a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

2002-06-01 - 12:41 a.m. the seminal moviegoing experience of my life... Was just chatting, via email, with my gusys (sic), and Meg was saying how she never really got into Star Wars much. Dot asked her how old she was when she first saw it. It's a very important question, and explains *a lot*. It was imprinted on me at an impressionable age. I think that's why I still love it so, and why people who would normally never get near fandom or geekery are able to discuss SW as passionately as us geeks. I mean, I had a 45 minute phone call with my sister the other day about why Qui-Gon's body didn't disappear when he died, but Obi-Wan's did, and how come Darth Vader doesn't recognize Leia as his daughter when he tortures her in the first movie, etc. etc. It's a generational thing in some ways, I think. Meg might just be a smidge too young for it to have impacted her the way it did me and my grammar school friends, and even my brother and sister. Wrote about it in the LJ last week before I went to see AotC: and here are the pertinent parts: Even though I know it's crap, it's Star Wars and nothing will ever match that. Nothing. No fannish love or obsession can come close to the one that was etched on me - heart and blood and bone and brain - at the ripe old age of 7 when I saw it in the theatres the summer it came out. Every movie I've attended since then [August, 1977] has been an attempt to recapture that feeling, that magic. The lights dimming, the smell of faux butter, the sticky floor - all of it. My heart still leaps a little whenever I hear the Twentieth Century Fox music. It's a conditioned response. I am the Star Wars generation, and it has informed my life, and there's no getting around that. So I'm sure there will be things I'm not happy with, things I'll complain about with AotC, and I'll be right. after a week or two, the fervor will fade for me, and I'll be excited about something else, but for now, I'm wallowing in my childhood love. I just wish Han Solo could have shown up somehow... or that they'd stop making Obi-Wan so *staid*. He should be much more impish, given his friendship with that diner guy, Dex [did anyone else think his name should have been Mel? And that the robotic waitress should have told him to "kiss mah grits"? Okay, just me, then. *g*] and his personality in A New Hope [and really, when I say Star Wars, *everyone knows* I'm talking about the first, the original movie. I don't see why we have to use that title for it], and his knocking back a shot while ANakin is tracking the assassin... I dunno. Characterization hasn't been great in this set of movies so far. I mean, you knew who Luke, Leia and Han were, along with Artoo and Threepio, within the first 10 minutes of the movie. Not so much with TPM and AotC, I think. Or perhaps it's that the interactions are flat. The dialogue sucks. It doesn't crackle like it did in the first movie. I mean, that dialogue was pretty crappy too, but they all seemed to be having fun. And CF and HF had real chemistry, a good rhythm to their banter that NP and HC don't have. More Obi-Wan and more Sam Jackson and more Yoda kicking ass, and maybe a script by Joss or Kevin Smith for the third one. Yeah. *g* ~victoria link [current mood: sick and sleepy] [current music: Ain't No Sunshine - Eva Cassidy] [random quote: ain't no sunshine when she's gone...] ~*~ 2002-05-31 - 4:21 p.m. the final word on the human condition From the AP Wire: AP-Victim Ignored California customers continue business despite dying man on store floor (Santa Cruz, California-AP) -- "Pretty callous" is how the Santa Cruz, California, police chief describes it. Customers in a convenience store stepped over a dying man to get to the counter. Surveillance tapes show the man being shot in the back of the head. Two men had cornered him and a third fired in what police believe was a gang dispute. The man later died at a hospital. The tapes also show the convenience-store customers continuing their shopping while the victim was on the floor. *** Somehow, I think that sums up humanity pretty well, sadly enough. Of course, I laughed like a hyena when I read it, but then, I'm a cold and heartless shoe, I am. ~victoria [current mood: sick *and* tired] [current music: Take the Money & Run - Steve Miller Band] [random quote: I am an old man. I am a bitter man. And I think there is something wrong with my spleen.] ~*~ 2002-05-31 - 1:02 p.m. Childish Things Still feeling all stuffy-headed and like crap. Okay, here's the Obi-Wan fic. The quote that inspired this: George Lucas: "Jedi Knights aren't celibate -- the thing that is forbidden is attachments, and possessive relationships." ~*~ Childish Things "I'm worried about Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "I know; there's nothing new in that. I've spent the last ten years worrying about him. But this is different. "Ever since he got back from Naboo -- I don't know, Master. There's something eating at him. And it worries me that I cannot figure out what it is." Obi-Wan looked at the portrait of his late Master. He knew that somehow, somewhere, Qui-Gon was listening to him. If he settled his mind and followed his feelings, the Force would help him with this problem. But when he rose from his meditations, he still had not come to any conclusions. He knew that Anakin was attached to Padmé in a way that was forbidden by the Jedi Oath, but he felt sure the boy would make it through, would sort out his feelings. It was a rite of passage. Obi-Wan remembered the difficulty he himself had had when he was younger. It was normal to meet a girl and fall in love. And then you grew to understand the greater meaning of love, and how such all-consuming passion interfered with duty. There were compensations for the sacrifice. Jedi were not required to remain chaste or celibate. They were simply required to serve a higher calling, and the bonds of immature, conjugal love had to be sloughed off before that was possible. Obi-Wan shook his head, as if to clear it. Anakin would get over Padmé, if given time. He would learn how impossible any sort of relationship beyond friendship was, and he would turn his focus back to his studies. He just needed to see that Padmé wasn't the only woman out there. His feelings for her