Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: The Dangers of Writing

Tags

alternate universe, fanfiction, fun stuff, humor, humor (i hope), selay'uu, star wars

Every once in a while, I set aside time to just go have lunch with my characters. Sometimes it’s originals, like Gervaise, Alex, and Ben. Sometimes, it’s my fanfiction pals–the Doctor, John Watson, Horatio, Will Treaty. Just sitting down with them every once in a while helps me stay sane and keep up.

Today, which will make Rosalie happy, we were rehearsing a scene from “Attack of the Clones”–the AU version–and we were laughing in between takes, trying to figure out a less ridiculous title for it. Unfortunately, in that scene, Obi-Wan gets force-pushed against a wall, and we kept having to do takes, because Dooku was suspiciously absent and Casceny was doubling for him, in between hiding from the Doctor.

Casceny is a time traveler, but not a Time Lord. A brash, loud, boastful little goose with a heart of gold.

And she was hamming it up.

So here Obi-Wan was, still uncomfortable because of the wirework we were having to do (this AU is taking some severe hashing-out to get it to work, I can tell you now), still in harness in between every take. And after that, we go get lunch. I had cheddar grilled cheese, Obi-Wan (who tends to be um… sort of… adventurous I guess? That’s not the right word for it, but whatever) put swiss and asiago on his. Don’t ask me why. Of course he couldn’t do something normal with his grilled cheese.

He flinched as he sat down, and I (naturally) asked him what was wrong.

“The wires aren’t strung correctly,” Obi-Wan said. “I keep getting slammed into the wall. That’s why I’m flopping down after every take. It’s not poor acting. It’s me getting a little stunned after hitting the wall over and over and getting the breath knocked out of me. Kysherin really has taken a dislike to me these past few months.”

“She needs restraining,” I grumbled into my iced tea. “How does kryptonite sound?” Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Better and better all the time.”

“How do you feel about this AU?” I asked bluntly. With Obi-Wan it was no good beating about the bush. He’d take you at your word and answer you in kind. Obi-Wan looked pensive for a long moment.

“It’s frighteningly in character for me,” he said at last. “In that situation, that is exactly who I’d be and what I’d do. I don’t think I would be broken, mentally–I’d still have my wits if not my memory, but even with no voice to act as conscience, I’d still be horrified at what I’d done. Candidly, I’m a little bit frightened that I can be so naive and think better of people than they deserve and be so blind to evil, so inclined to mercy when I should be on my guard instead. On the other hand, if I was given the choice to change that? Never. I never would.”

“You didn’t like the Rako Hardeen fiasco,” I remarked, guessing at what he was getting at. He normally plays along willingly, no matter how dark the AU, remaining a strong refuge for the rest of us who get tired, irritable, frustrated or ready to throw the entire thing in the trash, but he doesn’t seem to enjoy it. Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I don’t like to play parts,” he said. “I start to lose myself in the role. It’s scary, for lack of a better word–yourself and this other character who is not quite you. Or, in the case of Hardeen–entirely not you, but you’re in his skin and you have to act the way he would.”

“There’s a spectrum,” I remark. “Your character is not entirely consistent even through the length of one story. You’re always learning, changing, evolving, and your traits exist on a spectrum. There’s a wide variety of ways I could write your character and it would still read as you. The tricky part is finding the sweet spot for what I’m trying to do.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Obi-Wan replied. “I guess you could say I don’t like my own spectrum.” His eyes twinkled as he glanced down into his water glass.

“It wreaks havoc, though, with the way I’m having to write this AU. You’re changing constantly and it’s hard to keep that in line when I have to write it in blocs according to function.” Obi-Wan laughed.

“I suppose we’re writing all the parts with Dooku this week, then.”

“Are you ready to move forward with the story?” I asked. Obi-Wan gave me a droll look.

“Force no.”

We both laughed.

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Things Get Damaged

Tags

because reasons, ditzy eight, doctor who, fun stuff, humor, selay'uu, star wars

It was too early for this.

