The Junkyard
encouraging Lex's world domination since 2001
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The Junkyard encouraging Lex's world domination since 2001 |
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livejournal Entries For the Week
the great phone hunt Current Challenges in Progress
Isilya's Snugglefic Challenge The Lex/Clark Emails
email to Clark #4 by Te Smallville Archives
Smallville Slash Archive Other Links
WRFA Lists
ClarkLex People Who Think a Lot
LJ friends list Fanfic Quick Links
Mustang Sally and Rivka T's Disenchanted Kingdom Quote
If you don't send me feedback, I will sob uncontrollably for hours on end, until finally, in a fit of depression, I slash my wrists and bleed out on the bathroom floor. My death will be on your heads. Murderers. I'm willing to accept vampires and mutants and aliens and gay chocolate milk giving cows, but human males do not get pregnant and they do not give birth! That's why he goes bad, you know -- all the good people hit him on the head or try to shoot him and constantly mistrust him, while there's this vast cohort of minions saying, "We wouldn't hurt you, Lex, and we'll give you power and greatness and oh so much sex..." "Pay-off for seedy ex-doctor to sew up bullet hole in your Krypto-Mutant Witness... one brown bag (containing an undetermined number of unmarked, non-sequentially numbered $100 bills, peyote, or both)" Obi-Wan has a sort of desperate, pathetic patience in this movie. You can just see it in his eyes: "My padawan is a psychopath, and no one will believe me; I'm barely keeping him under control and expect to wake up any night now to find him standing over my bed with a knife!" Is there anything that says, "Yes, I am a virgin, and all my beta-readers are, too," like...boiling ejaculate? Hot, scalding sperm? Burning seminal fluid? ...let's face it, with all that's happened to him this season, it's a wonder he's not spending every evening out behind the castle, drinking Night Train and shooting at squirrels..." "Welcome to ClarkLex. This is the list for people who watch Smallville mainly 'cause it's gay as a picnic basket. Yes, Smallville, starring Clark "Gayer than a leather pinata" Kent and Lex "Gay as Christmas at Bloomingdale's" Luthor, as two gay homosexuals who love each other, and did we mention they're gay?" Fic Quotes "Wait... wait... are you saying you're an alien?" "I mean, it's not every day that you get to come out as an alien. And gay. A big, gay alien."
So, you're going to get Clark the girl of his dreams, since that's less morally suspect than giving
him a truck. You're like the Make A Wish Foundation gone terribly, terribly wrong."
"It's not like we're trading blowjobs for chicken nuggets here."
"I was poisoned, Lex. Semen is the only antidote." "I did NOT fund research into the animation of dessert foods!"
"Clark, we're in a ditch with a stalled engine and two flat tires. In the *snow*. How could it be worse?"
There's just something about a man who's seven months pregnant and wearing a pair of custom made overalls and a white t-shirt with a nursing bra underneath.
The catering idea, of course, had been nixed almost immediately. Jor-El said that there was a great deal of feasting and partying on the day of the Dorzin Marjin, but that was Krypton, this was Kansas. Lex couldn't see this as a crudite and caviar on toast points event, even in Smallville. Though he did order a few bottles of good champagne, just because it seemed the thing to do; the odds seemed pretty high that someone in the Kent house would have to be drunk at some point, either in the before, the during, or the after. Virgin ass at seven, cocktails at eight, and homemade muffins for breakfast seemed very civilized and keeping in the spirit of the whole ass hymen ritual. Diaryland Archive ficlets, wips, and drafts
Something Like Forgetting 1 |
Index to This Week -- 2002-04-22 In This Issue.... 4-20 - warnings email-- 12:49 p.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope warnings and so forth -- 2002-04-20 Okay, for weirdness and random topic, which actually relates to the topic of Jenn's Dive Into Lexian Creepy Fic, but only peripherally. I was thinking on the concept of warnings. Back in Voyager about a year ago, one of my mailing lists exploded in a debate over a story that some readers believed did not have sufficient warnings. I was sort of half-shocked, half-amused, and I posted, of course, because I liked both authors and I really thought the entire thing was just ridiculous. I also suspect to this day that the content wasn't nearly as objectional as people thought, but that the authors, who had reputations for a totally different type of story, just managed to seriously shock the readers by writing that particular kind of story. And man, it was a good story. But I digress. WARNINGS are a debate topic? Seriously? Enough to actually get PISSED about? Flooring. So very flooring I've had some changes of opinion in this over my time in fandom, but here's the gist as it stands now. Will probably be revised, because I refuse to believe anyone is static in everything. Or at least, I'm not. On this particular list, it surprised me because of the content of the story--sexual in nature, not violence. Explicit violence stuff would actually make sense as the focus of the debate topic, though I've recently joined the Author Discretion school of thought, where I pretty much think