would pass, and he would settle down and become the formidable Jedi Obi-Wan knew he would be. The idea dawned and Obi-Wan knew. That was it. That's what he would do. They would spend the evening at Mama Bek's, the premier entertainment establishment on Coruscant. It had been too long, and Obi-Wan knew it would do them both some good. *** Obi-Wan led Anakin through the crowd at Mama Bek's. Music pumped through the speakers, loud, throbbing, setting the blood racing. He remembered the first time Qui-Gon had brought him here, for his seventeenth birthday. "You are a man, now," his Master had said. "And so we shall find you a woman." He didn't remember her name now, but he recalled her red hair and gray eyes, the soft down covering her body, and the tricks she could do with her tail. There were people of all races and genders on the dance floor and at the bar. Mama Bek hurried out to greet them. "Master Obi-Wan. How good to see you." She was a large woman of Calanthian persuasion, her green hair falling in waves around her rounded yellow shoulders. Mama Bek had owned the brothel for longer than most people could remember. She catered to her elite clientele of Senators and Jedi Knights, providing all the pleasures of the flesh -- women, men, drugs, dancing, food -- anything could be had, if one wished to spend the money. He inclined his head. "Mama Bek. You honor me. You remember my young padawan, Anakin." "Of course." She smiled, baring fangs. "You've grown since I last saw you, Anakin. I'm sure Jalu or Mepti -- or both -- would be most glad to see you." Anakin shook his head. He seemed weighed down, and Obi-Wan knew he was thinking of his dream girl, the Senator he couldn't have. "I'm just going to watch the dancers," he said, his manner just a hair shy of being sullen. "If that's your pleasure," the Madame replied, nodding. "I have a booth for you." She signaled and a young girl with lustrous black hair and violet eyes led them away. Obi-Wan hesitated, and Mama Bek smiled again. "She is here. She is always here for you. I will send her over." He nodded, somewhat chagrined at being so obvious. He supposed he was getting old, settled in his habits, and like a good businesswoman, Mama Bek knew what he wanted. The dark-haired girl seated them and Obi-Wan watched her as she walked away, his expression one of detached appreciation. Anakin hadn't spared her a glance, though she was easily as beautiful as Padmé Amidala. The lights strobed, the music pulsed, and Obi-Wan let the Force guide his sight to the one he was looking for. She stood at the bar, sipping a glass of amber liquid. Mama Bek approached her, and he could see the smile spread across her face as she walked toward the booth where he and Anakin were sitting. When she reached them, held out her hands. Obi-Wan took them, smiling at her, inhaling her scent hungrily. "Master Obi-Wan. It's been too long." She kissed him on both cheeks, and he felt his groin tighten. It amazed him that even after all these years, he still desired her. "Thalia, it's good to see you," he said as she slid into the booth across from him. She turned to the young man sitting next to her. "Anakin. How are you?" "I'm okay," he answered, his attention obviously elsewhere. She bit her lip and her brow furrowed. "There are new games in the arcade," she said. "I know how much you enjoy beating the droids and winning prizes." "I'm not a child anymore, Thalia," Anakin said sharply. "Anakin," Obi-Wan barked. Anakin seemed to slump, the anger that was moving him dissipated. "I'm sorry," he said with an apologetic smile. "I'm just--" "Preoccupied," Thalia finished. "I understand. What with the war, and the political situation, everyone is a little tense. I've heard you performed your duty as Senator Amidala's bodyguard exceptionally, and everyone speaks well of you." His smile widened. "Amidala. Yes. Thank you, Thalia." They chatted for a few moments about the war that was beginning to make its presence felt even at the center of the galaxy, and then Anakin said, "I think I'm going to sit at the bar." He excused himself and Obi-Wan and Thalia watched him go, lanky and confident, a young warrior ready for anything life might present. "I think it was quite tactful of him to leave us alone," Obi-Wan said finally. "You're worried about him." He chuckled. "You've always been good at reading me." She smiled. "Just because I'm not a Jedi doesn't mean I don't know people, Obi-Wan. Don't underestimate us regular folks." He reached out and took her hand, languidly caressing her fingers with his own. "I don't, Thalia. Believe me. And yes, I am worried about him." A waitress stopped by the table and put down two drinks. "Courtesy of the young Jedi at the bar." Anakin raised a glass and they toasted him. Obi-Wan let the music wash over him; he relaxed and felt the tension he'd been carrying in his neck and shoulders seep away. At this moment, in this place, he was content, and he could forget the troubles that nagged at him, at the Republic. He looked up from his contemplation of their entwined hands to see her watching him, brown eyes sad. Thalia was a lovely woman -- as were all the women of all races who worked at Mama Bek's. But she was older than most of the others. Her face had lost the wide-eyed innocence she'd had when they'd first met. She was still one of the brothel's most in-demand entertainers, yet she was always there when he came in. He'd never wondered about that before. It was just one of those things that was, and was as it should be. But he wondered about it now. A Jedi never takes things for granted, he thought, recalling one of Qui-Gon's favorite sayings. And yet, over the past ten years or so, he had taken Thalia for granted. She was part of his life. It wasn't something he'd questioned; he wasn't even sure when or how it had happened. He knew that part of the reason he came back to her time and again, even when he felt no need for her other services, was that she was someone he could talk to, someone who saw things differently, and usually had a new perspective on whatever matter preoccupied him at the time. Even when she said nothing, he felt better just having someone outside the temple to talk to. He thought about her sometimes, wasn't even conscious of it anymore. He wondered what she did when