For me, fic is for when the characters voices are in my head. No matter how much I love Buffy, I don't internalize them. There has to be some connection for me.

And yeah, the more open doors the writers leave, the better. Although there's always AU, so it doesn't much affect the volume of stories I'll write...

This is what comes of not knowing the terms.

I learned it by different words, myself, in terms of the psychic distance ("narrative distance", "authorial distance") to the character in question: close, distant, etc. The central metaphor was a camera. Actually-- from one of my mother's old handouts, which I will inflict on you because I think it's cool:

A simple analogy for psychic distance is the lens of a movie camera. Imagine the opening sequence of a film: The first view is shot from a helicopter. We see a panoramic scene of hills, trees, houses. Zoom a little, and here is a particular house. Closer, through the window, a room with people in it. Closer, the camera identifies a single subject among the crowd: a young boy sitting on a braided rug. Closer, we see his face. We see his eyes. Now, we are seeing through his eyes.

One way a writer can control distance is though diction and a careful selection of detail. Summaries, abstractions, and generalizations tend to keep the reader at arm's length . Sharp details tend to pull the reader in. However, to say that specificity diminishes distance is a gross oversimplification. Distance is, primarily, a matter of tone.

The following example illustrates a scale of diminishing distance. Here are six ways to open the same story:

1. It was a sunny March morning after a long dark winter, and the town of Oleana, Indiana was gearing up for its annual rutabaga festival.
2. A large, raw-faced woman of twenty-seven stepped out of her bungalow and into the chilly sunlit morning.
3. Penelope Johnson squinted in the cold spring sunlight.
4. Penelope loved to feel the faint March sunshine on her face.
5. March sunshine made her want to dance.
6. Light again! Flooding past her clenched eyelids, warming her sun-starved soul.

Notice how the long view (1) creates a remote feeling, whereas the close-up (6) induces claustrophobia. Extreme closeness and extreme distance are sometimes disorienting for readers of narrative -- just as they can be to viewers of paintings, photos, or cinema.

The in-between examples above operate along the same continuum, adjusting the emotional climate of the story's introductory sentence without changing its basic facts. The potential number of gradations is, of course, infinite. Once you learn how to manipulate psychic distance you can micro-manage your story's mood.

...

and refers to "adolescent mellow drama" which I think is "Everwood" or something

ahahahaha.

That is all.

I kind of see FF.net like a big market place....sort of like a big junktique place where you go in trying to find something really cool and wonderful but you're pretty sure most of it's going to be junk. And sure enough there's a whole wall of crying Elvis velvet painting, or pet rocks. And the home crafts gone bad, such as the egg carton lampshade. And you just boggle and wonder why...why anyone would make somethign, why more than one person is making crying Elvis and why anyone would pay down good money for that.

Sometimes you find, buried away is something cool---Art Deco lamps, or a set of cool Martini glasses.

But mostly, you just go and stare in wonder (or horror) and all the weird crap people have made, sell, and buy. Because there's always someone walking around, proudly, with a crying Elvis they just proudly purchased.

Wow, cool analogy.And if it gives the gift of schadenfreude, that's a nice bonus. Though even the worst stories kind of touch me, cause that person is (usually) so proud of what they did and everything...has so much faith in it. Sometimes, they are deluded,though.

General question:

What characters do you like better in fic than onscreen? Who do you like less in fic?

I didn't care much for Connor because he outwhined Dawn onscreen, but I have read a lot of great fics about him. But OTOH, I've never read a story that made me like Oz as much as Seth Green's performance does.

Dawnie... Meldrick Lewis I know there's another one...

Um... Harry Potter is often more interesting and less whiny in fic than in the books, though at least in the books he doesn't use Americanisms or mis-use Britsh phrases, and Draco Malfoy even more so (partly the fanfic writer's urge to redeem him-- shades of grey are far more interesting than black and white). Smallville's Jonathan Kent is a platitude-spouting bore onscreen, and can be interesting in fanfic, but it's a rare writer who can make Lionel as creepy in fic as he is onscreen. Pete is under-used, and often badly used, onscreen, and there should be much more good fic about him. In Buffyverse... I don't mind Fred onscreen, but in fic she often annoys me; Spike I love onscreen, but a bad fic writer can make me loathe his as much as a good fic writer can make me enjoy the character in new ways (that was less porny in my head, but it's probably quite close to what I meant).

