirting. "Hold on a minute, please." Bren propped Drake up against a wall and ignored the drunken leer the other man gave him. "This'll only take a second. I do this to Mordant all the time; I only wish it worked on Theron."
He pulled a few threads of earth out of the air and looped them into a loose Weave. He tied the ends off with a few threads of air and slapped the whole construction over Drake's mouth. "There! Now behave yourself, or I'll do it to your hands, too, and if you really annoy me, I'll fix your pants so you won't be able to take them off for a week."
Drake tried to open his mouth, but the threads stretched and snapped it shut.
Finbar gave him a curious look as he picked up Drake again. "Magicrafting," he explained. "Arcanists and mages never see it coming." Chances were Drake would figure out how to unravel the gag eventually, but it would hopefully keep him quiet and occupied until they got back to the shop.
The rest of the journey passed in relative peace, aside from the times Finbar had to kick Drake for making insinuating noises through the gag.
Friday, November 25, 2005
fandom thoughts- omigodwank.
In a fit of nostalgia, I decided to rant a bit and spew obnoxious generalizations for a while while asking questions I don't ever intend to answer.
How do you measure the expiration date of a fandom? When the source material is x years old? When the population hits critical mass at y number of people? Is it different for one-shot sources (movies, games) versus ongoing sources (tv shows, comics)? Is it a point of no return, or is there hope?
I'm measuring the quality of a fandom by the quality of the fic it puts out; I rarely invovle myself in fandom politics or discussions, so I can't actually judge them, and therefore can't really present an accurate picture. People can still have heated discussions over the real meaning behind the hug between Sirius and Remus long after the Harry Potter fandom expires. (Actually, I refuse to touch Harry Potter with a twenty foot pole, because that's a sociology study in and of itself- and, eeew, social sciences.)
Fandoms tend to have Golden Ages, when the fic is amazing, the discussion is thought provoking, and the BNFs are polite, sensible, and intelligent. We saw this seven years ago in Final Fantasy VII, with people like The Captain, Second Impact, Salah, and the Technomancy crew being involved; we saw it a year and a half ago in Naruto, with Rondaview, Suzukiblu, and The Beach writers; it's going on right now in Stargate Atlantis, with Rageprufrock and Shallot.
Is the quality of a fandom determined by its Big Names? Have those fandoms that have expired reached that point because a few key people lost interest and moved on? One could argue that Naruto has gone downhill because of the dub and the influx of new idiots, but I figured things were getting dodgy when it became clear that Silvaren was never finishing "At the End of All Things." Sure, new BNFs crop up all the time, they're a bit like daisies, cockroaches, and termites- but the priorities are different. Fandom is no longer a brave new world of ideas; it's a vicious struggle to find some new spin on an old concept. After that initial burst of creative energy from people who are there in the beginning- the people who build the fanon, and work out of what is essentially a creative void- what's left? Why is it that when those people leave, nothing ever has quite the same oomph to it? If I were more of a twit, I'd make references to the inner poetry of things, but I try to avoid being a twit when I can help it.
It's not that you can't find quality fic or discussions in expired fandoms- because you can, you just have to look a little harder. But there's a shift in attitude that I feel is very marked and really quite fascinating. At the same time, it also makes me quite sad; the Golden Age is an exciting time to be following a fandom, and once it's over, it's done. No more chats with Ramus or Christmas carols, no more crazy beach town AUs or three hundred words of poetry and insight, no more speculative relationship disasters and tales of exploration.
You can't even find Second Impact's fic anymore: a whole generation of fans is gone because the internet is such a transient place, because fandoms no longer orbit around systems of personal websites, fic archives, and message boards. If you search long enough, you'll find some of those old archives, but not in the same number as they once existed. The whole phenomenon has moved away from Geocities to Livejournal, where things are less personal and more about the mob mentality.
That's a rant for another day, I suppose, and less a rant than a discussion debating the merits of poor html layouts that all look the same versus livejournal layouts that all look the same.
In conclusion, pirates, and also, I love the internet. (You thought I was going to say ninja, didn't you?)
How do you measure the expiration date of a fandom? When the source material is x years old? When the population hits critical mass at y number of people? Is it different for one-shot sources (movies, games) versus ongoing sources (tv shows, comics)? Is it a point of no return, or is there hope?
I'm measuring the quality of a fandom by the quality of the fic it puts out; I rarely invovle myself in fandom politics or discussions, so I can't actually judge them, and therefore can't really present an accurate picture. People can still have heated discussions over the real meaning behind the hug between Sirius and Remus long after the Harry Potter fandom expires. (Actually, I refuse to touch Harry Potter with a twenty foot pole, because that's a sociology study in and of itself- and, eeew, social sciences.)
Fandoms tend to have Golden Ages, when the fic is amazing, the discussion is thought provoking, and the BNFs are polite, sensible, and intelligent. We saw this seven years ago in Final Fantasy VII, with people like The Captain, Second Impact, Salah, and the Technomancy crew being involved; we saw it a year and a half ago in Naruto, with Rondaview, Suzukiblu, and The Beach writers; it's going on right now in Stargate Atlantis, with Rageprufrock and Shallot.
Is the quality of a fandom determined by its Big Names? Have those fandoms that have expired reached that point because a few key people lost interest and moved on? One could argue that Naruto has gone downhill because of the dub and the influx of new idiots, but I figured things were getting dodgy when it became clear that Silvaren was never finishing "At the End of All Things." Sure, new BNFs crop up all the time, they're a bit like daisies, cockroaches, and termites- but the priorities are different. Fandom is no longer a brave new world of ideas; it's a vicious struggle to find some new spin on an old concept. After that initial burst of creative energy from people who are there in the beginning- the people who build the fanon, and work out of what is essentially a creative void- what's left? Why is it that when those people leave, nothing ever has quite the same oomph to it? If I were more of a twit, I'd make references to the inner poetry of things, but I try to avoid being a twit when I can help it.
It's not that you can't find quality fic or discussions in expired fandoms- because you can, you just have to look a little harder. But there's a shift in attitude that I feel is very marked and really quite fascinating. At the same time, it also makes me quite sad; the Golden Age is an exciting time to be following a fandom, and once it's over, it's done. No more chats with Ramus or Christmas carols, no more crazy beach town AUs or three hundred words of poetry and insight, no more speculative relationship disasters and tales of exploration.
You can't even find Second Impact's fic anymore: a whole generation of fans is gone because the internet is such a transient place, because fandoms no longer orbit around systems of personal websites, fic archives, and message boards. If you search long enough, you'll find some of those old archives, but not in the same number as they once existed. The whole phenomenon has moved away from Geocities to Livejournal, where things are less personal and more about the mob mentality.
That's a rant for another day, I suppose, and less a rant than a discussion debating the merits of poor html layouts that all look the same versus livejournal layouts that all look the same.
In conclusion, pirates, and also, I love the internet. (You thought I was going to say ninja, didn't you?)
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Latest chapters o' Naruto and Bleach; squee
Finally catching up on the manga; finally actually read 282.
Oh, Shino. I knew I loved you for a reason. "I see you didn't have any trouble recognizing Hinata...Naruto..." *dies* I do so love the peripheral characters; Kiba's utter obliviousness fills me with joy. (284: Ino. Ino. Sweet Chrisy, Team 10 is the hottest thing since halogen lamps. Ino has hips now. Guh. And Chouji's awesome out awesomes just about everything (except Shino's thug coat, because that thing rocks hardcore). *starts planning drabbles for December*)
Don't much care about Sai; Naruto as a series really doesn't need androgenous boys in crop tops.
And as for the end of the Gaara arc- oh, man. Naruto's awkwardness when saying goodbye broke my heart. Gaara has come so far since the chuunin exams. I'm a little sad that his part in the story is over now; his conflicts have all been resolved, and it's unlikely he'll have very much more screentime in future chapters. (I suppose it's possible he'll seek revenge against Akatsuki for yoinking his demon, but it's not especially probable.)
It was a little startling to see how tiny Gaara is; Naruto is taller than him, and his siblings practically tower over him (Temari + short skirt + strappy sandals = mmmlegs!). I suppose it does make sense that Gaara would be on the short side, though. He's been sleep deprived his entire life, and that does tend to stunt growth and development. Naruto will probably never be particularly tall, what with the poor nutrition that comes of living on ramen. If Sasuke is taller than Naruto, I'll be upset; he should follow in Itachi's footsteps and stay bitsy. (He should shrink! Height is directly related to emotional maturity!)
Last thoughts about Naruto- since when is Shizune secretly evil? Cut that shit out, Kishimoto. Seriously.
I need to find a better way of monitoring chapter releases so I can stay on top of things; the same thing applies to Bleach, where the thug love is so immense and mighty, it threatens to explode my head.
Ikkaku and Yumichika are getting screentime, and this makes me wildly happy. I adore everything about them: from Ikkaku's shiny bald head to Yumichika's amazingly gay sweater. Chapter 203 is full of Ikkaku fighting and Yumi looking hot and masculine; there's something about the way Ikkaku casually spits out two molars that's amazingly, incredibly hot. *loves all over Bleach*
As for chapter 204- my general reaction to Ikkaku is "Oh, holy fuck YES," because there's nothing sexier than a bald, shirtless, bloody man grinning like a maniac and shouting in single kanji. (The kanji for ban-kai, by the way, is very, very pretty.) I need to make about a dozen Ikkaku icons now. Not sure what I'll do with them, but they need to be made.