she wasn't with him and if she thought about him when he wasn't there. Why she had chosen the life she was living, and how she felt about it. "Why do you still do this?" he blurted. She laughed, but it wasn't a cheerful sound. "Much like you, Obi-Wan, I do what I was trained for. It's all I know. I've worked here since I was sixteen." She took a sip of her drink. "But you're right. I'm getting too old for this. Pleasure is a young person's business." He snorted in disbelief. "You're younger than I am." "Am I?" He had no answer for that. "So, you're worried about Anakin," she prompted, returning the conversation to safer territory. "Yes. He's been brooding more than ever since he returned from Naboo." "He's in love with Amidala." He forced himself not to cringe. If it was that obvious to someone who barely knew the boy, he wondered how Yoda and Mace had missed it. Or if they were simply testing Anakin's resolve to become a Jedi. He wasn't sure he liked the implications of that. "Jedi are not allowed to fall in love," Obi-Wan insisted. "It's a lonely existence without someone to go to sleep next to and wake up with, Obi-Wan. I know. Prostitutes aren't allowed to fall in love, either." She looked at their hands, still entwined, resting on the table. "That doesn't stop us, though, does it?" He dropped his eyes, unable to meet her knowing gaze. Yes, he had fancied himself in love with Thalia many years ago. It had passed; the fire of his feelings had cooled and their friendship had grown comfortable, familiar. He didn't regret his choice, regret that he had never acted on the feelings he'd had for her. Desire was an illusion, passion fleeting. The Force, and his service to it, provided him with ample contentment. And if, on nights when he visited her and wondered what it might be like to wake up beside her every morning, surrounded by their children, he chalked it up to curiosity and the urges of the body. Nothing more. "We have a love greater than the simple bonds between two lovers," he said, his voice low. "Compassion, mercy, service. These are the tenets of a Jedi's existence. How can we serve the Republic, serve the Force, if we are held back by irrational, emotional bonds?" She nodded, and he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes though he told himself it was simply a trick of the flashing lights. He knew she was strong enough not to shed them. He'd never realized -- no, he had and just never admitted it -- that she had loved him. Did love him. Perhaps. But he'd made his choice, made it so long ago that he couldn't even remember anything else but wanting this -- the oneness he felt with the Force, with the universe herself, whenever he let the Force flow through him unhindered by quotidian concerns. "Don't you always say, 'Trust your feelings'?" she replied. "What if your feelings are at odds with your duty?" Her fingers tightened around his; he lifted their entwined hands to his lips, kissing her soft skin. "Those feelings must be let go," he said softly. "And if Anakin can't let them go?" she asked, keeping up the pretense that they were still discussing his padawan. "That way lies the dark side." Their eyes met, and this time she looked away first. He kissed her hand again, memories of a hundred nights together over the years flashing through his mind. The curve of her breast, the small of her back, the feel of her body clenching around him as she came, shuddering in his arms. The scent of her hair, the sound of her heart, the taste of her breath as they kissed. He let it all go, disengaging his hand and rising abruptly. Anakin's predicament seemed far less clear-cut -- and far more dangerous -- now. "We have to be up early in the morning," he said. "Yes." She rose and kissed him, her tongue sliding against his. She tasted like love and sadness, and goodbye. He caressed her cheek, willing the moment to last forever, willing it to end before he changed his mind. "Good night," he said when they broke apart. His voice was harsh, his breathing ragged. "Goodbye," she corrected. He bowed his head in acknowledgement. He knew he wouldn't see her again. He stopped at the bar and ordered a drink, which he swallowed in one swift sip, savoring the slow burn and sharp taste of the liquor, before collecting Anakin. "We're going," he said tersely. "But, but--" Anakin sputtered, at a loss for once. "I thought you and Thalia--" "Our business is finished." Business. That's what it was, what it would always have to be between them; there was too much at stake for it to be otherwise. "Oh." They walked out into the brightly lit night. Obi-Wan hoped Anakin learned this lesson sooner than he himself had. He feared the consequences for them all if he didn't. end ~*~ I'm a little hesitant to put this here, since I'm *so* not involved in SW ficdom, and I have *no* clue about fanon or canon outside the movies, or any conventional wisdom the fandom may have accreted over the years, but... the scene wouldn't leave me alone. I don't know that it's good, necessarily, and it's a bit of a Mary Sue, I guess, but it does get across what I wanted to get across, which was namely, what if Obi-Wan had to make the same choice Anakin does, and he chose to remain true to his Jedi oath, he thinks, but he's never consciously and totally rejected the woman he believes he loves (or believes he thought he was in love with) - not until this point, when the parallels between his own sitch and Anakin's are made clear. It would have worked better if there were a strong female character for him to have been in love with, but I'm positing that in the ten years between movies, he must have met *someone* at least, you know? So if anyone out there is a Warsie, and wants to help me out, drop me a line. ~victoria link [current mood: sick] [current music: Somebody to Love - Queen] [random quote: Mmm. Lost a planet, Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing. How embarrassing. ~Yoda] ~*~ 2002-05-30 - 6:11 p.m. ex-Mats brief Paul Westerberg interview. 