I took off my glasses and set them on my desk, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The chair in which I should have been sitting, working on my latest novel, lay demolished in a pile of splinters on the floor, and the culprit stood beside me, looking sheepish.

“Eight,” I groaned, “is such destruction even possible?” The Doctor (one of a few incarnations who’d invited themselves in and occasionally popped in, necessitating that we number them and breaking the first law of time–fortunately with impunity, unless the effects on me prove detrimental to the universe at large,) scuffed his shoes along the floor, looking like a guilty child.

“Theoretically…” he began. I held up a hand.

“Don’t say it.” I sighed. It has only been two weeks, and already this incarnation of the Doctor had managed to break a picture frame, the ugly vase which no one knew where it came from and which was rumored to be cursed (curses are no match for a ditzy Time Lord), a watering can, the horrific statue that has been traumatizing the children ever since Bruck Chun painted that terrible clown face on it, and the fireplace that had once belonged to Madame du Pompadour, which should not have been in my mind palace but for some reason it was, and the resident Time Lords had not had a chance to explain why before one of them broke it.

To be fair about that last one, he had actually fallen into the fireplace, and there was a fire lit. I nearly had a heart attack.

And to be fair to him, I think he’s not really neglectful or careless, more he simply forgets that human things are not made to the standard the ones he tried to smash as a child were.

Just then, Bruck Chun came rushing in in a fury. “All right, own up. Who did it? Who broke my statue?” he demanded angrily, giving us both the Sith eyes. I would kick him out of the mind palace, except I can’t. He’s a recurring villain for one of my latest Star Wars stories.

Slowly, the Doctor raised his hand. “That would be me.” Bruck eyed him coldly.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m the Doctor.” Bruck shook his head.

“Can’t be. That’s the spiky-haired skinny guy.” I facepalmed. The Doctor grinned widely.

“That’s me in my personal future,” he explained cheerfully. Bruck just looked annoyed.

“Well, you broke the statue,” he growled and swung at the Doctor. It has been a long time since I’d seen someone so humiliated in under thirty seconds, and it ended with the Doctor, using that literally inhuman strength deliberately for once, hurling Bruck bodily out the door.

As we headed outside to play in the newly-fallen snow, he leaned over conspiratorially, “Do you think it’ll stick?” I shook my head.

“He’s an idiot.” The Doctor grinned mischievously.

“Might have to up my game. Next time he’ll expect the Force-opaque effect.” We shared a private giggle and spent the next hour throwing snowballs at each other and sledding down the hill on the backs of our coats.

Silence Will Fall: A Parody

Tags

completed stories, doctor who, fun stuff, humor, marvel, parody, short stories, the avengers, thor

Because no Internet life is complete without a parody of Mary Sue or badfic!

Enjoy! ;-D

Silence Will Fall

Xoehemina Wraithlight Spickl the Third rolled over and grinned at her true love. “Wakey wakey, Lokes!” she said in a sing-song nasal voice pitched at exactly the same key as nails on a chalk board. It was like birdsong and music all rolled into one—that is, if said bird was a crow with a five-year cold and a pack-a-day smoker and the music was played by a beginner violinist with a squint from London to New York.

Loki sat up gracefully on his elbow and smirked at his bride. “Good morning, my love,” he said. “Don’t bother to rise just yet… here, let me go and bring you breakfast in bed…”

Suddenly, an odd, wheezing hydraulic sound could be heard outside the window. Xoehemina perked up at the sound. She was a beautiful vision in off-white as she ran out onto the veranda like a flat-footed ostrich or an elephant with eczema.

“My soulmate cometh!” she proclaimed, waving her arms in a dramatic gesture like a chicken with hiccups and fell flat on her cute little backside. Loki helped her to her feet.

“You can’t mean this,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. Xoehemina turned.

“Lol, wut?”

“You can’t seriously be breaking up with me!” Loki’s voice rose to a crescendo and tears rolled down over his nose. Xoehemina turned around to pat his cheek as the TARDIS materialized before them.

