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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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pointless
children of dune - leto 1
seperis
I WILL NEVER WRITE AGAIN.

Haven't you always wanted to say that? Like, in the midst of a really bad day, when you're certain all of fandom is plotting against you? People do it a lot, though sadly, no one I know well enough to mock later. That makes me sad. I really need to expand my circle of friends.

This is what I told myself, because I've learned that dramatic temper tantrums that require audiences are best performed on myself. I really *am* my best audience, I think.

Also, I like attention. What a surprise.

I miss being six and getting on the floor, kicking my legs and holding my breath and variating that with piercing wails more suited to bamboo under the fingernails. Recently, Child tried this on me. Oddly, he seemed unamused when I critiqued his technique. I mean, how can you take any temper tantrum seriously if someone doesn't hold their breath for at least a full minute and turn an interesting shade of tomato?

Anyway, this particular tantrum was one of my better ones, and I really, really regret that I don't advertise on LJ, since I ran the gamut of threats to *make something work* already. I threatened the story, cajoled the story, promised it money and sexual favors, but it seemed to understand that its incorporeal presence pretty much meant all that was shit, and so continues to defy me.

Don't even ask what story. Because it was all of them. Malicious little rows of simple letters organized into words, sentences, paragraphs, and pages, mocking me with their oh-so-black and white crispness.

I could blame so many things, but I think I'll blame the trauma of the badfic I read the other night.

I *like* badfic. I like it best when its clear the author really went *all out* in making it the worst it could possibly be. When you see *effort* and *attention* dealt to every last, miniscule, terrifying bit of character assassination. Where you can actually really *comprehend* why people say they would rather stick a spork in their own eyeball than ever, ever read it again.

*That* moment. You know. When you have the spork in your hand and are seconds away from doing just that.

I like to call it the elite of badfic. What most badfic can only dream of being. Where you look upon it and take in the shape of your fate, realize that the day you die, you will weep bitter, bitter tears about the minutes of your life stolen by those mocking little words that took part of your soul and not a little of your sanity.

They're overachievers. You almost think they sat down before their innocent little wordprocessing program and thought, how can I traumatize the masses the most? What place in their psyches should I stick this germ-encrusted knife of endless bad characterization? What kind of stew can I make of this bubonic-plague, three eyed plotbunny on my lap, eating the bones of the dead while I type? Then they laugh, and it's an evil laugh, a laugh that echoes through the minds fo all, and every time you feel a cold shiver for no reason? That's not a goose walking over your grave. That's a elite badfic writer Getting an Idea.

Now you know.

Anyway.

I also talk to myself. No, that has nothing to do with the conversation, but I thought I'd just throw that out there.

Someone *really* should entertain me now. Like the beloved, beautiful, bounteous, breathtaking, beguiling mintwitch (in retrospect, using m words there might have been more clever, don't you think?) writing more Word of the Day. Or you know, anyone. Anyone at all. Who doesn't suck.

*waits*

Annny minute now.

*waits longer*

I could be reading badfic *as we speak*. Do *you* want to be responsible for the unfortunate spork accident?


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*showers you with attention*

You know what you should write?

Muppets/Smallville fic.

Yes.

*attentions*

Yes. Like in that episode where Clark came in and asked about the sword on the wall--is that a real sword? And Lex says no, it's a prop from his favorite movie, something something blah. So Clark should come to Lex's mansion and notice this giant green frog on the wall and ask, is that a real frog? And Lex says no, and takes it down off the wall and fists Kermit in a really unfortunate way (which you have to do with hand puppets), gazing at him fondly, and he says, it's a prop from my favorite movie as a child. And then they have a three-page conversation about the Muppets, bonding deeply, with lots of subtext and eye contact and then Lex moves the frog closer into Clark's personal space and Clark laughs--that joyful, toothy laugh of manly innocence--and Lex kisses him with the frog, and then Clark gets all serious and says, Lex. In a deep, breathy voice. Lex. Because he gets it now. And Lex stares into his eyes and says, Clark. In a husky Lexy voice. Clark.

And then Kermit sings "The Rainbow Connection."

"Poland. Responsible for mass spork-in-eye incident, 2003."

Then they laugh, and it's an evil laugh, a laugh that echoes through the minds of all, and every time you feel a cold shiver for no reason? That's not a goose walking over your grave. That's a elite badfic writer Getting an Idea.


*dead, so dead from the laughter*

Elite badfic writers! Eeeee! I'm going to carry the shiver thing with me for some time, that's scarier than the gooses, truly.

They're surrounding us all!

Now, I must go off to comfort someone who just saw "Shattered" for the first time. Did you get to see that yet? *fingers crossed*

It's like something from The Sixth Sense. the temperature drops, and you just *know* some disaster is about to befall you. You just *know*.

Now, I must go off to comfort someone who just saw "Shattered" for the first time. Did you get to see that yet? *fingers crossed*

Not yet, dammit. I slept through SV on Sunday, so I don't even know if it came on!

Grr.

I've been thoroughly spoiled and traumatized, though, so it evens out.

I *like* badfic. I like it best when its clear the author really went *all out* in making it the worst it could possibly be. When you see *effort* and *attention* dealt to every last, miniscule, terrifying bit of character assassination.