'Cause he's my boy... [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-05-30 - 2:47 p.m. I am a sad bastard I am a sad bastard... I just bought the AotC novelization. RA Salvatore this time. I can't remember if I thought Terry Brooks did well with TPM or not. I do know I didn't like Greg Bear's characterization of Obi-Wan as a stick-in-the-mud in Rogue Planet, which takes place between the two movies. Sigh. I also bought a replacement copy of James and the Giant Peach, since my copy was damaged and discarded in the parents' move [well, it was damaged by being in the part of the basement where there was a flood or a leak, and discovered because of the move. It wasn't damaged in the move itself. I have had only 4 hours sleep. Pardon me for rambling], which is one of my favorite books of all time, and a copy of some Robin McKinley novel - her reworking of Sleeping Beauty, which was always my favorite fairy tale. Since I remember enjoying her Robin Hood redo, and her Beauty and the Beast redo, and I think I liked The Hero and the Crown, I figured it'd be pretty good. I almost bought The Phantom Tollbooth (thought of you, Pete), but refrained. Still no luck locating the Pete Fountain version of "St. James Infirmary Blues" on CD. Sigh. He did record a song called "Wolverine Blues" (or was that Al Hirt?) which almost induced me to buy a CD that didn't have the song I was looking for, but I refrained. *g* So if anyone has or knows where I can get a copy of this, let me know. However, instead of that, I've got "Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?" in my head. But I think I've got a that by Nina Simone at home, so it's okay... I do miss New Orleans, even though I've only been there twice and both times it was for work. I'd like to go back when I can relax and don't have to measure rest room stalls for accessibility or stay up all night sorting index cards for research grant coding. Ah me... Now I just want to curl up and read AotC so I can write Obi-Wan and get this damn scene out of my head and return to Caliper or Psychokiller... ~victoria [current mood: tired and whiny] [current music: Bargain - The Who] [random quote: And all the problems of the world won't be solved by this guitar and they won't stop coming either by the life I'] ~*~ 2002-05-30 - 12:57 p.m. X2 casting, and returning to the fold Things are all screwy here in d'land, so I suppose it's a good thing I'm too exhausted to think straight and write something interesting and coherent. Instead, X-2 casting gossip: According to TV Guide Online: Alan Cumming has been added to the cast of X-Men 2 playing blue-tinted superhero Nightcrawler, Variety reports... Anyone got access to Variety online? I think you need a subscription? Anyhow, Alan Cumming rocks my world. Saw him in Cabaret and he was FABulous. That whole show was probably the best damn thing I've ever seen on stage. Not that that's saying much, as my Broadway/Off-B'way experience isn't *that* vast, but let's say that of the musicals, Cabaret was tops. Better than Rent. Better than Les Miz. Better than Guys and Dolls. I'd love to see Lion King and The Producers to compare, but I can't afford it right now. Thanks to Maveness for the news. Of course, rumor has it that Singer has approached David Boreanaz to cameo as Gambit. *falls over laughing* ... {time passes as vic recovers from the hysteria that overwhelms her every time she thinks of that bit of bad casting} Okay. Back now. First off, who thought DB was a good idea to play slick, charming, *good-looking* Gambit? He's got that damned Neanderthal brow! Gambit's purty. Not a good match, even if DB could handle the accent, which, come on, we all know he can't. (Don't even try to convince me, Yasi. He sounds awful every time he does it, and even exposure to Glenn Quinn didn't help.) Secondly, why the bloody fuck do we need Gambit at all? There are already too many characters. And Gambit is basically Logan Lite. I realize he's a fan favorite, but so what? Bring Hank on, I say. If they *must* have Remy, then please, Christian Kane. He'd do well with it. That voice. Those lips. The hair... He's got the package, plus he can do suave and oily, and I bet he can handle the accent, which would be much lighter for the movie than it is in the comic, I'm betting. Personally, I say inflict Remy on Jean, let Scott console himself with Ororo, and leave Logan well out of that, and hooked up with Rogue. *g* Let's just hope Singer realizes what he's got in the AP/HJ chemistry department, and that he doesn't fuck with it too much. Which reminds me... Min was talking about X-fic and why it's slacking off etc. I don't disagree with most of what she said, but this struck me: Perhaps things will change when X-Men II comes out ... or perhaps they won't. The Spider-Man film did not generate the amount of fanfic that I'd expected. It seems to have generated hardly any! (Might be interesting to examine why -- I don't think it's related to the quality of the film.) So I'm not at all sure that X-Men II will necessarily bring back old writers, or bring new writers. We'll have to see. Maybe I'm cynical, but I don't think it's always predictable what will generate fanfic. Ficcage is not necessarily related to quality, though I'd suggest that perhaps a lesser movie will inspire more ficcing than a really, really good one. Same with most television shows. Or the type of fic they inspire is different. A lot of what fanfic does is *fix* things fans perceive to be wrong with the original text [was going to write "product," which is probably truer, but leaves a sour taste in my mouth]. Usually, those things take the form of shipping - Josh and Donna belong together but ABS keeps throwing things in their way. Hence, the mushrooming of J/D fic for West Wing, a show that is *really* hard to write fic for, even though there's a lot of fodder, because a lot of important stuff is implied, not shown, and there's a lot of missing conversations etc. But if you want to write noromo WW fic, you've got to be good. You've got to be up on your politics, you've got to get the sound of the show right, the stylized dialogue, the characterization etc. I can, off the top of my head, think of only 3-4 writers who do it really well. Spiderman is a little different, simply because well, what is there to fix? Okay, sure, I'm sure some people saw slashy vibes between Peter and Harry. *shrug* I didn't, as pretty as Harry is. (Those cheekbones... *swoon*) And come on, is there *any* doubt in *anyone's* mind that Peter Parker is going to wind up with MJ? Thought not. So, unless you're good at writing