Memes!
I'm a bit stuck on several writing projects, so meme time! Try any or all of 'em.
Alfred Hitchcock said, "If I made Cinderella, the audience would immediately be looking for a body in the coach." If I wrote a story today, what would the readers immediately look for?
and/or
Enslave the Writer meme: If you could force me to write anything, what would it be? So not guaranteeing I'll write it, but I'm curious.
and/or
WIP meme: Post snippets of your Works in Progress on your journal.
Ship-swap fic
Saul sat down on the edge of the dock, his feet in the cool water. He looked out over the bright blue-and-green quietness and held out his coffee cup in a toast. “To Carolanne, the only woman I ever met who could out-drink me but who I never liked drinking with. May the Gods bless you for finally kicking his ass to the curb.” He took a sip, then whispered, “Thank you.”
Sun-Sue and the Art of War
As she walked down the hill alongside the rest of Team Badass, Plus Schue, Lauren idly wondered how the other kids were doing. She mentally traced her way down the bus aisle, thinking through who they had left. She cringed. Unless saving the day somehow involved break-dancing or an encyclopedic knowledge of Broadway musicals, Team Clueless was in trouble.
Alphabet meme: T is for Tourniquet, Helo & Gaeta
“Remember the two by two rule: two inches above the injury site, and your tourniquet is two inches wide,” Sergeant Shay yelled, striding slowly through the three rows of soldiers on the ground. Adama had let his crew fall woefully behind in their first aid training, and it was her unenviable job to get the grunts and nuggets up to speed.
“You sure you don’t want me to be the one to do it first?” Felix asked his partner, a tall, good-looking pilot everyone called ‘Helo.’
Culture Shock
So, she invited D’Anna to accompany her. D’Anna didn’t have any problem getting time off from work for a holiday. In fact, she parleyed it into being a work assignment and got her employer to pay for her trip. D’Anna’s experience as a spy posing as a reporter had made her exceedingly qualified for an actual job in journalism, and her column, You Crazy Meatbags: Earth Through the Eyes of a Cylon, had become a big hit.
Cemetery Song for Spring (this one's a monster, so I'm pulling a few bits...)
It’s not until they crawl into his bed together that night that it dawns on Kurt. They’ve only once had sex-sex in this bed. (He still refuses to use the word anal, even as an adult with a healthy sex life, even in his mind. He also still pulls out “keelhauling” whenever he and Blaine need a good chuckle.) Even worse, that one time was the disastrous Freshman Year Christmas incident. Just as Kurt is about to share this revelation with Blaine and suggest they make some better memories, Blaine deftly kills the mood.
“Are you going to visit their graves?” he asks, eyes wide and concerned.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Kurt stutters. “Kind of morbid for a honeymoon.”
“I know you miss Burt a lot,” Blaine says. Kurt feels his back stiffening at how obvious and stupid of an observation that is.
“I do,” Kurt says, quietly and evenly and a hair’s breadth away from telling Blaine to drop it because tomorrow he has to go to the shop for the first time since a week after the funeral.
“Mourning is hard for everyone, but with atheism-I’m not talking about belief in an afterlife changing things, but atheism doesn’t have the community structure and the rituals for how to grieve the way religions do.”
Blaine is speaking like a professor, like Kurt and his loss are an abstraction that can be explained with theory. Like Blaine is calmly sitting outside of it, which he is. Kurt hates it.
And this one...
Blaine is still processing that sentence when Puck fishes his wallet out of his pocket and flips it open. Two little blonde girls in Disney Princess Halloween costumes smile up at him from the photograph. Blaine’s mind catches. The older one is too old to be Puck’s, unless…
Blaine barely stops himself from asking, “Beth?”
“That’s Jenny,” Puck says, pointing to the younger one in the Sleeping Beauty costume, “and that’s Kelly.” Only then does Puck apparently notice Blaine’s confusion. “Technically, they’re not my kids. They’re my girlfriend’s, but their biological dad was a real creep. Used to beat the crap out of Tracy. But she’s a strong woman. She got a restraining order and left his sorry ass. So maybe they’re not my kids, but-they are my kids, you know?”