The latest chapters have also redeemed Rukia in my eyes; Shirayuki is an awesome zanpakutou, and I hope Rukia eventually gets her Ban Kai so we can all see that it's true form is actually an adorable bunny. An adorable bunny with sharp, nasty teeth! (The latest chapters also reinforce my apathy towards Byakuya; he's irritating, and needs to be smacked.)
Ichigo is being an ass (you don't say shit like that to Chad, fuckwit), but the side characters more than make up for his current worthlessness. (Rangiku/Orihime fanservice= boobtastic!love. Hitsugaya=tiny!grumpy!love!) And Aizen now looks so much like Seymour of FFX, it's disturbing. But the way the Arrankar are all numbered in Spanish? Fuckin' awesome. Just- fuckin' awesome. I love this manga to pieces. (Want to cosplay as Ulquiorra like whoa. Like what? Like whoa.)
Oh, Shino. I knew I loved you for a reason. "I see you didn't have any trouble recognizing Hinata...Naruto..." *dies* I do so love the peripheral characters; Kiba's utter obliviousness fills me with joy. (284: Ino. Ino. Sweet Chrisy, Team 10 is the hottest thing since halogen lamps. Ino has hips now. Guh. And Chouji's awesome out awesomes just about everything (except Shino's thug coat, because that thing rocks hardcore). *starts planning drabbles for December*)
Don't much care about Sai; Naruto as a series really doesn't need androgenous boys in crop tops.
And as for the end of the Gaara arc- oh, man. Naruto's awkwardness when saying goodbye broke my heart. Gaara has come so far since the chuunin exams. I'm a little sad that his part in the story is over now; his conflicts have all been resolved, and it's unlikely he'll have very much more screentime in future chapters. (I suppose it's possible he'll seek revenge against Akatsuki for yoinking his demon, but it's not especially probable.)
It was a little startling to see how tiny Gaara is; Naruto is taller than him, and his siblings practically tower over him (Temari + short skirt + strappy sandals = mmmlegs!). I suppose it does make sense that Gaara would be on the short side, though. He's been sleep deprived his entire life, and that does tend to stunt growth and development. Naruto will probably never be particularly tall, what with the poor nutrition that comes of living on ramen. If Sasuke is taller than Naruto, I'll be upset; he should follow in Itachi's footsteps and stay bitsy. (He should shrink! Height is directly related to emotional maturity!)
Last thoughts about Naruto- since when is Shizune secretly evil? Cut that shit out, Kishimoto. Seriously.
I need to find a better way of monitoring chapter releases so I can stay on top of things; the same thing applies to Bleach, where the thug love is so immense and mighty, it threatens to explode my head.
Ikkaku and Yumichika are getting screentime, and this makes me wildly happy. I adore everything about them: from Ikkaku's shiny bald head to Yumichika's amazingly gay sweater. Chapter 203 is full of Ikkaku fighting and Yumi looking hot and masculine; there's something about the way Ikkaku casually spits out two molars that's amazingly, incredibly hot. *loves all over Bleach*
As for chapter 204- my general reaction to Ikkaku is "Oh, holy fuck YES," because there's nothing sexier than a bald, shirtless, bloody man grinning like a maniac and shouting in single kanji. (The kanji for ban-kai, by the way, is very, very pretty.) I need to make about a dozen Ikkaku icons now. Not sure what I'll do with them, but they need to be made.
The latest chapters have also redeemed Rukia in my eyes; Shirayuki is an awesome zanpakutou, and I hope Rukia eventually gets her Ban Kai so we can all see that it's true form is actually an adorable bunny. An adorable bunny with sharp, nasty teeth! (The latest chapters also reinforce my apathy towards Byakuya; he's irritating, and needs to be smacked.)
Ichigo is being an ass (you don't say shit like that to Chad, fuckwit), but the side characters more than make up for his current worthlessness. (Rangiku/Orihime fanservice= boobtastic!love. Hitsugaya=tiny!grumpy!love!) And Aizen now looks so much like Seymour of FFX, it's disturbing. But the way the Arrankar are all numbered in Spanish? Fuckin' awesome. Just- fuckin' awesome. I love this manga to pieces. (Want to cosplay as Ulquiorra like whoa. Like what? Like whoa.)
Monday, November 14, 2005
Revel in the songs that he sings. (Spammy whining)
Rarr, hiss. Stupid spotty wireless ate my last post; it was fairly pointless, though. The updated versions of the sandcest miniseries are up at Ficwad. Check 'em: Paint, Soft, Control. They're also posted to the sandcest lj community; I'm debating whether or not to post them to ff.net, and if so, whether or not to post them separately or as chapters of a single unit. (The Kankurou one is still too wordy, and I'm pretty sure I lifted whole sections of it word-for-word from somewhere else. I just can't remember where; if anyone has any idea who I'm plagiarizing, let me know so I can stab myself in the head.)
There was also some Blindsided idiocy that got eaten, but it wasn't especially entertaining or important.
I swear I'll work on chapter five eventually, just...not now. January, January is when I'll get lots of writing done. I'll be home (except when I'm in Japan, maybe), and that will make everything so much better.
Homesickness kills me sometimes (all the time), and November is a bad time to be alive.
I've given up on NaNoWriMo much earlier this year than any year previous; I think I made it to five thousand words, and then everything fell apart. I was doing so well the first week, too- but then, kersplat. I can't focus on things anymore.
Possibly my current state of mind is coloring my self perception; I spent twenty one consecutive hours in the science building over the course of yesterday and today, doing my lab write ups and creative writing assignment. Didn't get out of class 'til 4; took a two hour nap then, and have been hovering on this side of catatonic-from-exhaustion since.
...Winamp, you cracktastic little bitch. You're set to shuffle, damnit. Tracks 9, 10, and 11 are currently Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek," Lamb's "Gabriel," and Low's "That's How You Sing Amazing Grace." Winamp just went from "Hide and Seek" to "Amazing Grace," to "Gabriel." For anyone not familiar with my cannibalized playlist, those are quite possibly three of the most depressing songs on the planet.
Fuck, I need sleep.
There was also some Blindsided idiocy that got eaten, but it wasn't especially entertaining or important.
I swear I'll work on chapter five eventually, just...not now. January, January is when I'll get lots of writing done. I'll be home (except when I'm in Japan, maybe), and that will make everything so much better.
Homesickness kills me sometimes (all the time), and November is a bad time to be alive.
I've given up on NaNoWriMo much earlier this year than any year previous; I think I made it to five thousand words, and then everything fell apart. I was doing so well the first week, too- but then, kersplat. I can't focus on things anymore.
Possibly my current state of mind is coloring my self perception; I spent twenty one consecutive hours in the science building over the course of yesterday and today, doing my lab write ups and creative writing assignment. Didn't get out of class 'til 4; took a two hour nap then, and have been hovering on this side of catatonic-from-exhaustion since.
...Winamp, you cracktastic little bitch. You're set to shuffle, damnit. Tracks 9, 10, and 11 are currently Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek," Lamb's "Gabriel," and Low's "That's How You Sing Amazing Grace." Winamp just went from "Hide and Seek" to "Amazing Grace," to "Gabriel." For anyone not familiar with my cannibalized playlist, those are quite possibly three of the most depressing songs on the planet.
Fuck, I need sleep.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
incoherent ranting about smut!
Argh. Insert rant on bad sex scenes ruining absolutely wonderful stories here.
It's not even the really awful ones that bother me- generally you can tell if a story is going to turn into a magical-sparkles-and-cherry-blossoms affair long before you actually get to that point. It's when the scene is grammatically correct and anatomically plausible, but the characters are completely wooden (and not in a good way, pun intended, har har) that really gets to me. It's like the removal of pants also includes the removal of any other defining characteristics and mannerisms.
So you think you're ready to write your own smut. You've read all the angry posts on fanfic rants about sex and you know better than to use a d20 to determine penis size (Renegades, I'm looking at you). You've read up on all of Minotaur's slash tutorials, you know what lube is, and you can tell the difference between "prostate" and "prostrate" at fifty paces. You've looked at diagrams, you've read lots of "good" fic. Great. Excellent.
But fandom is a lot like that persistent yet clueless boy who keeps trying to get into your pants. Please remember that in fanfic, just like in real life, you don't have to go all the way on the first date. It's okay to fumble around in the back row at the movies a few times before you get past third base.
...I think I may have lost track of my metaphor. Anyway. It's late and I'm tired, and this post is going to do all sorts of crazy things to my search engine queries. All I'm saying is, if your sex scene reads like a fill-in-the-blanks essay, you're doing something wrong. It shouldn't be boring, and it shouldn't be just like the last ten fics I read. A little variety and creativity would be nice, but if we're ultimately engaging in this pasttime for the characters, then it isn't going to matter how creative your sex is if you lose track of the participants along the way.
Not every get-together fic has to culminate in steamy, formulaic, penetrative sex. All virgins are not created equal. Reading fanfic doesn't actually count as research. (Yeah, I know, sorry.) Your characters' issues, neuroses, habits, and quirks don't go away just because they're experiencing some sexual healing. If your characters aren't at a point in their relationship where they should be comfortable having sex, don't force them into it. If you aren't at a point where you're comfortable writing sex, don't force yourself into it. You and your persistently clueless boyfriend will be happier in the long run if you wait until everyone's ready, I promise.
...Okay, the asshats in fandom probably won't be happier, but they're free to read about magical sparkles and cherry blossoms 'til their heads explode in showers of shoujo goop. (Hey, if fandom is your clingy boyfriend, that would make the asshats kind of like herpes. Huh. All the more reason to put off spending the night in the back seat of his Volkswagen.)
That's it, I'm so going to bed.