action, or you like the slash, there's really no reason to fic Spidey. X-Men... they're constantly coupling and uncoupling. Shipper fic in X-Men was a thriving business before the movie ever appeared, from what I can see. The movie just threw some new pairings into the mix. (Though why Logan/Rogue was such a shock when people have been writing Logan/Jubilee for *years* I don't know. I mean, I realize that Rogue sort of took Jubes' place in the movie, but dammit, it *worked*, in ways that Jubilee/Logan couldn't have, simply because of the way Logan's and Rogue's mutations mesh, and how they're both outsiders even from other mutants. But enough, I'm not doing the weekly L/R sermon here. *G*) Personally, I don't see any reason to fic LotR either, but the boys are very pretty. *g* SW has been inspiring fic forever, and I'm sure there will be some AotC fic, but I have a feeling that X2 will draw in new writers, and will bring back ex-pats, if it's done well, if it's mostly action and it mostly focuses on Logan again, because the others all have their fanbases, and will want to flesh them out in movieverse. And if we get the Temptation of Wolvie scene as it was described [which I would *love*, but I'm not counting on], believe me, it will be a scene that inspires as much fic as the damned dog-tags and train scenes did. Most of it will probably be dreck, but hell, most of *everything* is dreck. I mean, I watched Buffy for four seasons before I ever attempted to fic it. I think the second movie will only rev people's engines again, if it's good. Yeah, there'll be competition [unless Fox is smart and moves the date *now* so it doesn't conflict with Two Towers or whatever, and really let's face it - Christmas 2002 is almost impossible if they haven't started shooting yet. Move it to July 2003 and don't worry about it. People will come. But what the hell do I know about box offices and marketing?], but I'm thinking people leave or go inactive for a variety of reasons, and loss of inspiration is the major one. New material may mean new sparks of inspiration. ::reads over what she's written:: I think that makes sense. I've only had 4 hours of sleep and I have this dang cold stuffing my head up. ~*~ In other news, if you've stuck around this long: New recs up at your friendly, neighborhood multi-fandom recs site: Bright Shiny Objects. Buffy, Smallville, HP and more... ~victoria link [current mood: sick] [current music: Desire - U2] [random quote: there's only one way of life and that's your own...] ~*~ 2002-05-29 - 10:52 p.m. how compatible are we? I posted in the LJ about the sad swirling Obi-Wan/Mary Sue thoughts I'm having. I say again, somebody stop me. Instead of repeating that, I'll say two things (still need to go take a shower): ever wonder how compatible you are with your friends? And also, Min chimes in on the lack of new X-Fic writers. I have some thoughts in response to her, which I'll talk about at some point. But now, seriously, my shower is calling me... ~victoria [current mood: in need of a shower] [current music: the call of my shower... *g*] [random quote: If Woody had gone to the police, this never would have happened...] ~*~ 2002-05-29 - 5:30 p.m. the prodigal daughter Long thing over in the LJ about feedback and fic snips. So, since I'm currently between stories, as it were, and trying to figure out which story to work on next, I've been going through most of my WIPs, and I figured I'd post something here that I don't think I've shared before, possibly haven't even mentioned, and see if it sparks anything... The Prodigal As I rang the bell at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, a little shiver of fear moved down my spine. It had been almost ten years since I'd been a student there, the sad, untouchable girl known only as Rogue to everyone, even the one or two close friends I'd made before I left. But the X-Man life wasn't for me. I stayed long enough to get my GED and then headed out for Boston. Nothing was going to stop me from achieving my dreams -- not my poisoned skin, not Rachmaninoff, and certainly not some stupid people with a bug up their asses about mutants. Ten years in the real world has left me a little less proud. I'd come back to take a job as a teacher, my dreams of greatness on the concert circuit dashed when, about three years into my tenure with the New York Philharmonic, the conductor accidentally touched my bare hand during rehearsal, and I put him in a coma for a month. My career as Maria D'Estate, world-famous pianist, was over. I was lucky that being kicked out of the orchestra was the worst thing that happened, considering some of the stories I've heard, about lynchings and stonings and mutants being burned at the stake in some of the more backwards parts of this supposedly great nation. I was back to being plain old Marie Summers. I scraped by for the last two years, playing in piano bars and then as a studio musician. Hell, musicians are *supposed* to be weird, so the hair and the gloves were almost an asset. But I lived alone, never getting closer to anyone than absolutely necessary. A few one-night stands to scratch that itch, but it wasn't fulfilling -- I was always too worried about my skin to enjoy myself, and who wants to be with a woman who never gets off? And then last December, another incident, this one worse than the first. I absorbed a mutant, and outed both of us. He was a telepath, so I had even more voices in my head for a week. I was lucky he didn't die -- I would have been stuck with him forever. I spent some time in a mental hospital out in Yuma. Tried to get myself back together again. Then Professor Xavier called. He knew what was going on with me. He always does. He offered me a job, a chance to get back on my feet, and I jumped at it. Now Marie Summers would disappear once someone opened the door, and I would become Rogue, once more, the mutant mutant. The door swung open noiselessly, to reveal a hot guy with the strangest eyes I'd ever seen. He had a cigarette, which he never removed, dangling from the corner of his mouth. "How can I help you, chere?" "I'm Rogue -- the new music teacher," I answered, cursing the slight tremor in my voice that betrayed my anxiety. He stepped aside, and with a flourish, waved me into the foyer. "Welcome, ma belle," he