What characters do you like better in fic than onscreen? Who do you like less in fic?

Hmm.

Smallville's a good one, since both Ma and Pa Kent are generally done a disservice onscreen, so there's a lot of room for a writer to work with.

I like Riley better in fic. I think I like Fred better onscreen, because it's hard to get her right. Tara, too. And characters like Jayne -- so much of Jayne's charm comes from Adam Baldwin's performance.

People like Penknife write interesting stories about Scott Summers, whereas in the X-Men movies, he's not exactly lighting up the screen.

Yes, I've gone diving into the depths of Nikita fanfic again, and I must say, my favorite author has outdone herself.

The following text is likely not safe for perusal at work, and is likely to offend anyone who loves the English language.

Michael told his wife, as he felt his soldiers rising and using an intoxicatingly sexy voice that did little to control the woman’s need, a rumbling voice pronouncing, “Nee-kee-taa!” Scolding a warning to the blonde beauty that purposely burnished his front with her behind.

She smiled an invisible smile to Michael who could not see her face as she innocently asked in an inculpable little girl voice, “What?”

Her tail relentlessly and unequivocally rubbed harder, more sensually against his reluctant appendage, he was determined to rest, he knew what awaited them soon enough. But Nikita, his Nee-kee-ta was unconscionably bold and determinedly wanton, and she knew quite well that she was a remarkable opponent to his better judgement when it came to this relieving of their most primal exigency.

***

“Kita don’t.” He begged, knowing perfectly well that if she did stop he would take over and render her speechless, her hands had plopped out his engorging member and she was busy manhandling it just in the perfect manner.

***

The culmination of the act came slowly for Michael since Nikita seemed to take her time steering him in and out of the lust filled traffic, her mouth busy with the fullness of him and his body tense like a car-fan-belt with the pleasure driven home by the woman. He incorporated himself on the bed, back to the headboard to better watch her body wreath in passion filled ecstasy, sight which compounded his own desire.

(Editorial note: "He incorporated himself"? I guess he wanted to reduce his liability in case of a lawsuit.)

***

And the grand finale:

But she would not allow him to get near her center; she was much to aroused with his body’s reaction to her playful mouth to be able to take the added distraction of his stimulation of her mantel. His head was back in distraction, his ‘o’ expression carved in stone, his eyes closed, his hands busy raking the nails against her sensitized skin, his breathing harsh and his blood rushing to his throne.

She brushed his testicles with the slight move of her tongue and she dropped her raised behind to wreath relentlessly against his trouser leg, his jeans haphazardly still clothing part of his body. Her hands moved to the front and through the fine cloth of the shirt manipulated his nipples, by pocking and pulling and pinching and grabbing. He was in an absolute state of release, sitting on the peak of rapture, his famous control disintegrating, non-existent, disappearing, as he surrendered gladly to his wife.

“Kita… I can’t, let me fu** you pleeeaaassseee.” He begged, wanting to enter her to gain a modicum of control back.

But she ignored him, raising the stakes by a quantum amount, moving purposely introducing more need-disintegrating-causing-heat into the equation. Her mouth formed more friction, her center rubbed his leg harder, her hands picked at his nipples mercilessly and her tongue touched the balls rendering him useless. He exploded screaming loudly, biting his lip at the frustration of being so out of control; his hands dug into her head, holding her still so she would suck every drop out. He came taking her with him as his penis touched the back of her throat exploding into a well of gourmet caliber cum, and she continued draining him until he was completely done.

And I think that speaks for itself.

Gourmet spunk? Nikita has developed her palate to such a degree that she can discern this even though she has no taste buds in the back of her throat? So she's basically Nikita, the Suck Slut of Section One?

That's just too fantastic for words.