It's not even the really awful ones that bother me- generally you can tell if a story is going to turn into a magical-sparkles-and-cherry-blossoms affair long before you actually get to that point. It's when the scene is grammatically correct and anatomically plausible, but the characters are completely wooden (and not in a good way, pun intended, har har) that really gets to me. It's like the removal of pants also includes the removal of any other defining characteristics and mannerisms.
So you think you're ready to write your own smut. You've read all the angry posts on fanfic rants about sex and you know better than to use a d20 to determine penis size (Renegades, I'm looking at you). You've read up on all of Minotaur's slash tutorials, you know what lube is, and you can tell the difference between "prostate" and "prostrate" at fifty paces. You've looked at diagrams, you've read lots of "good" fic. Great. Excellent.
But fandom is a lot like that persistent yet clueless boy who keeps trying to get into your pants. Please remember that in fanfic, just like in real life, you don't have to go all the way on the first date. It's okay to fumble around in the back row at the movies a few times before you get past third base.
...I think I may have lost track of my metaphor. Anyway. It's late and I'm tired, and this post is going to do all sorts of crazy things to my search engine queries. All I'm saying is, if your sex scene reads like a fill-in-the-blanks essay, you're doing something wrong. It shouldn't be boring, and it shouldn't be just like the last ten fics I read. A little variety and creativity would be nice, but if we're ultimately engaging in this pasttime for the characters, then it isn't going to matter how creative your sex is if you lose track of the participants along the way.
Not every get-together fic has to culminate in steamy, formulaic, penetrative sex. All virgins are not created equal. Reading fanfic doesn't actually count as research. (Yeah, I know, sorry.) Your characters' issues, neuroses, habits, and quirks don't go away just because they're experiencing some sexual healing. If your characters aren't at a point in their relationship where they should be comfortable having sex, don't force them into it. If you aren't at a point where you're comfortable writing sex, don't force yourself into it. You and your persistently clueless boyfriend will be happier in the long run if you wait until everyone's ready, I promise.
...Okay, the asshats in fandom probably won't be happier, but they're free to read about magical sparkles and cherry blossoms 'til their heads explode in showers of shoujo goop. (Hey, if fandom is your clingy boyfriend, that would make the asshats kind of like herpes. Huh. All the more reason to put off spending the night in the back seat of his Volkswagen.)
That's it, I'm so going to bed.
Monday, November 07, 2005
"Control" Kankurou/Gaara
I think it would help if I weren't so dehydrated my eyeballs are threatening to secede from my skull holes. o_0
I dislike this Kankurou; he's rather creepy. On the other hand, I like the idea of this Kankurou- I just can't stand the way I wrote him. But now all I have to do is edit each fragment and the series will be done- and by "each fragment," I mean "this one," since the other two are in a place that almost makes me happy. It's been so bloody long since I finished anything; this will be an enormous relief.
--------
"Control"
The slightest twitch of his fingers sends a puppet spinning into a wild jig. When he severs its strings with a thought, the puppet falls to the ground, lifeless.
Kankurou knows that power is not a matter of strength; that is a lesson he learned well upon his father's death. Let his siblings wield brute force with impunity; he much prefers the subtle play of chakra at his fingertips to the crunch of bone beneath a wave of wind or sand.
He revels in making his puppets dance, revels in the absolute control he holds over their actions. That is real power- let Gaara be Kazekage, with the strength of a monster. Kankurou knows how to pull strings and, in the village of Hidden Sand, that knowledge is more valuable than the strength of ten thousand demons.
And Kankurou knows which strings to pull- he knows that his brother never learned to differentiate between love, lust, hatred, and need. He knows that Gaara desperately wants proof that he is loved, that his precious people are not afraid of him.
With this knowledge comes the ability to make Gaara arch and writhe and moan, just like a pretty little puppet, all pale skin and long limbs. He collapses just like a marrionette, too, falling back against the mattress in a tangle of shivering limbs.
He should feel ashamed for taking advantage of the one crack in his brother's impenetrable defense, but it gives him that most precious commodity- control. Control over the Kazekage, and control over the village. It's just so easy- and Kankurou has no need to fear Gaara now, so there is at least some honesty in his actions.
After all, no one notices the puppeteer- least of all the puppet.
-------
The need to edit, it is like burning.
I dislike this Kankurou; he's rather creepy. On the other hand, I like the idea of this Kankurou- I just can't stand the way I wrote him. But now all I have to do is edit each fragment and the series will be done- and by "each fragment," I mean "this one," since the other two are in a place that almost makes me happy. It's been so bloody long since I finished anything; this will be an enormous relief.
--------
"Control"
The slightest twitch of his fingers sends a puppet spinning into a wild jig. When he severs its strings with a thought, the puppet falls to the ground, lifeless.
Kankurou knows that power is not a matter of strength; that is a lesson he learned well upon his father's death. Let his siblings wield brute force with impunity; he much prefers the subtle play of chakra at his fingertips to the crunch of bone beneath a wave of wind or sand.
He revels in making his puppets dance, revels in the absolute control he holds over their actions. That is real power- let Gaara be Kazekage, with the strength of a monster. Kankurou knows how to pull strings and, in the village of Hidden Sand, that knowledge is more valuable than the strength of ten thousand demons.
And Kankurou knows which strings to pull- he knows that his brother never learned to differentiate between love, lust, hatred, and need. He knows that Gaara desperately wants proof that he is loved, that his precious people are not afraid of him.
With this knowledge comes the ability to make Gaara arch and writhe and moan, just like a pretty little puppet, all pale skin and long limbs. He collapses just like a marrionette, too, falling back against the mattress in a tangle of shivering limbs.
He should feel ashamed for taking advantage of the one crack in his brother's impenetrable defense, but it gives him that most precious commodity- control. Control over the Kazekage, and control over the village. It's just so easy- and Kankurou has no need to fear Gaara now, so there is at least some honesty in his actions.
After all, no one notices the puppeteer- least of all the puppet.
-------
The need to edit, it is like burning.
Webcomic Recs
Grayling by Arborwin.
Stuff that's wonderful: Pretty much everything. The art is unlike any that I've seen before- very sketchy and kinetic. The characters and plot are detailed and well thought out; this comic also has some of the most in depth worldbuilding I've seen in any sort of story, comic or otherwise. The story itself is told largely in flashbacks, covering several thousands of years of history.
Stuff that might tweak other people: There's lots of the gay, and the early art is fairly generic-anime. There are a lot of characters to keep track of, and sometimes the angst will make you want to cry.
My opinion: I love this comic immensely; it's been my favorite for a while, and the storyline is winding down. I'm happy because I want to know how it ends, but on the other hand, no more Grayling makes V a sad cookie, indeed.
Nine Swords
The good: Goregasm! It's a vampire comic with nasty vampires- none of those sad, angsty Anne Rice bloodsuckers here, thank you very much. And it isn't just about vampires- it's more of an adventure-punk story than a gothic angstfest. The art is excellent, the characters are awesome, and the world uses a more original take on the vampire thing than most. The setting is a sword-and-sorcery-and-cyberpunk sort of thing, which sounds strange but actually works quite well. It also has eye gouging and very pretty violence.
The not so good: It updates maybe twice a year, which is frustrating when the plot is so full of twisty backturns and the like.
My opinion: Mmm, Riley is pretty when he's breaking things and being a bastard. I just really, really wish it updated more often.
The Adventures of Dr. McNinja
The good: Frickin' hilarious, and the art is quite good.
The not-so-good: Uh...gratuitous abuse of McDonalds and Paul Bunyan?
My opinion: It's about a doctor who's a ninja, and whose secretary is a gorilla. It's silly, and wrong on many, many levels.
Sand & Stone
The Good: It's cute, involves demons, crazy goth girls, spazzy boys, Amazons, tiny dragons, and lots of good bad jokes. The run down: a couple of teenagers get pulled into a rescue mission to save a girl from the clutches of an evil Prince of Hell. Things don't quite go as planned, and shennanigans ensue.
The not so good: Can't think of anything, actually.
My opinion: I just found this one and chewed through the archives in a couple of hours; it strikes a good balance between excessive silliness and seriousness, and I'm loving the characters. They're snarky, and I can't resist snarky characters. Also, Char and Vlad are hot, in that elongated and pointy and evil sort of way. :)
Hm. Those are actually all I'm reading right now, aside from The Bunny, Order of the Stick, and Penny Arcade- but everyone reads those (or ought to), and they're strips, not sequential art. I've just gotten out of the habit of reading webcomics, which is a shame, I suppose. I used to waste so much time on them...now I have to find other things to waste time on, and that can be quite difficult.
Any non-strip comic recs with good storylines, art, and/or characters would be welcome- so long as they don't involve elves. We hateses elves, my precious.
Stuff that's wonderful: Pretty much everything. The art is unlike any that I've seen before- very sketchy and kinetic. The characters and plot are detailed and well thought out; this comic also has some of the most in depth worldbuilding I've seen in any sort of story, comic or otherwise. The story itself is told largely in flashbacks, covering several thousands of years of history.
Stuff that might tweak other people: There's lots of the gay, and the early art is fairly generic-anime. There are a lot of characters to keep track of, and sometimes the angst will make you want to cry.
My opinion: I love this comic immensely; it's been my favorite for a while, and the storyline is winding down. I'm happy because I want to know how it ends, but on the other hand, no more Grayling makes V a sad cookie, indeed.