said and I recognized his type at once. He was a born flirt, with a Cajun accent and the handsomest face I'd seen outside of Beverly Hills. And it was all natural. I could tell. ~*~ A few nights after my uncelebrated homecoming, I sat in the kitchen, lingering over a cup of hot tea before heading up to my lonely bed. I was still an outsider here, still unsure of everything -- who was to be trusted, who I should avoid, just what my place was now. Ororo glided in and smiled. "How are you settling in?" she asked, pouring some of the hot water I'd left on the stove into her mug. The scent of raspberries wafted through the kitchen and I sighed. Some things never change. It was comforting. "We haven't had a chance to catch up." I shrugged. "There's not a lot to tell." I didn't know how much the professor -- I wasn't ever going to be able to call him Charles (not that he'd asked), because not only did I still feel like an awkward student, it reminded me of those days when Erik used to try to take over and taunt him -- had revealed about my recent stint in the loony bin, and I wasn't planning on sharing it myself. "What about you, 'Ro? What's new here?" She smiled and launched into a detailed history of the years I'd been away, focusing mainly on the people who'd been around when I was a student. I tuned out quite a bit of it, until she said, "So, Bobby and John have been happily living together for the past three years." Bobby was gay? That was news. He had been one of the few students who hadn't avoided me like the plague after the whole Statue of Liberty thing. I think because he felt somewhat guilty, even though there's no way he could have known Mystique would use his face and form to betray us all. Storm was still talking, oblivious to my being a million miles away. Again, I was jerked back to reality when she said, "And, of course, Scott and Jean got married soon after you left." I hadn't seen either of them since the day I'd arrived, having submitted to a physical by the furry blue doctor known as Beast. There was someone else I hadn't seen, either, and I'd sworn I wasn't going to ask about him, but the words were out before I could stop them. "And Logan? Did you guys ever hear from him?" Her expression turned pensive. "He is himself. He doesn't change." "So he's here?" "That's right, you wouldn't know. Yes, he returned about a year after you left. He tried to talk Jean out of marrying Scott, of course--" Of course. That had been one of the things I was most happy about when he finally faded from my consciousness -- I no longer had to carry around his fantasies about the redheaded doctor. She was still talking. "...been an excellent addition to the team. He took Jubilee and Kitty under his wing when he returned, taught them both to be X-Men. He is a wonderful teacher, and, though he would never admit it, I believe he enjoys it immensely." Hold it, hold it, hold *it*! I left and Logan came back and *replaced* me? I tried to remind myself that I didn't care -- that it was all a long time ago, and that the Marie he knew no longer existed. She hadn't since the night on the Statue of Liberty. I had gotten over him, the way you get over a bad bout of food poisoning or a case of pneumonia. It had taken a long time, and I lost some bits of myself in the process, but I could honestly say I was no longer pining for him, and hadn't been for the past six years. Yet being in that house, it was so easy to fall back into my old role as poor Rogue, with her impossible crush on Logan. Some of them still might see me that way; I've noticed that people see what they want to, regardless of what's in front of them. I wondered which group he'd fall into. Would we still have that weird... connection I'd felt the first time I ever saw him? Or was that, like so much else that happened over the course of those few days, simply a product of stress and imagination? *** So she comes back to the mansion and has to fit herself back into their life. I dunno... Like I said, I've got more WIPs than you can shake a stick at, and I'm just waiting for something to pop and demand to be written. Time to go home now! ~victoria link [current mood: tired] [current music: Brass in Pocket - Pretenders] [random quote: Cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war.] ~*~ 2002-05-29 - 11:07 a.m. Beauty is truth, truth beauty Got home last night, watched Harry Potter on DVD, and crapped out. Didn't sleep well, either. Stupid humidity. Makes sleeping difficult, even with the fan on. Oh well, at least my hair's all wavy and cool. Gotta look at the upside occasionally right? (Don't all keel over in shock. This manic mood will pass soon, I'm sure.) Many interesting discussions going on all around. On X-Fiction, the boys on the list came out to play and gave us all some insight on how men work in regard to sex and attraction - stuff that a lot of female writers [of both slash and het] forget. I know when I write even the most realistic story, I'm fighting my instincts to make it more of a fantasy, to write then men how I *wish* they'd behave rather than how they actually *would* behave. Hence my tendency for a somewhat talkative Logan, which I fight against, but sometimes it happens, and because I'm typically writing romances, I let it. Which brings up another interesting topic that people are discussing, but not discussing, which is romance as a genre [as in romance novels, not romance as written by say, Shelley or Byron, which is a whole 'nother kettle of fish], and how it always seems to come down to Art vs. Entertainment. I don't see why they have to be mutually exclusive. I don't see it as a zero sum game, you know? Something that's artistic had better be entertaining on some level [with entertaining including a far broader range of emotion in this context than just "Whee!"]