Poetry, Fic and Drabble Assortment
So, in preparation for this year's remixers_lounge Remix-Redux8, I've been uploading ancient and not-so-ancient things to AO3, and writing drabbles.
A whole bunch of Doctor Who poetry/ficlet/meta-stuff can now be found under the Doctor Who fandom tag, including the script for The Three Sisters, the masquerade piece that I did partly as a rebuttal to the idea then being discussed on RADW that fan-poetry was by definition badly written and those who wrote it were sad creatures, and that costume-fen were the very saddest of the sad. Mostly I did it because the idea had me by the throat and would not let me go. I ended up taking Best in Show, Best Workmanship and Audience Choice with the presentation. Unfortunately, Paul Cornell (who had introduced the Gods of Gallifrey into the Virgin New Adventures canon) was not able to attend. jblum was, and his enthusiasm for the piece more than made up for it.
And Refuse to Call Love Sin, the first in a 3-part series, but it stands on its own, has been uploaded now. I wrote it for lgbtfest and promptly fell headlong into American Idol fandom, forgetting all about it until now. The second part is more than 2/3s done, and the third is started - plus I know what happens in both of them, so it's a case of getting it written down, not figuring it out. It's Joe-fic!
cereta has done two Grading Hell Theatre prompts recently that inspired me,
Snowpocalypse
-- Snowpocalypse, Highlander, Methos, G
-- A Remedy for Snow, American Idol, Adam, G
Adam was not a fan of snow, and he really wasn't fond of cold, either. Just seeing the stuff blowing horizontally on the airport televisions, the drifts and mounds where there should be roads, runways, cars and trees made him shiver in the warm comfort of the VIP lounge at LAX, wrapping Oprah's pashmina scarf-blanket closer around his neck. (VIP! That still made him giddy, even as he realized it was as much necessity as perk. And Oprah! That wasn't going to get old anytime soon.) Even the grey LA drizzle seemed extra brisk with those images in view. The blonde waitress was coming round again, tossing her hair with a laugh, and Adam was reminded of that one interviewer who really didn't drink, and the discussion of hot toddies. He could do with something hot right now, in fact - the tea he'd been drinking had gone cold. Hot tea, hot coffee, hot toddy, hot chocolate. Just thinking about the idea was starting to take the edge off the chill the bitter images invoked. The waitress was offering him a steaming cup, and Lane was smiling.
It was hot chocolate, with marshmallows and whiskey. He grinned back, warmed through.
-- The interview with the hot toddy/hot chocolate discussion is here: Lisa Paige interview.
Many thanks to auberus who said it made her feel all toasty.
And Birthin' Babies
-- Child of the Future, Highlander, Methos, G
Methos had been at many births - sudden, scheduled, untimely - as husband, midwife, physician, bystander, even as Death. He'd held hands, hips, fainting fathers, fainting sisters, on one notable occasion a fainting doctor ("I'm a microbiologist, not an obgyn!"), towels, forceps, and pots of steaming water. He'd comforted mothers sobbing, screaming and unnervingly quiet, cradled tiny wet heads, bodies wriggling and still.
He'd never before seen the birth of a sentient, space-faring jelly-fish, and he didn't know why sie insisted on his wrist for hir tentacle-grip, though he wasn't objecting; and presently there was someone new and beautiful in the universe.
--Air Child American Idol, Adam, G
Adam never expected to be present at the birth of a baby. (Songs, yes, even albums, music that came bursting out of the soul, torn from the heart, emerging exultant from throat and band and speaker to be caught up and cherished by the listener. Not an actual real, live baby.) Of course if Danielle or Alisan or any of his women-friends were pregnant and wanted him there, he'd be there for them, but this is different. This is in a galley on an airplane ("Nobody's getting drinks now," Tommy quipped, before Monte quelled him with a glare), not a hospital; she's got a death-grip on his hands (they're both going to have bruises from his rings) and is muffling her cries in the front of his favorite sweater-jacket. Roger looks a little green, but Lane is quietly and efficiently helping the guy with the nose who obviously knows what he's doing. It's also obvious that it is way too soon for this kid to be coming, but coming he is. Adam breathes with her, murmuring, "It'll be ok, sweetheart, breathe and push." He doesn't realize he's crying until they hear the tiny, breathy squall of life over the engine-roar.
And yes, the guy with the nose is who you think he is :-)
Also posted was Library, American Idol, Adam and Kris, G, which was written as a comment-fic birthday drabble for amproof.
The mansion had a library. (Of course the mansion had a library, Kris thought, lost. It had everything else.) It wasn't large, and the shelves were filled with books-by-the-yard, strangely random, but it had the advantage of an internet port, and was usually just down the hall from their room. Adam had promptly installed his desktop on the library table.
It was quiet (and Kris needed quiet,) smelled of books (always nice,) and was a refuge from chaos, in true library fashion, however odd the selection of reading matter.