Nine Swords
The good: Goregasm! It's a vampire comic with nasty vampires- none of those sad, angsty Anne Rice bloodsuckers here, thank you very much. And it isn't just about vampires- it's more of an adventure-punk story than a gothic angstfest. The art is excellent, the characters are awesome, and the world uses a more original take on the vampire thing than most. The setting is a sword-and-sorcery-and-cyberpunk sort of thing, which sounds strange but actually works quite well. It also has eye gouging and very pretty violence.
The not so good: It updates maybe twice a year, which is frustrating when the plot is so full of twisty backturns and the like.
My opinion: Mmm, Riley is pretty when he's breaking things and being a bastard. I just really, really wish it updated more often.
The Adventures of Dr. McNinja
The good: Frickin' hilarious, and the art is quite good.
The not-so-good: Uh...gratuitous abuse of McDonalds and Paul Bunyan?
My opinion: It's about a doctor who's a ninja, and whose secretary is a gorilla. It's silly, and wrong on many, many levels.
Sand & Stone
The Good: It's cute, involves demons, crazy goth girls, spazzy boys, Amazons, tiny dragons, and lots of good bad jokes. The run down: a couple of teenagers get pulled into a rescue mission to save a girl from the clutches of an evil Prince of Hell. Things don't quite go as planned, and shennanigans ensue.
The not so good: Can't think of anything, actually.
My opinion: I just found this one and chewed through the archives in a couple of hours; it strikes a good balance between excessive silliness and seriousness, and I'm loving the characters. They're snarky, and I can't resist snarky characters. Also, Char and Vlad are hot, in that elongated and pointy and evil sort of way. :)
Hm. Those are actually all I'm reading right now, aside from The Bunny, Order of the Stick, and Penny Arcade- but everyone reads those (or ought to), and they're strips, not sequential art. I've just gotten out of the habit of reading webcomics, which is a shame, I suppose. I used to waste so much time on them...now I have to find other things to waste time on, and that can be quite difficult.
Any non-strip comic recs with good storylines, art, and/or characters would be welcome- so long as they don't involve elves. We hateses elves, my precious.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Writing prompt: dialogue, Boffo style
The prompt was to write pure dialogue; I've been using Boffo characters for all of my promts in this class, because they can pass for normal more easily than anyone else.
So, Tyler and Dei, and the obligatory cup of tea. God, I love my boys. (This is also the third prompt I've written involving tea. I'm starting to get predictable.)
--------------------------
"And then she says, "We should've turned left!" Get it? Turned left?"
"I'd give you a proper response, but I think my brain just shut down from the overwhelming lameness of that joke. Do you want some tea?"
"Somebody went and had their sense of humor surgically removed. What kind of tea do you have?"
"It had a malignant tumor and needed to be taken out. Oddly enough, I don't miss it. I'm making a pot of Earl Grey, but I've got some of that herbal stuff your mother-in-law sent me last Christmas."
"A malignant tumor? Like your nose?"
"No, like your face."
"Oh, you mean like your mom."
"Actually, yes. Exactly like my mom. Now, seriously, tea. What do you want?"
"Earl Grey is fine- last time I drank that herbal stuff, I was seeing purple squirrels for a week."
"Now that's a fun side effect- I just broke out in hives. I tried giving some to the cat, but she wouldn't touch it."
"Smart animal."
"Only sometimes. She still runs headfirst into the sliding door when there's another cat in the yard."
"Takes after her owner, does she?"
"God, you're obnoxious today. What's the matter, been sleeping on the couch for a week? No, don't tell me- just shut up and drink your tea."
"I'm obnoxious? Whatever. Where do you keep your sugar bowl?"
"I don't have one."
"You're kidding- I sent you one for your birthday three years ago. Now I'm hurt, and I want sugar."
"You only sent it to me so you could exactly what you're trying to do now- turn a perfectly good cup of tea into a diabetic's worst nightmare."
"You know, you should see about getting that sense of humor of yours replaced. I know a guy who knows a guy..."
"You're kidding- I sent you one for your birthday three years ago. Now I'm hurt, and I want sugar."
"You only sent it to me so you could exactly what you're trying to do now- turn a perfectly good cup of tea into a diabetic's worst nightmare. Now stop digging through my cabinets, you won't find any."
"Tell me you did not hide the sugar just because I came to visit."
"I won't tell you anything, then."
"You really are crazy, you know that?"
"Mm-hm. And just think- we're related."
"God, don't remind me. No wait- that does remind me; I'm supposed to make sure you come to this year's Family Function."
"I'd rather drink your mother-in-law's illegal psychotropic tea."
"Come on! The creepy side of the family isn't even coming, they all have other, creepy things to do."
"Then I won't be missed."
"But the non-creepy side is psychotic, and you can't leave me to face them all alone."
"You won't be alone; you're married. Your wife will protect you from our big, bad relatives."
"Yeah, but if you're there, then no one will ask us why we don't have kids yet- they'll all just bug you about being single."
"And this is supposed to encourage me, how?"
"I'll owe you one? And I won't tell Aunt Celeste the truth about her little yappy dog."
"Are you blackmailing me? God, I don't know whether to be proud or pissed off. Fine, I'll go- but you'll still owe me, and you're not allowed to murder another cup of tea in my presence again."
"Done."
"Alright, then."
"Good. Can I have the sugar now?"
"No."
So, Tyler and Dei, and the obligatory cup of tea. God, I love my boys. (This is also the third prompt I've written involving tea. I'm starting to get predictable.)
--------------------------
"And then she says, "We should've turned left!" Get it? Turned left?"
"I'd give you a proper response, but I think my brain just shut down from the overwhelming lameness of that joke. Do you want some tea?"
"Somebody went and had their sense of humor surgically removed. What kind of tea do you have?"
"It had a malignant tumor and needed to be taken out. Oddly enough, I don't miss it. I'm making a pot of Earl Grey, but I've got some of that herbal stuff your mother-in-law sent me last Christmas."
"A malignant tumor? Like your nose?"
"No, like your face."
"Oh, you mean like your mom."
"Actually, yes. Exactly like my mom. Now, seriously, tea. What do you want?"
"Earl Grey is fine- last time I drank that herbal stuff, I was seeing purple squirrels for a week."
"Now that's a fun side effect- I just broke out in hives. I tried giving some to the cat, but she wouldn't touch it."
"Smart animal."
"Only sometimes. She still runs headfirst into the sliding door when there's another cat in the yard."
"Takes after her owner, does she?"
"God, you're obnoxious today. What's the matter, been sleeping on the couch for a week? No, don't tell me- just shut up and drink your tea."
"I'm obnoxious? Whatever. Where do you keep your sugar bowl?"
"I don't have one."
"You're kidding- I sent you one for your birthday three years ago. Now I'm hurt, and I want sugar."
"You only sent it to me so you could exactly what you're trying to do now- turn a perfectly good cup of tea into a diabetic's worst nightmare."
"You know, you should see about getting that sense of humor of yours replaced. I know a guy who knows a guy..."
"You're kidding- I sent you one for your birthday three years ago. Now I'm hurt, and I want sugar."
"You only sent it to me so you could exactly what you're trying to do now- turn a perfectly good cup of tea into a diabetic's worst nightmare. Now stop digging through my cabinets, you won't find any."
"Tell me you did not hide the sugar just because I came to visit."
"I won't tell you anything, then."
"You really are crazy, you know that?"
"Mm-hm. And just think- we're related."
"God, don't remind me. No wait- that does remind me; I'm supposed to make sure you come to this year's Family Function."
"I'd rather drink your mother-in-law's illegal psychotropic tea."
"Come on! The creepy side of the family isn't even coming, they all have other, creepy things to do."
"Then I won't be missed."
"But the non-creepy side is psychotic, and you can't leave me to face them all alone."
"You won't be alone; you're married. Your wife will protect you from our big, bad relatives."
"Yeah, but if you're there, then no one will ask us why we don't have kids yet- they'll all just bug you about being single."
"And this is supposed to encourage me, how?"
"I'll owe you one? And I won't tell Aunt Celeste the truth about her little yappy dog."
"Are you blackmailing me? God, I don't know whether to be proud or pissed off. Fine, I'll go- but you'll still owe me, and you're not allowed to murder another cup of tea in my presence again."
"Done."
"Alright, then."
"Good. Can I have the sugar now?"
"No."
Song Call- The Postal Service, "Such Great Heights"
I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles
In our eyes are mirror images and when
We kiss they're perfectly aligned
And I have to speculate that God himself
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
Puzzle pieces from the clay
True, it may seem like a stretch, but
Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled
Head when you're away when I am missing you to death
When you are out there on the road for
Several weeks of shows and when you scan
The radio, I hope this song will guide you home
They will see us waving from such great
Heights, "Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"come down now," but we'll stay...
I tried my best to leave this all on your
Machine but the persistent beat it sounded
Thin upon listening
That frankly will not fly. You will hear
The shrillest highs and lowest lows with
The windows down when this is guiding you home
And They will see us weaving from such great
Heights, "Come down now," they'll say.
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"Come down now," but we'll stay...
-The Postal Service, "Such Great Heights"
Emo McMoodypants strikes again!
...I'm done now.
In our eyes are mirror images and when
We kiss they're perfectly aligned
And I have to speculate that God himself
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
Puzzle pieces from the clay
True, it may seem like a stretch, but
Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled
Head when you're away when I am missing you to death
When you are out there on the road for
Several weeks of shows and when you scan
The radio, I hope this song will guide you home
They will see us waving from such great
Heights, "Come down now," they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"come down now," but we'll stay...
I tried my best to leave this all on your
Machine but the persistent beat it sounded
Thin upon listening
That frankly will not fly. You will hear
The shrillest highs and lowest lows with
The windows down when this is guiding you home
And They will see us weaving from such great
Heights, "Come down now," they'll say.