“Yeah, I do,” Blaine says.
Puck tilts his head and looks at Blaine seriously. “Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you? ‘Cause you and Kurt are gonna get, like, half a dozen babies from China or something someday, aren’t you?”
Blaine is so stunned at the fact that he’s talking about babies with Noah Puckerman that all he manages is a weak, “Not exactly. China doesn’t allow gay people to adopt.”
“Really? That sucks. Well, then from Russia or France or wherever.”
And one more...
Then the music starts, and Kurt cuts Finn off with a motion that turns into a dance move. Even Kurt is stunned at how fast the routine returns to him. It’s like riding a bike-a very hip-swively, silly-sexy bike. Evie appears genuinely impressed; Carole and Blaine are leaning on each other and not hiding their giggling well. By the time he’s pointing to his ring, he’s yelling, “Come on, Finn. I know you remember it.”
Evie’s jaw drops. As soon as she recovers, she’s goading Finn on and shoving him to the front of the living room beside Kurt. Finn hasn’t grown any more graceful over the years, but after a few bars of bouncing to the beat, he catches up on a comb-the-hair, slap-the-butt.
Though she’s doubling over with laughter at least once every thirty seconds, Evie joins in the second time through point-to-the-ring, thus cementing Kurt’s fondness for her. Blaine takes only a little more coaxing, and once Kurt has him going, his expressions to go along with the lip syncing are the most enthusiastic and ridiculous of the bunch. Eventually, they hit a point where Finn has no clue what the steps are. Kurt quickly gives up correcting him in favor of taking Blaine’s hand and folding into an awkward, wonderful cheek-to-cheek couple dance.
Kurt can’t help but remember the night “Single Ladies” rang out over the football field, only to be drowned out by the roar of the crowd at Kurt’s game-winning kick. Even with all the noise, Kurt could still hear “That’s my son!” over it all, clear as day.
Alfred Hitchcock said, "If I made Cinderella, the audience would immediately be looking for a body in the coach." If I wrote a story today, what would the readers immediately look for?
and/or
Enslave the Writer meme: If you could force me to write anything, what would it be? So not guaranteeing I'll write it, but I'm curious.
and/or
WIP meme: Post snippets of your Works in Progress on your journal.
Ship-swap fic
Saul sat down on the edge of the dock, his feet in the cool water. He looked out over the bright blue-and-green quietness and held out his coffee cup in a toast. “To Carolanne, the only woman I ever met who could out-drink me but who I never liked drinking with. May the Gods bless you for finally kicking his ass to the curb.” He took a sip, then whispered, “Thank you.”
Sun-Sue and the Art of War
As she walked down the hill alongside the rest of Team Badass, Plus Schue, Lauren idly wondered how the other kids were doing. She mentally traced her way down the bus aisle, thinking through who they had left. She cringed. Unless saving the day somehow involved break-dancing or an encyclopedic knowledge of Broadway musicals, Team Clueless was in trouble.
Alphabet meme: T is for Tourniquet, Helo & Gaeta
“Remember the two by two rule: two inches above the injury site, and your tourniquet is two inches wide,” Sergeant Shay yelled, striding slowly through the three rows of soldiers on the ground. Adama had let his crew fall woefully behind in their first aid training, and it was her unenviable job to get the grunts and nuggets up to speed.
“You sure you don’t want me to be the one to do it first?” Felix asked his partner, a tall, good-looking pilot everyone called ‘Helo.’
Culture Shock
So, she invited D’Anna to accompany her. D’Anna didn’t have any problem getting time off from work for a holiday. In fact, she parleyed it into being a work assignment and got her employer to pay for her trip. D’Anna’s experience as a spy posing as a reporter had made her exceedingly qualified for an actual job in journalism, and her column, You Crazy Meatbags: Earth Through the Eyes of a Cylon, had become a big hit.