And if Adam was there too, well, so much the better.
There is more in process, but that's more than enough for now, methinks.
A whole bunch of Doctor Who poetry/ficlet/meta-stuff can now be found under the Doctor Who fandom tag, including the script for The Three Sisters, the masquerade piece that I did partly as a rebuttal to the idea then being discussed on RADW that fan-poetry was by definition badly written and those who wrote it were sad creatures, and that costume-fen were the very saddest of the sad. Mostly I did it because the idea had me by the throat and would not let me go. I ended up taking Best in Show, Best Workmanship and Audience Choice with the presentation. Unfortunately, Paul Cornell (who had introduced the Gods of Gallifrey into the Virgin New Adventures canon) was not able to attend. jblum was, and his enthusiasm for the piece more than made up for it.
And Refuse to Call Love Sin, the first in a 3-part series, but it stands on its own, has been uploaded now. I wrote it for lgbtfest and promptly fell headlong into American Idol fandom, forgetting all about it until now. The second part is more than 2/3s done, and the third is started - plus I know what happens in both of them, so it's a case of getting it written down, not figuring it out. It's Joe-fic!
cereta has done two Grading Hell Theatre prompts recently that inspired me,
Snowpocalypse
-- Snowpocalypse, Highlander, Methos, G
-- A Remedy for Snow, American Idol, Adam, G
Adam was not a fan of snow, and he really wasn't fond of cold, either. Just seeing the stuff blowing horizontally on the airport televisions, the drifts and mounds where there should be roads, runways, cars and trees made him shiver in the warm comfort of the VIP lounge at LAX, wrapping Oprah's pashmina scarf-blanket closer around his neck. (VIP! That still made him giddy, even as he realized it was as much necessity as perk. And Oprah! That wasn't going to get old anytime soon.) Even the grey LA drizzle seemed extra brisk with those images in view. The blonde waitress was coming round again, tossing her hair with a laugh, and Adam was reminded of that one interviewer who really didn't drink, and the discussion of hot toddies. He could do with something hot right now, in fact - the tea he'd been drinking had gone cold. Hot tea, hot coffee, hot toddy, hot chocolate. Just thinking about the idea was starting to take the edge off the chill the bitter images invoked. The waitress was offering him a steaming cup, and Lane was smiling.
It was hot chocolate, with marshmallows and whiskey. He grinned back, warmed through.
-- The interview with the hot toddy/hot chocolate discussion is here: Lisa Paige interview.
Many thanks to auberus who said it made her feel all toasty.
And Birthin' Babies
-- Child of the Future, Highlander, Methos, G
Methos had been at many births - sudden, scheduled, untimely - as husband, midwife, physician, bystander, even as Death. He'd held hands, hips, fainting fathers, fainting sisters, on one notable occasion a fainting doctor ("I'm a microbiologist, not an obgyn!"), towels, forceps, and pots of steaming water. He'd comforted mothers sobbing, screaming and unnervingly quiet, cradled tiny wet heads, bodies wriggling and still.
He'd never before seen the birth of a sentient, space-faring jelly-fish, and he didn't know why sie insisted on his wrist for hir tentacle-grip, though he wasn't objecting; and presently there was someone new and beautiful in the universe.
--Air Child American Idol, Adam, G
Adam never expected to be present at the birth of a baby. (Songs, yes, even albums, music that came bursting out of the soul, torn from the heart, emerging exultant from throat and band and speaker to be caught up and cherished by the listener. Not an actual real, live baby.) Of course if Danielle or Alisan or any of his women-friends were pregnant and wanted him there, he'd be there for them, but this is different. This is in a galley on an airplane ("Nobody's getting drinks now," Tommy quipped, before Monte quelled him with a glare), not a hospital; she's got a death-grip on his hands (they're both going to have bruises from his rings) and is muffling her cries in the front of his favorite sweater-jacket. Roger looks a little green, but Lane is quietly and efficiently helping the guy with the nose who obviously knows what he's doing. It's also obvious that it is way too soon for this kid to be coming, but coming he is. Adam breathes with her, murmuring, "It'll be ok, sweetheart, breathe and push." He doesn't realize he's crying until they hear the tiny, breathy squall of life over the engine-roar.
And yes, the guy with the nose is who you think he is :-)
Also posted was Library, American Idol, Adam and Kris, G, which was written as a comment-fic birthday drabble for amproof.
The mansion had a library. (Of course the mansion had a library, Kris thought, lost. It had everything else.) It wasn't large, and the shelves were filled with books-by-the-yard, strangely random, but it had the advantage of an internet port, and was usually just down the hall from their room. Adam had promptly installed his desktop on the library table.
It was quiet (and Kris needed quiet,) smelled of books (always nice,) and was a refuge from chaos, in true library fashion, however odd the selection of reading matter.
And if Adam was there too, well, so much the better.
There is more in process, but that's more than enough for now, methinks.