“Oh, pish tush. It’s a time machine. I could be back yesterday!” she said cheerfully, snapping her fingers. The TARDIS made an angry, protesting sound as its doors flew open with a violent crash, but the sentient ship was unable to voice her annoyance to the fans and as such was frequently abused, like so. Xoehemina ignored the TARDIS’ protests as she waltzed gaily inside. She popped open her old pocket watch. “I left my hearts in Gallifrey.”

The doors flew shut behind her, the TARDIS making another angry sound. Xoehemina turned around and almost bumped into a tall, thin man who was looking at her, one eyebrow raised in a potentially frightening manner. Xoehemina fell flat on her backside again, spreading her arms wide. “Theta sugar! It’s me, your childhood crush Ashkanakxygr!”

The Doctor frowned at her. “Get off my TARDIS.”

“But, baby…” Ashkanakxygr pleaded, opening her violet eyes wide like muddy lagoons of stagnant seaweed. The Doctor pursed his lips.

“I have never met you in my life before. Leave my poor TARDIS alone and get out.”

“You have to remember me!” Ashkanakxygr shrieked. The Doctor flinched at the piercing sound. Ashkanakxygr was beyond paying attention. “We went to school together. We kissed for the first time when the moons were shining over the red mountains. My heart was broken forever when you ran away. Don’t you remember that?”

“None of it,” the Doctor said with finality. “You’re not a Time Lord. I would know you. I do not. For the last time, get off my TARDIS.”

“Pyrdon baby bear…” Ashkanakxygr began. She didn’t finish. The Doctor had pushed her out onto the surface of a barren planet, there to wail her heart out for all eternity. (Did I mention she was immortal?)

Back in his cell on Asgard, Loki snickered. Thor shuddered as he walked past his brother’s cell.

“Seriously, brother. Get a life.”

“But manipulating these half-witted mortals is so amusing,” Loki drawled. Suddenly, he reached down to his belt pouch. “Sorry, message waiting on my magic tablet.”

On the blank surface appeared a short message.

Loki. If you send another of your crowd after me ever again, I am letting Ace loose on you.

Loki cackled and turned back to his mischief. Thor went upstairs, wrote a quick note of apology, and gave it to Huginn to deliver. The raven would see that it reached the Doctor’s hand—eventually.

“What was that thing?” Donna asked distastefully as the Doctor washed and sanitized his hands for the fourth time.

“Maria Susare, commonly known as a Mary Sue, for some reason. They’re ancient creatures, pre-dating Time itself. They normally inhabit the Void and unknown parts of deep, empty space, where they prey on the unwary, but once in a while one will get lost and become every hero’s worst nightmare.” The Doctor shuddered violently, but caught himself. “They sometimes cause innocent, everyday people like us to behave contrary to our nature, and they often butt in where they’re not wanted. They’re parasites, and in their true form they are monstrous creatures with horns and teeth the length of my finger, claws and hideous bat wings which they use to disguise their horrible pink-and-black mottled skin. They’re horrible creatures that are only half-intelligent, fixated on certain ideas and unable to form new ones. They can not be reasoned with. A few brave hunters sometimes seek them out to slay them, but they must have found new sources of food, or they would have vanished from the face of the universe by now…” The Doctor grimaced in distaste. “This one was… rather… amorous.” Donna almost laughed at the Doctor’s discomfort, but quickly returned to seriousness.

“Well, what should we do about it, space boy?”

“We find their latest food source…” the Doctor’s voice deepened to an ominous drawl.

“And hope they aren’t already addicted.”

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Detours

Tags

bbc merlin, doctor who, fun stuff, humor, selay'uu, star wars

Jack Harkness was laughing uproariously as Madame Jocasta peremptorily ejected us from the Archives. Gwaine could barely stand upright, and Gawain stared at the character with whom he only shared a name in horrified disgust. Obi-Wan was trying to shush us all, with limited success, and Siri was determined to make things even more insane. The Doctor went and sulked in a shadowy corner.

“That was one awesome party!” Jack declared. “We should have brought drinks with us, though.” I stared at him, shuddering with horror. Perish the thought.

“Jack, please,” Obi-Wan snapped in frustration. “There are minors present.”