. Of course, I find learning entertaining, so I include educational stuff under that heading, as long as the teaching is done with verve. Though I don't think "Art" needs to overtly teach us anything, I don't think it need have any "redeeming social value" beyond itself. If something moves me, makes me think about something, makes me see things in a different light, that's worthwhile. That's valuable. I don't believe art *should* push a political agenda. It should push for what's beautiful and what's true. Leave the facts for the journalists *snicker*. (I was going to say historians, but we all know history is written by the winners. Which is one of the things I LOVE about Absalom! Absalom! Such a great fictional embodiment of that, as well as many other wonderful things. Put down whatever you're reading now and go pick it up. You'll thank me.) "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. ~John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn In the case of Art [capitalized to be all pretentious about it], that's the way it should be. And I don't mean beauty in the airy fairy, oh, isn't she lovely, all peaches-and-cream skin and fat happy cherubs way. Beauty can be - and often is - terrible and terrifying. That's as it should be. I'm not saying everything should be all sweetness and light. Beauty goes beyond that, and god knows, the truth is often painful and terrifying. Jenn is talking about ethics and friendship in fandom. I'm not one to preach. I've made mistakes, done things that, in retrospect, I probably shouldn't have (though I stand by any qualitative statements I've made, I probably could have been more diplomatic on occasion, and at least once shouldn't have posted in anger). The thing is this, for me. I'd left it alone. I'd walked away. I wanted nothing to do with any of this crap. The statement in my diary that re-inspired Autumn's rancor wasn't even *about* her and her little coterie. It was a commentary on the lack of good new writers coming to the XMM fandom, as far as I know (and if they're not posting to the lists I'm on, then how *would* I know about them?) which is understandable, given that the movie is almost two years old and the sequel isn't even being shot yet, as well as a gentle poke at various friends of mine who have pretty much left the fandom. They know I'm teasing them for abandoning me for pretty new boy toys. Generally speaking, anything I write in this diary is about me. It's not about other people. However, if you smack me in public, I'm gonna smack back. If you attack my friends in public, in their own space, I'm going to defend them. Do I care what is being said about me on someone's list somewhere? Of course I do. Do I want to know if someone I consider a friend is saying nasty things about me behind my back? Of course I do. I'm very, very human. And quite flawed in some ways. Have I asked anyone to break any rules for me? I have not. I've never been in the position Jenn mentions, of being a mod or list owner of a list where these things happen, nor have I ever been an archivist, for which I'm grateful. Because I know myself. I can be a spiteful bitch when the mood strikes, and I often do things in anger that I later repent me of. As far as I'm concerned, this little contretemps is over. I was attacked and I responded. End of story. If someone wants to step to me again, then we'll dance again. But I don't have time to worry about this shit day in and day out. I have a life, I have a job, I have writing I want to concentrate on, movies I want to see, books I want to read etc. The thing is this - I don't have this rosy-eyed view of fandom as a big community where we all love and care for each other and we're all good friends. I've seen people I thought were more than simply "online friends" turn on each other too often to believe that. As I was saying, I may not condone or endorse everything everyone on that list over there under "People" says. I may not even like some of them, or I think their views are wack. But I find them interesting or entertaining enough that I visit them almost every day [less in the case of people who don't update every day], and I feel confident in linking to them that while I might disagree with them on the Spuffy or the overuse of present tense in Smallville, that at base, we have some beliefs in common, mostly about quality and the craft of writing. There's a reason I don't call it a "friends" list. I don't lightly call people my friends. It takes more than a couple of drinks or an email conversation. I've been disappointed and I'm sure there are people who've been disappointed in me. That's life. While I wish it weren't so, if wishes were horses... Anyhow, I have no problem disagreeing with someone and still being civil. It's a skill I've had to practice quite a lot, you can imagine, as opinionated as I am. I don't get how not agreeing means we're enemies, or why everything always has to be painted as "us v. them." I don't care if people want to publish shit and wallow in it. I just don't want to have to read it (and yes, I am on quite intimate terms with my delete key, thanks), and I don't want to be vilified for calling it what it is should the question arise. If people don't care about quality or writing or whether their stuff is spellchecked, hey, they can knock themselves out. I've spent too much time banging my head against that particular wall. I'm giving it up (at least today. *g* I make no promises that there won't be future rants. I'm far too predictable and easily riled to make that kind of commitment.). Have fun. You don't need me to tell you that. I just don't think the people with that attitude should be lauded for it, should be proud that their work is subpar, simply because it's done for "fun", especially if they can't see the difference between shit and shinola. 'Cause I write for fun, too, and I manage to worry about quality. To each her own and de gustibus non est disputandum, mileage varies, etc. More in the LJ. Comments welcome. Duh. ~victoria link [current mood: manic] [current music: Mysterious Ways - U2] [random quote: If you wanna kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel] ~*~ 2002-05-28 - 5:58 p.m. "You're the heart and soul of New York City" Got this email today, and while I keep protesting I'm not a joiner, I thought it was a pretty cool idea, especially since I am *such* a braggart when it comes to my city. Please join us in a project to bring together New York City's blogs: The NYC Blogger Map. The idea is simple: a map of the city that shows where the bloggers are, organized by subway stop. Find out who's blogging in your neighborhood! Put yourself on the map! Check it out at nycbloggers.com. The criteria are simple: 1) You have a non-commercial blog or webjournal. 