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"Come down now," but we'll stay...
-The Postal Service, "Such Great Heights"
Emo McMoodypants strikes again!
...I'm done now.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
More TRIO spam
I have serious issues with naming places and things; people, I'm fine with, but everything else- blech. Maybe I should just fall back on random strings of syllables...
My two favorite genres to write are overly-complicated fantasy, and hand-wavy sci-fi. TRIO is the latter, much like DDD was, so many years ago.
Actually, there are a lot of similarities between TRIO and DDD, though I'll grant that a lot of those similarities are simply couched in the fact that they are hand-wavy sci-fi stories. DDD took place in a city called Veracity, on an earth that had begun to disintegrate; TRIO takes place in a city that may or may not be called Haven. The problem with calling the city Haven is that it's such a cliche of a name, and it reminds me too much of Mercedes Lackey. Maybe-Haven is on an earth that has been cut up and divided.
The city is a country, an island, and a corporation all in one. It is owned by Havensec (name subject to change), a sort of mega-corporation. Think Shin-ra and you've got the right idea, only it's run by a board of directors, not a single CEO. And the Board isn't evil, so much as faceless and greedy. Havensec is an institution- a corrupt and inefficient one, at that.
Because I'm not going to write yet another inevitably tragic story (Stella, Seventh Hour, DDD, I'm looking at you), Havensec is not quite as enormous and corrupt and broken as it suddenly wants to be in my head. This place has it's problems, but they can be fixed. (I'm not as attached to this world as I am to Rothcar or the Boffo Multiverse, so I'm not as worried about the mechanics of it.)
The rest of the world has been divided into other enormous island-city-states, and blank land. The blank land is owned by the extremely wealthy and the corporations; the wealthy use it for vacationing spots, and the corporations use it for raw materials. The corporations vie fiercely for raw materials; most of the city-states were built on artificial islands, so the only raw materials directly availble to the cities are those in the waters around them. Which really means that the only raw materials the cities have direct access to are sea monster skeletons and sludge.
Of course, there's a lot you can do with a dead sea monster, but that's beside the point.
Everyone who lives in the city is or was an employee at one point in their lives. The rate of unemployment in Haven is quite low, largely because you die if you don't have a job. It's possible to make a living as a criminal; data thieves are particularly common, and there are underground drug and prostitution rings. If something resembling a mafia starts to form, Havensec assimilates it into the company, splitting it up into Hospitality and Security forces. Organized crime doesn't last long before the company decides that all that talent and energy ought to be put to use somewhere else.
No matter who or what you are, you can always get a job in the Department of Hospitality. Hospitality began as a branch of Human Resources, but it's grown to become its own department. Every single red light district in the city has been subsidized by Hospitality, along with every casino and gambling room, every licensed seller of recreational pharmaceuticals, restaurant, and every massage parlor. They offer brainwashing as part of your starting bonus if you don't feel comfortable being a prostitute with your current mindset. It's also possible to fight in the Colliseum (what, you thought I wouldn't have one?) rather than work in a brothel, but R&D sends its spare monsters to Hospitality for Colliseum fights so your lifespan tends to be cut drastically short if you join that division of Hospitality.
There are a few private or quasi-private businesses; in the end, it's always Havensec signing your paycheck, but not all luxuries are subsidized by the company. Most restaurants are privately owned, and there are craftsmen who don't work in factories. In the poorer sectors of the city, most things belong to the company; in the richer areas, you get a bit more variety in terms of goods and services.
Like I said, I'm not especially invested in this world, and I haven't given it much thought in years. There will be contradictions and murky spots while I work it out in my head and on paper. The city as it begins will be very different from the city as it ends, and not just because of that giant smoking crater in the center of it.
Should spend more time writing story than backstory. Blah.
(On a completely unrelated note...the newest chapter of Naruto? OMG SHINO. KIBA. THUG LOVE. IMMENSE AND MIGHTY THUG LOVE. SHINO SHINO SHINO SHINO SHINO THUG YAYE. *drool*)
My two favorite genres to write are overly-complicated fantasy, and hand-wavy sci-fi. TRIO is the latter, much like DDD was, so many years ago.
Actually, there are a lot of similarities between TRIO and DDD, though I'll grant that a lot of those similarities are simply couched in the fact that they are hand-wavy sci-fi stories. DDD took place in a city called Veracity, on an earth that had begun to disintegrate; TRIO takes place in a city that may or may not be called Haven. The problem with calling the city Haven is that it's such a cliche of a name, and it reminds me too much of Mercedes Lackey. Maybe-Haven is on an earth that has been cut up and divided.
The city is a country, an island, and a corporation all in one. It is owned by Havensec (name subject to change), a sort of mega-corporation. Think Shin-ra and you've got the right idea, only it's run by a board of directors, not a single CEO. And the Board isn't evil, so much as faceless and greedy. Havensec is an institution- a corrupt and inefficient one, at that.
Because I'm not going to write yet another inevitably tragic story (Stella, Seventh Hour, DDD, I'm looking at you), Havensec is not quite as enormous and corrupt and broken as it suddenly wants to be in my head. This place has it's problems, but they can be fixed. (I'm not as attached to this world as I am to Rothcar or the Boffo Multiverse, so I'm not as worried about the mechanics of it.)
The rest of the world has been divided into other enormous island-city-states, and blank land. The blank land is owned by the extremely wealthy and the corporations; the wealthy use it for vacationing spots, and the corporations use it for raw materials. The corporations vie fiercely for raw materials; most of the city-states were built on artificial islands, so the only raw materials directly availble to the cities are those in the waters around them. Which really means that the only raw materials the cities have direct access to are sea monster skeletons and sludge.
Of course, there's a lot you can do with a dead sea monster, but that's beside the point.
Everyone who lives in the city is or was an employee at one point in their lives. The rate of unemployment in Haven is quite low, largely because you die if you don't have a job. It's possible to make a living as a criminal; data thieves are particularly common, and there are underground drug and prostitution rings. If something resembling a mafia starts to form, Havensec assimilates it into the company, splitting it up into Hospitality and Security forces. Organized crime doesn't last long before the company decides that all that talent and energy ought to be put to use somewhere else.
No matter who or what you are, you can always get a job in the Department of Hospitality. Hospitality began as a branch of Human Resources, but it's grown to become its own department. Every single red light district in the city has been subsidized by Hospitality, along with every casino and gambling room, every licensed seller of recreational pharmaceuticals, restaurant, and every massage parlor. They offer brainwashing as part of your starting bonus if you don't feel comfortable being a prostitute with your current mindset. It's also possible to fight in the Colliseum (what, you thought I wouldn't have one?) rather than work in a brothel, but R&D sends its spare monsters to Hospitality for Colliseum fights so your lifespan tends to be cut drastically short if you join that division of Hospitality.
There are a few private or quasi-private businesses; in the end, it's always Havensec signing your paycheck, but not all luxuries are subsidized by the company. Most restaurants are privately owned, and there are craftsmen who don't work in factories. In the poorer sectors of the city, most things belong to the company; in the richer areas, you get a bit more variety in terms of goods and services.
Like I said, I'm not especially invested in this world, and I haven't given it much thought in years. There will be contradictions and murky spots while I work it out in my head and on paper. The city as it begins will be very different from the city as it ends, and not just because of that giant smoking crater in the center of it.
Should spend more time writing story than backstory. Blah.
(On a completely unrelated note...the newest chapter of Naruto? OMG SHINO. KIBA. THUG LOVE. IMMENSE AND MIGHTY THUG LOVE. SHINO SHINO SHINO SHINO SHINO THUG YAYE. *drool*)
Naruto fragment
Things that win: the person who reviewed Fair Play and referred to Yondaime as "old yeller."
That's special, that's what that is.
---
(unfinished snippet for the prompt "camera obscura")
There was a row of picture frames on Naruto's windowsill; Gaara liked to take them down late at night and run his fingers along the frames. They were scratched and nicked, worn down from years of travelling in the bottom of Naruto's pack.
It became a nightly ritual, just one more among multitudes. Gaara waited until Naruto fell asleep, then took down the pictures, one by one. He laid them out on the floor and touched the frames reverently, memorizing the lines of Naruto's smile in each of them.
"That was my academy graduation picture," Naruto's voice was low and sleepy in his ear; Gaara froze as Naruto's arm reached over his shoulder to point at the picture. "Stupid photographer made me take a normal picture, but he let me have a copy of that one anyway."
He'd never been caught before; he waited for Naruto to ask why he'd taken the pictures with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, but the question never came. Naruto rested his chin on Gaara's shoulder, turning his head so they were cheek to cheek.
His skin was very warm. Gaara picked up another picture with a slightly unsteady hand. "Tell me about this one."
That's special, that's what that is.
---
(unfinished snippet for the prompt "camera obscura")
There was a row of picture frames on Naruto's windowsill; Gaara liked to take them down late at night and run his fingers along the frames. They were scratched and nicked, worn down from years of travelling in the bottom of Naruto's pack.
It became a nightly ritual, just one more among multitudes. Gaara waited until Naruto fell asleep, then took down the pictures, one by one. He laid them out on the floor and touched the frames reverently, memorizing the lines of Naruto's smile in each of them.
"That was my academy graduation picture," Naruto's voice was low and sleepy in his ear; Gaara froze as Naruto's arm reached over his shoulder to point at the picture. "Stupid photographer made me take a normal picture, but he let me have a copy of that one anyway."