“Well, since we forgot all the majors,” Jack said and collapsed with laughter over his own joke. I slapped him across the back of the head with a convenient book. He overbalanced and fell flat on his nose. I waved the book at him half-heartedly.

“Ha ha!”

“It serves you right for wrecking her office,” Obi-Wan observed, picking up Gervaise, who had somehow gone all loopy on thin air and was talking to people who no one else could see.

“But peppers are good, Natasha,” Gervaise said to no one. Obi-Wan hoisted him up.

“I’m taking him to the infirmary. The rest of you–” he gave us a warning look. “Behave.”

“I hate you all,” the Doctor muttered, looking as if he was about to cry. I ran across and hugged him.

“Don’t give me the puppy eyes, please! You know it leaves me a total wreck,” I whispered. He sighed, making a Herculean effort to regain his self-control.

“Fine.”

“Let’s prank Jack until he’s cross-eyed,” I suggested softly. Merlin winked at me. I could feel the Doctor smiling into my hair.

“Deal.”

The Great Prank War–the Prank War to end all Prank Wars–was on.

The Music Writing Challenge, Verse Two

Tags

fun stuff, music, story dynamics, the music writing challenge, writing, writing music

See what I did there?

Anyway, thanks to everyone who entered the first Music Writing Challenge, and welcome to the second!

The rules are as follows:

1. If you’re not familiar with the piece of music, you may actively–no distractions–listen to it once through.
2. Open a Word document and press play. Begin to write when the music starts, and when the music stops, if you must write on, please insert a line or page break for indication that the bit below it was written after the music was over.
3. Have fun!

This week’s music is “Winterspell” by Thomas Bergersen.

Enjoy!

Interdimensional Physics For Dummies

Tags

completed stories, fun stuff, original fiction, science, short stories

Writefury started it! X-D

Go check out her reply to the prompt. Right now. I command thee. 😛

Also, in this story, there’s a cameo. Anyone who can correctly identify the cameo may make a demand of me. However, I can’t promise deadlines at the moment, so let’s just say I’ll do it when I can. 😉

---

Interdimensional Physics for Dummies

                Gerald walked into interdimensional physics class to find his idiot friend doodling on the chalkboard with RoseArts, his bag forgotten by his usual seat. He smacked Michael in the back of the head—rather gently, if he did say so himself. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. A few snickers came from the early-comers. They saw this drama enacted every day.

In fact, maybe that’s why they came to class so early…

“That doesn’t look like cursive to me,” Gerald informed Michael kindly. Michael ignored him, standing on tiptoes and stretching his skinny back to reach the top of the chalkboard. “So what is it?” Gerald asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He immediately regretted his indiscretion.

So Michael might be partly deaf, but that didn’t justify him ignoring people.

Michael finished part of his curve and stared at Gerald. “Oh, hi!” he said, sounding surprised. His nerdy glasses were slipping down over the bridge of his nose, making him look even more stupid than usual. Gerald kindly pushed them back up, and they immediately began to slide back down again.

He didn’t know why Michael wore them all the time. After all, he only needed them to read. He was farsighted, not blind!

“So what is it?” Gerald asked, gesturing at the board.

“It’s a probability machine diagram,” Michael explained. “And it looks good.”

Why was Gerald friends with this idiot again?

The door opened and the professor marched in, several minutes before the rest of the class would come straggling in. “Good morning, boys,” he said in a voice that was far too bright for this horrible hour. He squinted at the chalkboard.

“Is that the Carson-Leither probability engine you were talking about earlier, Michael?” he asked, pulling his nerdy glasses out of his suit pocket and sliding them up the bridge of his nose. As far as Gerald was concerned, while Michael might need glasses for things close to his face, the professor didn’t need them at all.

“Yes, sir,” Michael said, continuing to draw.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to erase part of it later,” the professor said apologetically, sounding bipolar.

“I can take a photo with my cell phone, sir,” Gerald said, making a squid face at Michael’s back.

“No need. It’s the principle of the thing, you see,” the Professor explained. Gerald didn’t see, but of course he was not going to say that.

