That's my girl... That's my good girl.

Kaylee ,'Serenity'


The Great Write Way  

A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.


Nutty - Oct 19, 2004 7:41:45 am PDT #7526 of 10001
"Mister Spock is on his fanny, sir. Reports heavy damage."

The not-murderer. Not that ita's Colin particularly appreciates the homonymy.

I am surprised that so many of these fateful encounters are autobiographical -- it seems even moreso than other drabble topics. I cannot think of a single "fateful" encounter with a person that I recognized at the time, nor one I remember so clearly that I can describe it later.


§ ita § - Oct 19, 2004 7:44:24 am PDT #7527 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.

Not that ita's Colin particularly appreciates the homonymy.

No, it works for him. Keeps him familiar, without him having to go on Death Row.

I don't have that many (if any) fateful encounters. But I might not be in LA if I hadn't met him, so I can keep that one.

Every time I try and make up a fictional one, it seems overdone.


Lee - Oct 19, 2004 7:47:22 am PDT #7528 of 10001
The feeling you get when your brain finally lets your heart get in its pants.

One of mine was actually largely fictional. I took a feeling from one situation and spun it into another situation.


§ ita § - Oct 19, 2004 7:48:02 am PDT #7529 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.

One of mine was actually largely fictional.

The WorldCrossing one, right?


Lee - Oct 19, 2004 7:49:09 am PDT #7530 of 10001
The feeling you get when your brain finally lets your heart get in its pants.

Yep. Never heard of the place.


Connie Neil - Oct 19, 2004 7:49:31 am PDT #7531 of 10001
brillig

Anthony Jansen van Salee & Grietje Reiniers

He was young to have such wealth. He said he was Dutch, but he spoke with a Moorish accent. Son of a pirate, they whispered. Murat Reis, the Sultan's favorite, sending his son to the New World with pirate booty for a new life.

They said she'd lost her tavern job for being too free with the guests. A young man, inexperienced, eager for the world. A woman on her own, familiar with men and their ways. She caught his eye--or he caught hers.

They married on the ship headed west, raised hell and a family, died wealthy and influential, to the dismay of their neighbors.


Liese S. - Oct 19, 2004 7:59:26 am PDT #7532 of 10001
"Faded like the lilac, he thought."

another love story

It's not a big island. They call it the Big Island, but everything's relative. It wasn't so big that she hadn't heard his name. It was big enough she'd never met him. She was Buddhist, after all, and her friends came home with tales of him from their Christian church camp.

Michigan was smaller, really. There were only a few of them, so they'd joined the group. Love blossomed on the snow-covered campus that hadn't found root in the tropical soil. He studied metallurgy and put koi in the fountain. She learned how to teach and was never going home.


§ ita § - Oct 19, 2004 9:02:10 am PDT #7533 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.

It's one of the first things they learnt as freshmen. Don't look new. Look jaded, cynical, even slightly bored.

She forgets it all as her head snaps towards the noise.

"What is that?"

"What?" asks her friend, a little deeper into the façade, and a little more intent on watching the shirts vs. skins game.

"Over there. What are they doing?"

She doesn't stay for an answer. Their movements compel her closer, their voices call to her without using her name, or even knowing she's there.

Her eyes dart around the scene in nascent panic.

"How do I sign up?"


§ ita § - Oct 19, 2004 9:12:00 am PDT #7534 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.

"They said I have to go to computer class."

My father looks up from his paper. "I think you'll like it."

My mother nods.

I can't imagine what was in a scattered thirteen year old that could predict the obsession, the dedication of education, the insistence on taking courses not offered at her school, the monomania that didn't ease up until the end of her degree. Was it that obvious I'd be seduced by a combination of logic and power, wrapped up in a mystery of codes?

I suppose that's what parents do - see things they don't even understand themselves.


victor infante - Oct 19, 2004 9:12:28 am PDT #7535 of 10001
To understand what happened at the diner, we shall use Mr. Papaya! This is upsetting because he's the friendliest of fruits.

Warhol Days Part Two

Mary-Louise intends to dance across the fluorescent-lit aisles of every Wal-Mart Supercenter in Georgia. It’s a goal that’s brewed longer than truck stop coffee, since that fateful day at age 15 the cameras caught her stealing lipstick at K-Mart. In that instant, she realized that this was a blue light Made for Closed-Caption TV special, and this was her moment to shine.

“Because this is America,” she thought, “and you ain’t worth nothing if you ain’t on TV.”

She curled her lip and began to quiver—carefully starting with chattering teeth then building quickly until her knees were wobbly. She fell to the floor of the stage, her face soaked with tears. Not a dry eye in the place, and even the lemon-bitter manager was moved. She got off with a warning, and a star was born.

Soon, she found herself performing awkward ballet to the Celine Dion tune crooned through tinny speakers, remaining motionless when a sales assistant is paged, or a special is announced. One night, she recited Orsinio’s “If music be the food of love, play on” speech in the pet supplies department. Another night, she sang “Amazing Grace” at full volume, the stunned applause of K-Mart shoppers ringing against dilapidated shelves.

The explosion of Wal-Mart cemented the deal, her impromptu performances moved to shinier stages. It was like playing Rockefeller Center, with those clean floors and cameras everywhere, broadcasting to only God and the District Manager knows whom.

She can’t repress a smile each time she sees the lens on the corner of her vision, because it’s in these moments she knows this is America, and in America, someone’s always watching.