He'd never been caught before; he waited for Naruto to ask why he'd taken the pictures with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, but the question never came. Naruto rested his chin on Gaara's shoulder, turning his head so they were cheek to cheek.
His skin was very warm. Gaara picked up another picture with a slightly unsteady hand. "Tell me about this one."
TRIO
Marc Anthony, and Havensec non-human classification.
Marc is a grouchy bastard with a heart of gold, almost. He's a class two bluecard non-human; technically he's a class 4, but the nature of his modification ranks him down to a class 2.
The higher the class, the less human you are. There are a number of criteria for each class, but for most mods, all you have to worry about is how human you appear. Marc's right eye is a mechanical implant- he lost his original eye in a stupid accident that he doesn't like to talk about, and at the time, his health insurance package included prosthetics. It didn't include cosmetic prosthetic modifications, nor did it include high quality prosthetics; Marc's right eye is made of alloy and glass, and his eye socket is a metal plate fused with his skull. When his hair is pulled back, it's impossible to miss.
Marc can cover it up with sunglasses or an eyepatch in public; when he's feeling lazy, he covers it with his hair, and no one can tell the difference. Since it's an easily concealable, small modification, he's a class 2 instead of a class 4.
It should be noted that Havensec's non-human regulations are very strict. In nearly any other corporate city state, a person would have to be at least 51% non-human to qualify. In Havensec, any modifications or enhancements qualify you as non-human. This is particularly unfair to people like Marc, who have had body parts replaced with non human materials for medical reasons.
He wasn't allowed to keep his old job unless he had his eye replaced (he worked with heavy machinery); once he was classified as non-human, he lost his job anyway. Now he's self employed, which is both incredibly dangerous and incredibly unprofitable in a corporate city state.
Marc's best friend is his bonsai tree, and he's a strict vegetarian (not that it's much of an issue; Marc doesn't make enough money to afford real food). He's skilled in a variety of martial arts, but he's also a strict pacifist. I've done basic character profiles for the main characters of TRIO; here's Marc's. Not all the details are accurate; his eye is wrong, and he has barcodes on his wrists, not the back of his neck. His tattoos are different, too, but I'm not sure what they are yet. I'm still really proud of the way the full body sketch came out, though; that's actually very close to what he really looks like.
He has a few anger management problems, which is why he's become a cynical pot-smoking hippie (minus the pot-smoking). He's got childhood angst, but it's not really important- most of his angst stems from the fact that Havensec screwed him over. Now he's a freelance courier for people whose businesses are just too shady to be absorbed by Havensec; he's likely to get shot or arrested, if he doesn't starve to death first.
He's not so desperate that he'll work for Hospitality, but it's really only a matter of time.
The narration tends to focus on him, because he sees more of the city than the other characters, and is less of an empty headed idealist than the members of the Revolution.
Marc's pacifism is the useless, hypocritical sort. He will never raise his hand to another living creature, but he won't step in to stop a mugging, and he honestly doesn't care about all of the innocent citizens who get murdered by the security forces every day. He takes a very narrow minded, personal view of the world; he is very much aware of his own insignificance in the grand scheme of things, so as long as something doesn't directly involve him, he isn't going to care about it.
He wouldn't have gotten involved in the revolution if it weren't for Meg, and that's something he'll never forgive her for.
Marc is a grouchy bastard with a heart of gold, almost. He's a class two bluecard non-human; technically he's a class 4, but the nature of his modification ranks him down to a class 2.
The higher the class, the less human you are. There are a number of criteria for each class, but for most mods, all you have to worry about is how human you appear. Marc's right eye is a mechanical implant- he lost his original eye in a stupid accident that he doesn't like to talk about, and at the time, his health insurance package included prosthetics. It didn't include cosmetic prosthetic modifications, nor did it include high quality prosthetics; Marc's right eye is made of alloy and glass, and his eye socket is a metal plate fused with his skull. When his hair is pulled back, it's impossible to miss.
Marc can cover it up with sunglasses or an eyepatch in public; when he's feeling lazy, he covers it with his hair, and no one can tell the difference. Since it's an easily concealable, small modification, he's a class 2 instead of a class 4.
It should be noted that Havensec's non-human regulations are very strict. In nearly any other corporate city state, a person would have to be at least 51% non-human to qualify. In Havensec, any modifications or enhancements qualify you as non-human. This is particularly unfair to people like Marc, who have had body parts replaced with non human materials for medical reasons.
He wasn't allowed to keep his old job unless he had his eye replaced (he worked with heavy machinery); once he was classified as non-human, he lost his job anyway. Now he's self employed, which is both incredibly dangerous and incredibly unprofitable in a corporate city state.
Marc's best friend is his bonsai tree, and he's a strict vegetarian (not that it's much of an issue; Marc doesn't make enough money to afford real food). He's skilled in a variety of martial arts, but he's also a strict pacifist. I've done basic character profiles for the main characters of TRIO; here's Marc's. Not all the details are accurate; his eye is wrong, and he has barcodes on his wrists, not the back of his neck. His tattoos are different, too, but I'm not sure what they are yet. I'm still really proud of the way the full body sketch came out, though; that's actually very close to what he really looks like.
He has a few anger management problems, which is why he's become a cynical pot-smoking hippie (minus the pot-smoking). He's got childhood angst, but it's not really important- most of his angst stems from the fact that Havensec screwed him over. Now he's a freelance courier for people whose businesses are just too shady to be absorbed by Havensec; he's likely to get shot or arrested, if he doesn't starve to death first.
He's not so desperate that he'll work for Hospitality, but it's really only a matter of time.
The narration tends to focus on him, because he sees more of the city than the other characters, and is less of an empty headed idealist than the members of the Revolution.
Marc's pacifism is the useless, hypocritical sort. He will never raise his hand to another living creature, but he won't step in to stop a mugging, and he honestly doesn't care about all of the innocent citizens who get murdered by the security forces every day. He takes a very narrow minded, personal view of the world; he is very much aware of his own insignificance in the grand scheme of things, so as long as something doesn't directly involve him, he isn't going to care about it.
He wouldn't have gotten involved in the revolution if it weren't for Meg, and that's something he'll never forgive her for.
Monday, October 31, 2005
The Revolution is Over: Who the hell are these people?
(Man, it's so weird seeing only two blogs on my profile; I'm so used to there being four or five...)
Cast thusfar:
Megin Falche
Marc Anthony
Spots MacDowell
Miryana "GHOST" MacDowell
Kyle Stroud
Eleanor Fetch
Matthias and Greymalkin
Eleanor Fetch is a greencard non-human, class three. As a class three, she is indistinguishable from a full human from fifty feet away when fully clothed; as a greencard, her modifications are genetic and biological, not cybernetic or neurological. Eleanor was part of an experimental military biokinetics program in Havensec's research and development sector. The experiment went remarkably well; the modifications they were testing are now availible to certain branches of the security forces.
Eleanor has had all of her senses enhanced, and her skin now has the consistency of very tough, thick leather. The body armor covers her entire body from the neck down, excepting the palms of her hands. She can't feel very much through the altered skin, but her hands are exceptionally sensitive.
She had her auditory and olfactory enhancements removed a few months after the program ended; they simply interfered with her every day life too much. She still has extrememly sensitive hands and very keen eyesight; her taste enhancements were diminished when she had the olfactory ones removed, but she can do the Benton Fraser taste test with the greatest of ease, regardless. *stabs self for excessive geekery*
Her armored skin is a dark olive color; from the neck up, she is incredibly pale- standard redhead complexion.
The problem with R&D projects is that they really don't pay well, and they severely reduce your chances of getting employed in another division- unless you want a job in Hospitality, but no one wants a job in Hospitality. Particularly not freaks of nature like Fetch; they have departments for people like her in Hospitality, and it's not a pretty thing. You don't work for Hospitality unless you have no other choice; R&D is still a step up from Hospitality- if you catch a deadly disease and die from it in R&D, at least you'll know your body will be cut up and catalogued for future research. When you die of some horrible disease in Hospitality, they ship your corpse out of South Gate to feed the sea monsters.
Unfortunately for Eleanor, her R&D stipend has run out, and she can't get a legit job anywhere else with a greencard.
...er, by the way, I'm not doing Bird in the Hand for Nano this year. I figure it's about time I wrote TRIO; I'm in something of a revolutionary mood.
Cast thusfar:
Megin Falche
Marc Anthony
Spots MacDowell
Miryana "GHOST" MacDowell
Kyle Stroud
Eleanor Fetch
Matthias and Greymalkin
Eleanor Fetch is a greencard non-human, class three. As a class three, she is indistinguishable from a full human from fifty feet away when fully clothed; as a greencard, her modifications are genetic and biological, not cybernetic or neurological. Eleanor was part of an experimental military biokinetics program in Havensec's research and development sector. The experiment went remarkably well; the modifications they were testing are now availible to certain branches of the security forces.
Eleanor has had all of her senses enhanced, and her skin now has the consistency of very tough, thick leather. The body armor covers her entire body from the neck down, excepting the palms of her hands. She can't feel very much through the altered skin, but her hands are exceptionally sensitive.
She had her auditory and olfactory enhancements removed a few months after the program ended; they simply interfered with her every day life too much. She still has extrememly sensitive hands and very keen eyesight; her taste enhancements were diminished when she had the olfactory ones removed, but she can do the Benton Fraser taste test with the greatest of ease, regardless. *stabs self for excessive geekery*
Her armored skin is a dark olive color; from the neck up, she is incredibly pale- standard redhead complexion.
