[fic] Street of Dreams 1/1 (Band of Brothers, gen, Guarnere-centric)

[garnettrees]

So, the authors of Berlin by Christmas have been revealed. I was right, Leigh did write "Dead Men and Dreamers"! Yay for me, I win. ^_~
(Just the title alerted me, darling. It was a Leigh title. Also, no one writes Lipton like you do-- no one could actually crawl inside Speirs scary brain. You have slain me with the beauty of this story, honestly.

Comments

[minttown1]

Glad I could help. And I still love this story, Meredith. :)

[garnettrees]

*blush* And I love you. ^_^

[minttown1]

Aww, yay. Ditto. :)

[cunien]

Guarnere fic! Wow - there are not nearly enough of these babies around.

First off - yeah, Guarnere - not the easiest guy to write, but this just blew me away. I loved seeing him as a kid - I love that it's not just a little boy with the same nam - it is Guarnere. You've just got him perfectly. Perhaps my favourite line :

'"Wasn' gonna do nothin'," he grins, mouth full. '

Lol. That just cracks me up - it is so him, the little scamp!

That's a lie. That's not what happened. The truth is that Bill Guarnere never dreamed at all. On the night his brother died, felled by some Kraut in the cold desert empty, Guarnere was sleeping with a full belly, warm in one of the stalls converted for barracks use.

Now there's a slice of fried gold if ever I did see one! This is seriously good. The guilt you've hinted at there, of Guarnere being warm and comfortable the night his brother died is just incredibly sad. I also just loved the way you span the tale of this dream and then turn around with 'That's a lie.' - brilliant story telling.

'Telling

[garnettrees]

Guarnere fic! Wow - there are not nearly enough of these babies around.
You have Miss abyssinia4077 to thank for that; it was her request. ^_~

I loved seeing him as a kid - I love that it's not just a little boy with the same nam - it is Guarnere.
I'm so glad that worked! I always worry about delving into childhoods, but I can't seem to stay away from it, either. ^^;

I also just loved the way you span the tale of this dream and then turn around with 'That's a lie.' - brilliant story telling.
*blush* Thank you so much for the kind comments. All of them. You're really too sweet.

-Meredith

[maleyka]

It's Guarnere fic! Yay! *g*

I've loved this story since the first time I read it. I find it's so hard to write Guarnere believably, and without getting too deeply into any of the "rough-nosed Philly boy with a heart of gold" clichés. You seem to tread that fine line very easily.

I obsess over backstory, so I was especially glad to see some for Bill here. Little things, like his mother giving piano lessons or his brother being such an avid reader really gave your Bill the "backbone" that makes me become invested in a certain character.

I've read quite a bit of the stuff that you've written, and as always I love your prose. It's clean but complex, evoking very vivid images in my mind.
The world below is chaos in minuature-- a bird's eye view of battlements and trenches that look almost like a maze. Like streets in a dead city, leading nowhere. Taking a step from the plane is easy; he knows there's nothing out there to hold him up.
Yeah. <3!

[garnettrees]

I find it's so hard to write Guarnere believably, and without getting too deeply into any of the "rough-nosed Philly boy with a heart of gold" clichés. You seem to tread that fine line very easily.
I never even thought about that (the cliches), but you're right. I'm glad you seem to think I pulled it off.

I obsess over backstory, so I was especially glad to see some for Bill here.
So do I. I think it's such a constant theme in my fics that it's what tipped Leigh off. She knew I'd written this, even before the names were posted. I guess I'm just predictable. ^_~;;

I've read quite a bit of the stuff that you've written, and as always I love your prose. It's clean but complex, evoking very vivid images in my mind.
Thank you so, so much for the kind words. And for taking the time to comment. I really, really appreciate it.
-Meredith

[gamesiplay]

I just read your feedback. Thank you so much. I'll have to go back and respond later. And it made me smile that you recognized it; clearly, we do share a brain, because I recognized this very quickly. The backstory was part of it, and the parentheticals, but also intangible things like your particular use of metaphor, and your tendency to find those gaps in reality ("That's a lie. That's not what happened.") I loved it, unsurprisingly. I was so happy to see you tackling Guarnere, because (a)he is so underrepresented in fic; (b)he has such a distinctive voice, which I knew you would do wonders with; and (c)I've always had trouble sympathizing with him, and I knew you would change that.

In the dream, Bill is staring at his hands, small and boyish, yet unmarked by basic training, or practice scuffles in the English countryside.I was talking to someone a while ago about how dream scenes in fiction are often just dead weight-- they're used too much to drag subtext to the surface when it ought to be allowed to bubble up on its own,

Continued

[gamesiplay]

...where Philadelphia is riotous with autumn. The leaves move in the streets like small animals, skittering red, orange, yellow and brown, and from this height the city is really a maze, streets like perfect rivers. He says something like that-- about seeing the city from the sky, and Adam moves closer.
"Look," he motions, turning a page, "there is a city with rivers for streets. Venice, see?"

Loved this passage. I wish I'd written "riotous with autumn," and then the Venice reference just worked so well for me, for some reason. Possibly it felt a little like a premonition: in a few short years, they will be out seeing the world, but not under the circumstances they imagine.

For a long while, he just stares at the red; red like thick paint sold at the hardware store.

Nice. Your attention to detail always sells me.

Adam's mouth is red too, though-- a big red 'O', bright as Easter tulips, blooming like the palms of Jesus nailed to the cross. A disturbing sense of doubleness clutches at his shoulders, yanks at his spine-- he's