But isn't it depressing when the writer really thought s/he was making the best possible effort into writing goodfic? Because like, that's what gets to me. And worse yet, when other people go online in praise of said badfic. It's as if I'm in Bizarro World or something. [/weirdass obscure Superman analogy]

But isn't it depressing when the writer really thought s/he was making the best possible effort into writing goodfic?

I believe in Santa Claus, teh toothfairy, and that some badfic has to have been written with malice aforethought. There's just not another explanation.

And worse yet, when other people go online in praise of said badfic. It's as if I'm in Bizarro World or something. [/weirdass obscure Superman analogy]

*grins* I've heard the ref in SV, though not the specifics.

Yes. And yes. And you wonder if their eyeballs are just *tougher* than yours, and that the readers have gone insane from all the horror and think air is fascinating to stare at. Yep. Oooh yep.

*hugs* You are a beautiful writer, and I have so much admiration for you.

If it makes you feel any better, I sympathize: I'm not writing anymore. I mean, I still might drabble every once in a while, but my short-lived career in creative writing/fanfic is most definitively over.

YOU, on the other hand, may certainly not stop. I enjoy your fic too much to be deprived of it for any length of time. So forge ahead, and fill our loitering minds with the richness of your prose.

You think *that* is going to get you out of helping me finish Daphne Finds Her Lesbian Soulmate Fic?

*snorts* Good try.

Play with me some night. I miss you. *hugs*

Or you know, anyone. Anyone at all.

*puts hand up*

Who doesn't suck.

*takes hand back down*

You have too much time on your hands, chica. Unfortunately, I need to work (ie. to make up for spending *all day* yesterday just surfing LJ and reading fic. I have no work ethic, just the fear of getting caught. Hence, when the boss is overseas, the desk gets stacked and the fics get read.), otherwise I'd be happily entertained, reading the sequels to "The Tale of the Shining Prince"...

*yearns for fic*

Stupid work.

Who doesn't suck.

*takes hand back down*


You are *such* a dork. I would chain you to a keyboard if I could. You wrote a *good* Justin. And another good Justin. *smiles*

You have too much time on your hands, chica. Unfortunately, I need to work (ie. to make up for spending *all day* yesterday just surfing LJ and reading fic. I have no work ethic, just the fear of getting caught. Hence, when the boss is overseas, the desk gets stacked and the fics get read.), otherwise I'd be happily entertained, reading the sequels to "The Tale of the Shining Prince"...

I need to this weekend. I hate stopping in the middle of a fanfic story that I really like, so I've been saving it for when I have several hours to myself to read and absorb it.

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Very, very bad, scary crack.

So scary. So damn scary.

I say I WILL NEVER WRITE AGAIN every time I read really good fic. Especially fic by you.

Oh what*ever*, oh Miss "i stalk yoru freaking lj for fic", and see, you should *write more*, because it would save me from badfic, and really, that *should* be your first priority here. Or second. You know. AFTER you write the fic.

*hopeful for results*

Sorry, Word is done, over, no more. Lost the impetus, said what they wanted said, and wrapped it up. ::pat:: Why don't you write for me?

I miss being six and getting on the floor, kicking my legs and holding my breath and variating that with piercing wails more suited to bamboo under the fingernails.
I've always thought that temper tantrums should be for adults. Damnit, we deserve them more. We should have every right to roll around on the floor and suck our thumbs when our boss says we're fired. And every time the bank closes before you can cash that paycheck that you need so that your rent payment doesn't bounce and you don't loose electricity? I know I'm not the only one who wants to stop their foot, scream "No, I don't wanna!" at the top of their lungs, and hold their breath until they get their way.
Well, until we get our way, feel free to pull a dramatic temper tantrum on me. Or twenty temper tantrums. Hell, I just got finished with a production of Hamlet. I'm well versed in temper tantrums now.
Until then, the ever-willing dramatist in me has to go and write two papers.
*sigh* I miss being six, too.

See? I'm totally not the only one!

We *deserve* them. More than kids.

I want to scream until someone gets me what I want, dammit.

*pouting*

I did say I'd never write again, once. The day after, a BNF praised my horrible story, and I wrote about forty K a day for the next three weeks.

Sometimes you need the liberation.

Wow. That is *so* cool! I love it when that happens otu fo the blue. Makes me all freaky and glowy for *days*.

*g*

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Hhe. I so suck at challenges. I always put tehm off and then freak out. It's *weird*

I should try to do one soon, though. Hmm.

Recently, Child tried this on me. Oddly, he seemed unamused when I critiqued his technique. I mean, how can you take any temper tantrum seriously if someone doesn't hold their breath for at least a full minute and turn an interesting shade of tomato?


I do this to the Squid all the time, especially in public.

I *like* badfic. I like it best when its clear the author really went *all out* in making it the worst it could possibly be. When you see *effort* and *attention* dealt to every last, miniscule, terrifying bit of character assassination.

At least if this is what the author intended. Its the cluelessly bad that I worry about.

At least if this is what the author intended. Its the cluelessly bad that I worry about.

Just a terrifying, terrifying thought that they think "oh, this is *great* characterization!"

Because then I lose hope for the human race and eat too much chocolate to compensate for the horror. The chocolate part is fun, though. Hmm.

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