The professor’s watch alarm went off, Gerald and Michael sat down, and class began.

Seven and a half minutes later, the rest of the class rushed breathlessly in, madly waving coffee cups, books, papers, pencils, pens, highlighters, and in one memorable case, a lizard.

The professor asked them what the blackboard drawing was. None of them had any idea.

After all, they were all very late.

Doctor Who: What Your Favorite Doctor Says About You

Tags

and procrastinating, can't you tell?, doctor who, fun stuff, half the fun of posting about the tenth doctor is looking for the dorkiest possible pictures of him, i'm bored

Inspired by this.

Who is your favorite Doctor? Well, I can’t speak to much of the old series, but I’m going through Eight to Twelve, even though I technically don’t know Twelve much…

If You Like the Eighth Doctor Best…

You’re adorable and sweet, but with a fiery undercurrent. Classy in a nouveau way. You probably like steampunk in secret, at least a little bit. And you’re just a tad spacey.

If the Ninth Doctor Is Your Favorite…

You’re a little bit cynical, but still capable of seeing the wonder in the universe. You’re really sassy and funny and could be the life of the party, if you wanted.

You’re a little bit of a philosopher, in a gritty, real-to-life way.

If The Tenth Doctor Is Your Favorite…

Part of the fun of posting about Ten is the fun of looking for the dorkiest possible pictures of him… X-D

You are sweet, adorable, dorky even, but can be intimidating, even terrifying. You can be a bit mischievous and irreverent, and it is your nature to laugh at the dark. You are a bit melodramatic. You tend to leave others far behind when you get moving intellectually and sometimes struggle for words (you miss your first language and wish English was a bit more concise and erudite).

You’re even a bit old-fashioned and nostalgic.

You’d also better be cautious of your nails, because people stare at your hands a lot of the time.

(If you like the Tenth Doctor just because he’s good-looking and hate the Ninth Doctor, or, God forbid, skipped the Ninth Doctor, shame on you. You’re shallow.)

If The Eleventh Doctor Is Your Favorite…

You’re idiosyncratic and tend to make trends out of what you wear. You also tend to leave people behind and confuse them when you’re talking. You’re probably a bit younger (this is just demographics. Seriously.) Or you’re young at heart (does that sound better?) Your sense of drama oftentimes runs out while you’re still in the middle of things. You appreciate life.

If You Like The Twelfth Doctor Best…

You are VERY good at spelling and never have to type “Twelfth” twice.

Just kidding. 😛 (I actually had to re-type “Eighth” and “Twelfth” several times in this post alone.)

You’re sarcastic. You don’t know how to deal with emotions or cute fuzzy things, but that’s mostly because you’re preoccupied with saving the world. You will never get anywhere in politics because you don’t do the kissing-babies thing.

But you are very, very good at saving the world.

Though this might seem a bit out-of-place, given that you’re not very good with emotions or people in tears (some might even say you have no social skills, but that is simply not true), you’re also intuitive.

---

So, who’s your favorite Doctor and how accurate is this? ;-P

This was just for fun and I hope I didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. I don’t mind offending people, but I hate to hurt their feelings.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Oh, and by the way…

“Hero”: My Entry to the Music Writing Challenge

Tags

bound to the flame, characters, fun stuff, novels, short stories, story dynamics, the flame within, the music writing challenge

I think I’ll post a new Music Writing Challenge next week on Tuesday… Everyone who wants to write one of these Challenge pieces, please post them by then. Or you can post them later, if you want. Also, if you have any music you’d like to suggest for the Challenge, please tell me! 🙂

At a nice, even one hundred and fifteen words, this one was a bit short. But I was just writing what I felt like and then realized, hey this sounds like Isaac, so I made it his thoughts.

Enjoy!

---

Inhale.

Then leap forward with a vengeance. Find your way through the battle. Take your stand.

Some just try to keep their sanity.

Others embrace the madness.

And a few set their feet on the ground and defy the dark.

Isaac had been fighting for hours. It wasn’t just his freedom at stake. It was the fate of the world.

