eruthros

1) A Host of Sparrows, Emma Bull's Bone Dance. Please don't read this if you haven't read the book -- I love the book times a billion, and this story spoils the best part of the book. ( Bone Dance is like B5, in a way: you can't use the best part to convince people to read it, because it's a million times better if you don't see it coming.)

( more on Bone Dance and this story )

2) Paradise Lost, which is, uh, NC-17 LOLcats fic with voyeurism.

( This is a long facepalmy story )

I hear tell that I have scarred a number of people for life. Um. Yay?

3) Poolside, Cary Grant/Marlon Brando.

( details here )

***

Now, to go figure out who wrote everything I liked, and institute tracking measures.

ETA: Now that I can load the yuletide pages without seeing a screaming snowman, I can report that

ladygray99 wrote my main story and

mjules wrote my treat. Thanks to you both!

This has a new high-ranking position on the list of products that disturb me. A lot.

It is the Chipmunks. They sing "Time Warp." *brain breaks*

***

The Traditional Values Coalition just issued a press release that contains the phrase "homosexual agenda" (and incidentals, like "homosexual goal" and "pro-homosexual lawmakers"). Can anyone keep from laughing at "homosexual agenda?" Honestly!

***

Also, today on things I hate: The Suns are two and five. Two and five! WTF, Suns? You are last in the league. You are behind the SACRAMENTO KINGS (4:2). You are behind the GOLDEN STATE WARRIORS (5:3) who, okay, are better this year and show some prospects, but still! Suns! You have Stoudemire and the Matrix and Barbosa and Nash! Get your shit together!

In my ideal world, the Pacific Division standings go Warriors, Suns, Kings, Clippers, Lakers. But since I know that the Warriors won't be number one, I restrain my hopes to a Suns, Kings, Warriors, Clippers, Lakers standing. God. The Lakers dead last. It would rock my world.

I was attempting to distract a friend by writing fiction on Y!M which, as we all know, is sorta like Harlan Ellison's page-posting short story trick, in that you can't go back and change anything. This is the closest I get to actual writing, so I'm posting it for the curious.

( Harry/Ron fifteen minute fiction )

Not so G-yIP. Battlestar Galactica was the first television I was ever fannish about. I knew the canon, I loved the characters ... and I wrote my very first fanfiction.

So my first fanfiction was written before I knew fanfiction or fandom existed. It was a godawful 127K-word epic drawer-fic AU. Lots of names with apostrophes, noble sacrifices, honorable enemies, complicated schemes, and exclamation marks. Starbuck's colony was still destroyed by Cylons when he was a child, but he was never rescued by Colonial warriors. He hooked up with pirates and smugglers, instead, and kind of turned into ... Han Solo with an M.D-Ph.D. (I would feel shame, but I was eight.) Dialogue like this:

"You know that my people could kill you," said Jeneko. "I could be tricking you. Starbuck could be fine."
"I don’t care. I need to make sure that Starbuck will live. This is all my fault." Apollo rushed to his shuttle.

"What the hell are you doing here, Apollo?" Starbuck asked. His breath hissed, and his breathing was labored. "You can be such an idiot sometimes. You know what they can and probably will do to you. What are you doing here? You promised to stay safe. ... Just make sure that you leave here alive. I don’t care, you can use me as a scapegoat. Use me as a hostage! I don’t care! Just get the hell out of here, safe and preferably alive! Go back to your friendly Colonial warriors and Serina and live happily ever after!"

That there is damn bad writing. But at least I got my melodrama from a very good source: this was the show where Apollo confronted Satan because Satan was trying to take over the fleet (so not kidding). And then Satan killed Apollo (still not kidding). Apollo gets picked up by a deus ex machina (and I mean that literally, and I'm still not kidding). And then Starbuck gets picked up by same, sees Apollo lying dead on a bier, and immediately goes into a whole "I'll give you anything you want, just bring him back." I haven't seen the episode in ages, but I think he may even fall to his knees in front of the angels. And Apollo, naturally, is resuscitated and, naturally, remembers nothing. See? The melodrama is definitely canon.

And I wrote slash-without-the-sex, because I couldn't imagine Starbuck and Apollo not wanting to live together. There was a lot of "I'd give my life for him." I had a whole chapter where Starbuck worrying that Apollo's father wouldn't like him.

Oddly, when I wrote in my second fandom, I wrote Mary Sues up the wazoo. Star Wars was the first fandom in which I discovered that other people wrote fanfiction, and the first fandom where I read other people's fanfiction, and instead of writing proto-slash, I wrote unforgivable Mary Sues. I don't know what this says about what I first got out of fandom, but it can't be good. *g*

There's a corner of Bay Street, up near campus, where I can see California.

Northern California is a strange place to be at this time of year, an opposition of winter and spring. Rainstorms and sun fight through January and February, and within half an hour one can gain the advantage. I've left my house wearing sandals on a sunny day and arrived at class with feet wet from melting hail.

The ornamental plums and the acacias are blooming and it smells like spring; the Japanese maples and the birches are completely bare, just the skeletons of trees, and they look like cold winters. The hills are covered in tall dry grasses, the summer grasses that make climbing hills such a dusty chore for some who can't imagine hills without green, the summer grasses that set dark California oaks in relief against a field of gold. Underneath the dry grass that still smells of sweet, dusty summers fine green grasses have pushed up from the ground; from a distance, some hills are a light, young-growth green, and others a golden green of young and old grasses. There are tall, dark coastal redwoods, clean from the rain, and tall, strange, out-of-place date palms, growing next to each other, fronds and needles brushing and dancing together in the wind.

There's a corner of Bay Street, up near campus, where the grass is coming up in sweet young growths cropped by mellow deer, where acacias are blooming next to sparse, naked maples, where redwoods are standing tall and stately, shading the hill, and where just a few steps away a palm tree is filtering the sun into bright shafts. The damp grass steams where the sun hits it, and a warm flowering spring is only two steps away from the dark shaded winter.

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