The problem with R&D projects is that they really don't pay well, and they severely reduce your chances of getting employed in another division- unless you want a job in Hospitality, but no one wants a job in Hospitality. Particularly not freaks of nature like Fetch; they have departments for people like her in Hospitality, and it's not a pretty thing. You don't work for Hospitality unless you have no other choice; R&D is still a step up from Hospitality- if you catch a deadly disease and die from it in R&D, at least you'll know your body will be cut up and catalogued for future research. When you die of some horrible disease in Hospitality, they ship your corpse out of South Gate to feed the sea monsters.
Unfortunately for Eleanor, her R&D stipend has run out, and she can't get a legit job anywhere else with a greencard.
...er, by the way, I'm not doing Bird in the Hand for Nano this year. I figure it's about time I wrote TRIO; I'm in something of a revolutionary mood.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Song call- Sean Watkins, "Let It Fall"
http://s37.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=17ADQWRCMNYX734ZKXAWOS7LFP .wma format, I'm afraid. But most things will play it, so whatever.
So, continuing with today's theme of waaaaangst, I love this song. I love this song so much, I can't stop listening to it. Whenever I put on the CD, I have to pause and replay track two at least five times before I can move on to the rest of the album. No lie. I just listened to it for about an hour straight, and it's not much longer than three minutes. I love this song. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a little bit obsessed with Autumn, and this is my theme song for the months of October and November. Unlike most halfway moody music, "Let It Fall" always makes me feel better after listening to it, which is good, because I can't stop.
Lyrics:
Hey look, I'm not weighed down
As I walk through
The glowing wheat fields churning on the ground
As all the ravens fly away
They leave nothing
But the sun and endless blue day
I always knew I felt this way
But couldn't find the time to say
To myself I've got to let it go
Through all the joy and all the pain
With the drought and the rain
The honest truth is all I want to know
Let it fall
Let go
My kingdom's walls have fallen down
But I know that
I don't wear an undeserved crown
And though it seemed to fit me well
Underneath it
I would certainly fall down
Last summer we left things unsaid
That should be now a long time dead
And now it seems that time has put it well
The words can chase away a friend
But to a lie they'll bring an end
And throw it down the darkest, deepest well
Let it fall
Let go
Let it fall
Let go
Let it fall
Let go
Let it fall
Let go
-Sean Watkins, "Let It Fall"
So, continuing with today's theme of waaaaangst, I love this song. I love this song so much, I can't stop listening to it. Whenever I put on the CD, I have to pause and replay track two at least five times before I can move on to the rest of the album. No lie. I just listened to it for about an hour straight, and it's not much longer than three minutes. I love this song. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a little bit obsessed with Autumn, and this is my theme song for the months of October and November. Unlike most halfway moody music, "Let It Fall" always makes me feel better after listening to it, which is good, because I can't stop.
Lyrics:
Hey look, I'm not weighed down
As I walk through
The glowing wheat fields churning on the ground
As all the ravens fly away
They leave nothing
But the sun and endless blue day
I always knew I felt this way
But couldn't find the time to say
To myself I've got to let it go
Through all the joy and all the pain
With the drought and the rain
The honest truth is all I want to know
Let it fall
Let go
My kingdom's walls have fallen down
But I know that
I don't wear an undeserved crown
And though it seemed to fit me well
Underneath it
I would certainly fall down
Last summer we left things unsaid
That should be now a long time dead
And now it seems that time has put it well
The words can chase away a friend
But to a lie they'll bring an end
And throw it down the darkest, deepest well
Let it fall
Let go
Let it fall
Let go
Let it fall
Let go
Let it fall
Let go
-Sean Watkins, "Let It Fall"
Monday, October 24, 2005
Why sestinas, even incomplete ones, should not be written in fifteen minutes or less.
Poorly planned and unedited poetry spam/babble/free thought, get it while it's hot.
--
The trees put on their festive garb
to hide the way they fester in the cold,
And acorns launch at suicide speeds
to pelt scarf-wrapped pedestrians.
They litter the ground, their pulverized
remains subject to the autopsies of squirrels.
This is Autumn, the time of dying and denial
and change.
----
It's that time again, when the wind breaks
cold over treetops that have begun to change
into new colors, putting on their bright autumn
fashions, trying out the latest perfume scents:
Eau de Morte Arboris or something like that
Maybe it's me; I don't know how the trees can be so
Cheeful at a time like this. Everything feels so
blank and bleak and brittle; everything breaks
at the slightest provocation. I think that
we should try fixing things for a change,
but thoughts like those are just nonsense.
Nothing really matters when you're drowning in autum.
Which isn't to say that I don't like autumn;
as seasons go, I like it just fine. So
maybe I think the dead-leaves-and-rot incense
smell is cloying; them's the breaks,
as they say. The world won't change
for me, and I can appreciate things that
hold to their convictions. I just wish that
that there were something more to autumn
than death and monumental, world-shaking change.
Or maybe something less- this season doesn't need so
much drama. Don't you think? Heart breaks
are bad enough on their own, without this sense
of soul crushing solemnity, this heavy sense
of slowing time. There are Greek tragedies that
feel more upbeat. This is the season that breaks
the camels back, so to speak. This is autumn:
season of rain, season of blood. Why are we so
enamored of this misery? Any attempts at chage
are met with further misery. We cannot change
the falling of the leaves, nor the dark scent
of rot that pervades the air. These things are so
beyond us, we might as well give up. That's
the way it goes- time to surrender. Autumn
stands victorious, and we are simply broken.
--
The trees put on their festive garb
to hide the way they fester in the cold,
And acorns launch at suicide speeds
to pelt scarf-wrapped pedestrians.
They litter the ground, their pulverized
remains subject to the autopsies of squirrels.
This is Autumn, the time of dying and denial
and change.
----
It's that time again, when the wind breaks
cold over treetops that have begun to change
into new colors, putting on their bright autumn
fashions, trying out the latest perfume scents:
Eau de Morte Arboris or something like that
Maybe it's me; I don't know how the trees can be so
Cheeful at a time like this. Everything feels so
blank and bleak and brittle; everything breaks
at the slightest provocation. I think that
we should try fixing things for a change,
but thoughts like those are just nonsense.
Nothing really matters when you're drowning in autum.
Which isn't to say that I don't like autumn;
as seasons go, I like it just fine. So
maybe I think the dead-leaves-and-rot incense
smell is cloying; them's the breaks,
as they say. The world won't change
for me, and I can appreciate things that
hold to their convictions. I just wish that
that there were something more to autumn
than death and monumental, world-shaking change.
Or maybe something less- this season doesn't need so
much drama. Don't you think? Heart breaks
are bad enough on their own, without this sense
of soul crushing solemnity, this heavy sense
of slowing time. There are Greek tragedies that
feel more upbeat. This is the season that breaks
the camels back, so to speak. This is autumn:
season of rain, season of blood. Why are we so
enamored of this misery? Any attempts at chage
are met with further misery. We cannot change
the falling of the leaves, nor the dark scent
of rot that pervades the air. These things are so
beyond us, we might as well give up. That's
the way it goes- time to surrender. Autumn
stands victorious, and we are simply broken.
Random Naruto ranting
It's time for a random fandom mini-rant!
Fandom: stop bastardizing Hyuuga Hiashi. I know, I know, he's already something of a bastard in canon. But he's not that much of a bastard. Go read the chapter where he apologizes to Neji and gets down on his knees to beg forgiveness. He loved his brother. He loves his family. He's a slave to politics, and a traditionalist, but he's not a completely irredemable monster. He's incredibly human, so stop writing him like he's the Wicked Witch of the West.
In non-mini-ranty news, I just joined 3measures and signed up to do Naruto/Gaara/Sasuke. Why? Because I'm clearly on crack, but hopefully it'll give me an excuse to think in terms of Blindsided again. I can blame my lack of inspiration on the general sucking of the manga, but that would just be fishing for lame excuses.
Meh. Lots of meh, really. I doubt my situation will improve any over the next few weeks; there are few things I hate worse than funerals.
Fandom: stop bastardizing Hyuuga Hiashi. I know, I know, he's already something of a bastard in canon. But he's not that much of a bastard. Go read the chapter where he apologizes to Neji and gets down on his knees to beg forgiveness. He loved his brother. He loves his family. He's a slave to politics, and a traditionalist, but he's not a completely irredemable monster. He's incredibly human, so stop writing him like he's the Wicked Witch of the West.
In non-mini-ranty news, I just joined 3measures and signed up to do Naruto/Gaara/Sasuke. Why? Because I'm clearly on crack, but hopefully it'll give me an excuse to think in terms of Blindsided again. I can blame my lack of inspiration on the general sucking of the manga, but that would just be fishing for lame excuses.
Meh. Lots of meh, really. I doubt my situation will improve any over the next few weeks; there are few things I hate worse than funerals.
I'm starting a list.
Phrases I shall never use again:
"startling contrast"
"stark contrast"
"______ contrast"
I never realized how fucking annoying that phrase was before; I use it all the time. *stabs English language with fork* If that contrast isn't actually startling, you've no cause to be saying it is. If you're eyes are bleeding as a direct result of that contrast then yes, you might refer to it as "startling" or "shocking." If not- well, who gives a shit?
My creative writing class is going to be the death of me. I'd post assignments, but they've all been so bloody boring, there is no point.
I'll post other phrases as I come across them. (And also? One of those last entries totally doesn't exist. *pokes Blogger* Come on, biznatch. Behave.)
"startling contrast"
"stark contrast"
"______ contrast"
I never realized how fucking annoying that phrase was before; I use it all the time. *stabs English language with fork* If that contrast isn't actually startling, you've no cause to be saying it is. If you're eyes are bleeding as a direct result of that contrast then yes, you might refer to it as "startling" or "shocking." If not- well, who gives a shit?