2) You're a New Yorker. Ex-pats are welcome. So I did it. When I get back to my own laptop, I'll upload the little button they have onto this page. I thought it was great the night I went to dinner with a bunch of other NYC slashers, and while I'm not so good with the small talk and the new people, being in a fandom sort of takes care of some of that awkward getting-to-know-you bullshit, you know? So it's a cool way of seeing other blogs and "meeting" other people who are nearby, even if I never actually meet them in person. Having other thoughts about stuff - more on the theory of fandom as inheritor of oral history, fanfiction and friendly communication rather than "fiction", and, Jenn's thoughts on friendship and fandom. But as I'm not at home, and the time I have on the PC is always in danger from the kids, I won't. Instead, I'll write about my X-Men dream from the other night. I believe it was Evolution-verse. Jean was getting fitted for a new uni, and she was quite irate when they made her wear pink. Her only other choice was turquoise. The boys were allowed navy or black or green, but the girls were only allowed to choose turquoise or pink. In solidarity with her, Kurt chose turquoise, which wasn't pretty with the blue fur, but no worse than the pink with the red hair. I always knew Kurt had a good heart. *g* She complained, saying she wasn't just a Barbie doll, and no bad guys would take her seriously dressed as one. Storm went to Xavier on the girls' behalf, but then I woke up. Heh. Gender equality in my dreams. Sadly, some days that seems the only place we'll ever achieve it. I wish they'd wear the outfits they wore as the Bayville Sirens, 'cause those were cool. Why yes, I am occasionally a twelve-year-old boy. ~victoria [current mood: harried] [current music: Nickelodeon] [random quote: Leave the gun, take the cannoli] ~*~ 2002-05-28 - 1:44 p.m. "I don't give a damn about my bad reputation" Babysitting... always fun. The best part is that they just sit and watch Shrek. They can recite the whole movie. "Do you know the muffin man?" "The muffin man?" "The muffin man." "I do know the muffin man. Who lives on Drury Lane?" And, my favorite part, "And I'm making *waffles*." Updated The Muse's Fool, adding Comfort Me With Apples [aka the pregnancy fic]. Ah, the movie is up to the Disney parody. Even the baby [who turns 1 on Thursday. Time goes by so quickly! AM is going to be 12 on Thursday as well.] is fascinated by this movie. And of course, later on, the Rufus Wainwright version of Hallelujah. *g* Speaking of movies, HP comes out on DVD today, so the parents will be buying it, and then we can watch it tonight. And then work again tomorrow. Sigh. I hope to get some writing done later, but somehow I doubt that'll happen, what with the kidlets around. And now the kids want to go outside, so later, taters... ~victoria [current mood: okay] [current music: Bad Reputation - Joan Jett [n Shrek]] [random quote: I don't give a damn about my bad reputation, oh no, no, no, no, no, not me...] ~*~ 2002-05-27 - 11:37 p.m. WIPs and some other thoughts God, I really need to start listening to something other than "Hallelujah" or nothing I write will be anything but melancholic navel-gazing. Which I'm good at, but I always feel is a little precious if it's not done right, and god knows, I've screwed it up almost as much as I've done it right. Also, there was a "JAG" marathon on today, and the one ep I caught was the one with Mac and Brumby's engagement party, and Harm and Mac out on the terrace, which always inspires such L/R thoughts... And now that I've finished Sunshine and Rain [the working title. It's got a new! improved! title now *g*], I'll be looking over the WIPs and wondering what the hell to work on next. It's not like I don't have enough stories started, eh? Let's see... Consumption Amnesiac!Rogue Coma-Scott Breakdowns Better Man (aka Dreams in Red) Psychokiller Secret Garden All the PRomises Will Be Broken Exchange the Experience Love's Compass Full Moon Meetings (I haven't forgotten, DD, if you still want me to do it) Pheromone Lady (The earliest idea I had after "Enough for Now" still moldering in my WIP folder) Coming Around Again Eyes that Lied Gardening at Night Day's Hard Light Egads, that's enough. Then there are the four Smallville fics that need working on. I'm sure something else will grab my attention, but right now, all my creativity is going into Obi-Wan fantasies, so writing will have to wait 'til I get that out of my system. *g* ~*~ Khaki makes some good points about the lack of good Logan fic lately, building on Andraste's "Where has all the fanfic gone?" entry from Friday. I think Smallville, LotR, BBS and other shiny new fandoms (has Spidey gotten big? I have no desire to fic or read fic about it so I don't know), plus the resurgence of Buffy and the new SW movie have all contributed to the decline in X-Men fic. From what I've heard, lots of X-fans are disgruntled with the direction of the core comics, which could also be a factor. These things go in cycles, as we were discussing in the LJ, and I think we also feed off each other. Like Khaki, I tend to be a reactive writer, and without much to react to, I'm meandering along with my WIPs and my plotted (argh!) stories. My production has gone way down [to the unending glee of some, no doubt], and instead of churning out fic at my former fast and furious pace, I’m just working at a much slower pace. Which is probably natural, but it feels weird. I just realized I've had this window open as I've been doing other things, so I'll finish up now. A theory is up over in the LJ, a theory on perhaps why there are so many of these disconnects among fanfic writers. Remember, no one's holding a gun to your head to read this, and I am not responsible for any reactions anyone has to anything, including quoted material. That's my new disclaimer. *g* ~victoria aka Attila link [current mood: productive] [current music: Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley - on repeat] [random quote: Love is not a victory march] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within. The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme. The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney. This site is best viewed with IE4+ | 1024x768 | true color | verdana | tables