Cemetery Song for Spring (this one's a monster, so I'm pulling a few bits...)
It’s not until they crawl into his bed together that night that it dawns on Kurt. They’ve only once had sex-sex in this bed. (He still refuses to use the word anal, even as an adult with a healthy sex life, even in his mind. He also still pulls out “keelhauling” whenever he and Blaine need a good chuckle.) Even worse, that one time was the disastrous Freshman Year Christmas incident. Just as Kurt is about to share this revelation with Blaine and suggest they make some better memories, Blaine deftly kills the mood.
“Are you going to visit their graves?” he asks, eyes wide and concerned.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Kurt stutters. “Kind of morbid for a honeymoon.”
“I know you miss Burt a lot,” Blaine says. Kurt feels his back stiffening at how obvious and stupid of an observation that is.
“I do,” Kurt says, quietly and evenly and a hair’s breadth away from telling Blaine to drop it because tomorrow he has to go to the shop for the first time since a week after the funeral.
“Mourning is hard for everyone, but with atheism-I’m not talking about belief in an afterlife changing things, but atheism doesn’t have the community structure and the rituals for how to grieve the way religions do.”
Blaine is speaking like a professor, like Kurt and his loss are an abstraction that can be explained with theory. Like Blaine is calmly sitting outside of it, which he is. Kurt hates it.
And this one...
Blaine is still processing that sentence when Puck fishes his wallet out of his pocket and flips it open. Two little blonde girls in Disney Princess Halloween costumes smile up at him from the photograph. Blaine’s mind catches. The older one is too old to be Puck’s, unless…
Blaine barely stops himself from asking, “Beth?”
“That’s Jenny,” Puck says, pointing to the younger one in the Sleeping Beauty costume, “and that’s Kelly.” Only then does Puck apparently notice Blaine’s confusion. “Technically, they’re not my kids. They’re my girlfriend’s, but their biological dad was a real creep. Used to beat the crap out of Tracy. But she’s a strong woman. She got a restraining order and left his sorry ass. So maybe they’re not my kids, but-they are my kids, you know?”
“Yeah, I do,” Blaine says.
Puck tilts his head and looks at Blaine seriously. “Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you? ‘Cause you and Kurt are gonna get, like, half a dozen babies from China or something someday, aren’t you?”
Blaine is so stunned at the fact that he’s talking about babies with Noah Puckerman that all he manages is a weak, “Not exactly. China doesn’t allow gay people to adopt.”
“Really? That sucks. Well, then from Russia or France or wherever.”
And one more...
Then the music starts, and Kurt cuts Finn off with a motion that turns into a dance move. Even Kurt is stunned at how fast the routine returns to him. It’s like riding a bike-a very hip-swively, silly-sexy bike. Evie appears genuinely impressed; Carole and Blaine are leaning on each other and not hiding their giggling well. By the time he’s pointing to his ring, he’s yelling, “Come on, Finn. I know you remember it.”
Evie’s jaw drops. As soon as she recovers, she’s goading Finn on and shoving him to the front of the living room beside Kurt. Finn hasn’t grown any more graceful over the years, but after a few bars of bouncing to the beat, he catches up on a comb-the-hair, slap-the-butt.
Though she’s doubling over with laughter at least once every thirty seconds, Evie joins in the second time through point-to-the-ring, thus cementing Kurt’s fondness for her. Blaine takes only a little more coaxing, and once Kurt has him going, his expressions to go along with the lip syncing are the most enthusiastic and ridiculous of the bunch. Eventually, they hit a point where Finn has no clue what the steps are. Kurt quickly gives up correcting him in favor of taking Blaine’s hand and folding into an awkward, wonderful cheek-to-cheek couple dance.
Kurt can’t help but remember the night “Single Ladies” rang out over the football field, only to be drowned out by the roar of the crowd at Kurt’s game-winning kick. Even with all the noise, Kurt could still hear “That’s my son!” over it all, clear as day.