He had to find another way.

Abandoning his powers, he leaped forward, seeking the heart of the battle. He closed his eyes, focusing.

There!

The cracks in the moment spread out from that center, like a spider’s web.

Isaac ran for the center, eyes still shut but aware of the war around him.

He struck.

---

For those of you who may not be familiar with my pan-whatsit-theon of characters, Isaac is the hero of The Flame Within, sort of a sequel to Bound to the Flame and set far in its future. By this time, magic is widely accepted across the world, but the practice of magic has become corrupted. Isaac is a student at a school of magic and has been for as long as he can remember, but with banned books and his apparent nonexistence in the school’s records, he has to face the possibility that nothing is quite as it seems.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Intermezzo

Tags

college, doctor who, finals, fun stuff, humor, selay'uu

I was nearly yawning with boredom. Paperwork and school. Drudgery was more like it. I didn’t even have the heart to go out and work on fun things, like the audio drama I had started with a few friends…

“Erin!” the Doctor’s voice cut into my real-life-induced haze. “Erin, Erin, Erin!” He rushed into the study, cravat askew and his next-incarnation-but-two’s glasses perched precariously on his nose. I blinked at him twice, then took off my glasses, wiped them, and blinked at him again.

“Wazzup?” I groaned, closing my eyes against the incipient headache. The Doctor went off into a long, complicated rant that to me sounded like babbling. I just plonked my head right back down on my desk, wondering vaguely if I’d ever get back to my dreams of exciting plot which seemingly featured a new protagonist covertly bringing down a slaving ring and a film noir detective developing a bizarre crush on him, and another incoherent plot which seemed still more fascinating–at least while I was asleep. Ventress and high adventure? Or was it steampunk? I couldn’t remember. It was frustrating, like the time I dreamed the perfect poem only for it to collapse when I woke up and tried to write it down.

Suddenly, the Doctor stopped mid-rant, mid-sentence, mid-word… even mid-syllable. He eyed me with suspicion and mild irritation. “You’re not listening to me.”

“Sure I am,” I yawned.

“No, you aren’t,” he said firmly, then brightened up. “You need a holiday.”

Much as I would love for him to whisk me off in the TARDIS right then and there, I couldn’t. I said as much.

“It’s a time machine, Erin,” he pointed out.

“Summer,” I grumbled. “Just let me get through finals week first.”

“Oh, all right.” He gave me a mischievous grin. “Pinky promise?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do Time Lords even refer to that finger as a ‘pinky’?” I groused. The Doctor cocked his head to one side.

“Of course they don’t!” he exclaimed.

“Summer,” I promised. “Until then… I just want to sleep and not bother with any more of this nonsense.”

---

Sorry, again, about the lack of coherent updates. I know it has been a while. I promise I will have PLENTY of material for the blog when I’m done with the semester. Not just short stories, but some comparisons and reviews for other classes as well.

Until then, stay alive, survive the finals, thanks for reading and God Bless!

The Music Writing Challenge

Tags

fun stuff, story dynamics, the music writing challenge, writing

I was reading through some old challenge pieces, and I had an idea for a new type of word war!

Also, people create impressive things on YouTube. (Like the infamous “Why Is The Rum Gone,” heretofore to be called The-Remix-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named.)

I bring you: the Music Writing Challenge!

Basically, the idea is to write a short story in the space of one song. If you’re unfamiliar with the song, you can listen to it once–listening actively–I mean no multitasking! No Facebooking, no looking at stuff on Amazon, just listening to the music–not necessarily even watching the music video. Just listening. And then, when you’re done, you open a blank Word document, start up the music, and write to it. When the music is done, stop writing. If you absolutely MUST continue your story, make sure to put a line or a note or a page break or SOMETHING there to denote that this part was not written as a part of the challenge.

Be sure to post your completed story (or story fragment) on your blog and link me back to it! I’d love to read them all 😀

Our first challenge will be written around the Skillet song “Hero.”

I plan on posting my own addition to the Challenge shortly.

Good luck!