X-post with Fan Fiction:
I don't know if this has been mentioned already, but there is an article about fan fiction and how it can help train a writers to write their own material in the November issue of Writer's Digest.
Where the Buffistas let their fanfic creative juices flow. May contain erotica.
X-post with Fan Fiction:
I don't know if this has been mentioned already, but there is an article about fan fiction and how it can help train a writers to write their own material in the November issue of Writer's Digest.
Wow, sj, that's bitchin'. I should get one and send it to a certain somebody with "Told you so!" written on it.Even if that does void my Magical Cripple non-pettiness contract.
We can't be petty? That's a problem. I am a very petty person.
Not if we are gonna teach people how to Live and Love and Feel, and such. But that's why I'm bad at it...well, that and being above the sins of the flesh...I pretty much suck at that full-time.
Ahem. I expect the two of you to Set An Example of Saintliness.
That's why, Betsy, the Magical Cripple people have stopped sending me out...they expected healing and all they got was mental disorder humor and pounds of Munch fic. They're very disappointed.
Not if we are gonna teach people how to Live and Love and Feel, and such.
Fuck that. I have never had the stomach for it. Everytime some stranger or casual acquiantance comes up to me and says they are proud of me, I wanna smack them with my crutches on the back of the head.
that and being above the sins of the flesh...I pretty much suck at that full-time.
Me too.
Never trust anyone who claims to be above the sins of the flesh.
That's just wrong.
They're "either a liar or a moron," Right? (obligatory Many-Splendored thing quotage.) "If you're a liar, than fine. But if you're a moron, you're just a bore. I may have to shoot you and put you out of your misery." Funny thing, watching something that often...it just bounces out.
This week's open on Sunday drabble challenge is "slayers who aren't Buffy".
Amanda Lisle #1
I move through the garden like a ghost, empty-handed, unsupported.
In the shadows is my Watcher. He's supposed to train me, but I need little from him. He's supposed to cover me, but my power comes from a place he hates. He's supposed to protect me, but his son Rupert loves me, and the Watcher's resentment is bottomless.
The vampire leaps from the darkness. I call out a single command in French, a branch breaks free of the maple tree and flies. It takes the vampire in the heart.
The Watcher speaks through thin lips. "Stop using witchcraft," he snaps.