My creative writing class is going to be the death of me. I'd post assignments, but they've all been so bloody boring, there is no point.
I'll post other phrases as I come across them. (And also? One of those last entries totally doesn't exist. *pokes Blogger* Come on, biznatch. Behave.)
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Poem Call: Amiri Baraka
In Memory of Radio
Who has ever stopped to think of the divinity of Lamont Cranston?
(Only jack Kerouac, that I know of: & me.
The rest of you probably had on WCBS and Kate Smith,
Or something equally unattractive.)
What can I say?
It is better to haved loved and lost
Than to put linoleum in your living rooms?
Am I a sage or something?
Mandrake's hypnotic gesture of the week?
(Remember, I do not have the healing powers of Oral Roberts...
I cannot, like F. J. Sheen, tell you how to get saved & rich!
I cannot even order you to the gaschamber satori like Hitler or Goddy Knight)
& love is an evil word.
Turn it backwards/see, see what I mean?
An evol word. & besides
who understands it?
I certainly wouldn't like to go out on that kind of limb.
Saturday mornings we listened to the Red Lantern & his undersea folk.
At 11, Let's Pretend
& we did
& I, the poet, still do. Thank God!
What was it he used to say (after the transformation when he was safe
& invisible & the unbelievers couldn't throw stones?) "Heh, heh, heh.
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows."
O, yes he does
O, yes he does
An evil word it is,
This Love.
-Amiri Baraka
A few years ago, Baraka was made the Poet Laureate of New Jersey; when he published a poem criticizing the government's reaction to 9-11, he was removed from the position. It upset my creative writing teacher at the time- a man who, despite being largely ineffectual as a teacher, helped me keep myself from falling apart for the first half of that year. So I have a fondness for Amiri Baraka that has nothing to do with his poetry, as I've read very little of it.
I think I'll have to remedy that, particularly in regards to his earlier work.
Who has ever stopped to think of the divinity of Lamont Cranston?
(Only jack Kerouac, that I know of: & me.
The rest of you probably had on WCBS and Kate Smith,
Or something equally unattractive.)
What can I say?
It is better to haved loved and lost
Than to put linoleum in your living rooms?
Am I a sage or something?
Mandrake's hypnotic gesture of the week?
(Remember, I do not have the healing powers of Oral Roberts...
I cannot, like F. J. Sheen, tell you how to get saved & rich!
I cannot even order you to the gaschamber satori like Hitler or Goddy Knight)
& love is an evil word.
Turn it backwards/see, see what I mean?
An evol word. & besides
who understands it?
I certainly wouldn't like to go out on that kind of limb.
Saturday mornings we listened to the Red Lantern & his undersea folk.
At 11, Let's Pretend
& we did
& I, the poet, still do. Thank God!
What was it he used to say (after the transformation when he was safe
& invisible & the unbelievers couldn't throw stones?) "Heh, heh, heh.
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows."
O, yes he does
O, yes he does
An evil word it is,
This Love.
-Amiri Baraka
A few years ago, Baraka was made the Poet Laureate of New Jersey; when he published a poem criticizing the government's reaction to 9-11, he was removed from the position. It upset my creative writing teacher at the time- a man who, despite being largely ineffectual as a teacher, helped me keep myself from falling apart for the first half of that year. So I have a fondness for Amiri Baraka that has nothing to do with his poetry, as I've read very little of it.
I think I'll have to remedy that, particularly in regards to his earlier work.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Dove and the Valentines; a scene, maybe
*eats bloated prose, spits out bones*
--
It had been slow afternoon at the gas station; already, the sun was turning blood-orange red on the horizon. The few men standing outside the convenience store, smoking and laughing, were the only signs of life Dove had seen all day. He watched the wind kick up dust devils in the unpaved parking lot, and tried not to fall asleep beside the pump.
He heard the basso rumble of the engine before he saw it appear on the horizon like a mirage. It pulled into the parking lot and the engine cut, leaving a sudden, ringing silence in its wake. For a moment, Dove thought the chorus of wolf whistles from the entrance to the Quik-E-Mart was directed towards the car- but then he caught sight of the pair of legs stepping out of said car. The woman walked- strutted, really, since stilletos didn't give many other options- into the convenience store. The men outside didn't bother stubbing out their cigarettes; half a dozen butts fell to the ground, still smoking, as they hurried after her.
Dove was alone in the tiny parking lot with the car. He circled it slowly, taking the time to appreciate the gleam of the chrome. Nevada plates; she'd come a long way. And she was in pristine condition, with the original paint job and not a single scratch- a rare find on a beast that old.
"Please do not touch the car. Bad enough that there is dust from the road, but if you were to leave handprints, I would be forced to remove them, both from the car and from your hands," a sharp, faintly accented voice snapped. The passenger side window had rolled down without a sound.
Dove looked down at his hand, hovering half an inch from the gleaming , Emperor Blue surface of the car, then up at the woman resting her elbow in the window. She smiled and lifted her arm so he could better see the switchblade she was casually flicking open and shut. He put his hand in his pocket.
"Sixty-eight Cadillac Deville. Not often you see one in this kind of condition, especially not on the road." He put a little sigh in his voice, even though he knew it made him sound about twelve. He'd been stuck in one place for too long, and the Deville, with its Nevada plates and gleaming chrome, was reviving his wanderlust with a vengeance. "If you're going to travel, you might as well do it properly."
"What do you know of travel, eh?" The switchblade glittered in the heavy afternoon sunlight.
"I get around." He shrugged. "When I get my feet back under me, I'm going to get a bike and head south. Baton Rouge, New Orleans. Then maybe on to Talahassee, or Savannah. I'll figure it out when I get there." He took a step back and surveyed the car once more. "But I'll admit, I've never travelled in one of these before. Driven some pretty classy stuff, but this- looks like you just drove it off the lot. Amazing."
"Cabiria takes good care of her baby. But what do I know about cars? Nothing. I just navigate, when navigating is needed." She extended a hand. "You seem like less of an idiot than most. My name is Sabatieni."
"Dove." She had a firm handshake, and her nails were painted black. She smiled again when he let go.
"You have good hands. I am glad I do not have to ruin them."
He cocked his head to the side. "Would you have used the knife?" he asked.
"Sulphuric acid in the back. But if that did not do the job, there is a bonesaw in the trunk," she replied without hesitation, as though it wouldn't have occurred to her to lie. "You are lucky Cabiria did not see you about to touch the car; she would not have warned you, and she is more protective of her machine than I am."
Dove decided he liked these women.
--
It had been slow afternoon at the gas station; already, the sun was turning blood-orange red on the horizon. The few men standing outside the convenience store, smoking and laughing, were the only signs of life Dove had seen all day. He watched the wind kick up dust devils in the unpaved parking lot, and tried not to fall asleep beside the pump.
He heard the basso rumble of the engine before he saw it appear on the horizon like a mirage. It pulled into the parking lot and the engine cut, leaving a sudden, ringing silence in its wake. For a moment, Dove thought the chorus of wolf whistles from the entrance to the Quik-E-Mart was directed towards the car- but then he caught sight of the pair of legs stepping out of said car. The woman walked- strutted, really, since stilletos didn't give many other options- into the convenience store. The men outside didn't bother stubbing out their cigarettes; half a dozen butts fell to the ground, still smoking, as they hurried after her.
Dove was alone in the tiny parking lot with the car. He circled it slowly, taking the time to appreciate the gleam of the chrome. Nevada plates; she'd come a long way. And she was in pristine condition, with the original paint job and not a single scratch- a rare find on a beast that old.
"Please do not touch the car. Bad enough that there is dust from the road, but if you were to leave handprints, I would be forced to remove them, both from the car and from your hands," a sharp, faintly accented voice snapped. The passenger side window had rolled down without a sound.
Dove looked down at his hand, hovering half an inch from the gleaming , Emperor Blue surface of the car, then up at the woman resting her elbow in the window. She smiled and lifted her arm so he could better see the switchblade she was casually flicking open and shut. He put his hand in his pocket.
"Sixty-eight Cadillac Deville. Not often you see one in this kind of condition, especially not on the road." He put a little sigh in his voice, even though he knew it made him sound about twelve. He'd been stuck in one place for too long, and the Deville, with its Nevada plates and gleaming chrome, was reviving his wanderlust with a vengeance. "If you're going to travel, you might as well do it properly."
"What do you know of travel, eh?" The switchblade glittered in the heavy afternoon sunlight.
"I get around." He shrugged. "When I get my feet back under me, I'm going to get a bike and head south. Baton Rouge, New Orleans. Then maybe on to Talahassee, or Savannah. I'll figure it out when I get there." He took a step back and surveyed the car once more. "But I'll admit, I've never travelled in one of these before. Driven some pretty classy stuff, but this- looks like you just drove it off the lot. Amazing."
"Cabiria takes good care of her baby. But what do I know about cars? Nothing. I just navigate, when navigating is needed." She extended a hand. "You seem like less of an idiot than most. My name is Sabatieni."
"Dove." She had a firm handshake, and her nails were painted black. She smiled again when he let go.
"You have good hands. I am glad I do not have to ruin them."
He cocked his head to the side. "Would you have used the knife?" he asked.
"Sulphuric acid in the back. But if that did not do the job, there is a bonesaw in the trunk," she replied without hesitation, as though it wouldn't have occurred to her to lie. "You are lucky Cabiria did not see you about to touch the car; she would not have warned you, and she is more protective of her machine than I am."
Dove decided he liked these women.