it should be the author's choice on what exactly they want to tell the audience before reading. It's not like this is something that DOESN'T pop up every so often. There's the standard 'explicit violence' warning, 'dark themes' warning (and what does THAT mean?), 'noncon' warning, 'incest' warning, 'character death' and so forth and you find those in almost any fandom. Then they get a little more fandom-specific, or weird, depending on how you think about it. In X-Files, there was the Doggett warning (which I thought was some sort of fandom joke until one of the writers actually told me it was true). In my X-Men fandom, there's the "Evil!Jean" warning (no, I'm not joking). There's jokes about a 'het' warning. There aren't jokes about a slash warning, because some list/websites require a slash warning, which is why I sometimes get twitchy about where I'm archived. I'd like a badfic warning, but so far, that's not catching on. *sigh* Warnings, warnings, warnings. Other name for this? Spoilers. I'm not the biggest fan of spoilers. I understand the theory. People want to check the water before they jump. There may be squicks below the surface. I do get that. Some of us are not into explicit violence, or incest, or rape, or torture/mutilation/etc. or some kinds of kinky sex, or whatever. No, really, I do understand. I'm not advocating that all warnings cease and desist by force and forbidding all authors to ever, ever, ever use so much as a set of character and pairing codes under pain of death (and anyone but me wonders what exactly THAT means? Is there a specific pain they're talking about?). I mean--I really get twitchy when someone, anyone, advocates requiring warnings. *twitch* I've never required it on any list I've created or run, and I've never done it on an archive I've run with the obvious exception of the annoying MPAA rating or the GEN/MA label. The thing is, I used to be this huge fan of warnings--I mean, I OVERWARNED. I warned so much that the warnings would have a paragraph of the author notes to themselves. Absolute Zero and Jus Ad Bellum are two excellent examples of stories I was paranoid enough about to start sticking everything that looked remotely applicable on them. I'm a big fan of being prepared. Now, I've got to wonder what exactly was occuring to me. I think I even drafted my thoughts at the time in an email to glass_onion, but that's sort of changed since. There's reasons for using warnings. Reader trust, for example--you want your readers to trust you, not be absolutely stunned sick by the latest twist of your imagination after your all-night reading experience with the "100 Days of Sodom" (shudders) that inspired you to write a new and terrifying rendition of the ninetieth day in fanfic form. (And btw? Ninetieth day isn't the killer. I think it was the seventies that REALLY fucked with my head. Gotta love Sade. I wonder about his access to the eighteenth century equivalent of LSD. That book has Bad Acid Trip written ALL over it.) But anyway.... And besides Reader Trust, there's also simple Good Sense to avoid flames, for those of us who really, really don't like them. And there's always Idiot #1 #2 and #3 who apparently troll the web LOOKING to be offended and fire off flames with an energy you wish they'd devote to their real life, so they'd leave you alone. So. Reader Trust, Good Sense, Flame Avoidance. All really good reasons that I used for a LONG time to justify my stance on warnings being A Good Thing, even if not necessarily A Required Thing. But then I had a revelation. Okay, I didn't, but I spent time chatting with the fascinating Minisinoo, who hates even RATING her stories. Which, when we met, I found highly, highly weird, but then I actually did this thing that most people probably don't do when they decide to get offended or don't have enough information to form a fair judgement I asked her why. Amazing how this sort of thing works. Pro fiction, she pointed out, is not rated. Ever. It's genre'd, true. But there aren't ratings. There aren't warnings. There's a cover, if you're lucky there's a summary that has something to do with the contents, and that's IT. Pro authors do not tell us whether Character A will be castrated in the first ten pages or Character B will have a long-standing affair with her half-uncle, or in fact, that the term 'shit-weasels' will appear and be a distressingly accurate description (for last, see Stephen King's "Dreamcatcher"). This is Fact. You know you're more likely to find these things if you're hanging in the Horror or Sci-Fi section, but there's no guarantees that the normal fiction section isn't going to be chocked full of squicky stuff. And we're taking a MUCH bigger risk buying a real live book here--we're investing CASH. Fanfiction, we're investing simple time and our ability to use a delete key expeditiously. Granted, this is not Pro Fiction--the sheer lack of money being made sort of clued me in to that one. Fanfiction runs under a completely different set of rules, which is why my stand is that you cannot compare the two, apples to oranges in terms of literary merit. However, Min's point was valid. And the debates that break out over Warnings just never cease to make me wonder if people read anything outside of fanfiction. Maybe it was the huge incest thingie a few weeks back that finally pushed me over, or maybe it's the weird email I just stumbled over that asked why I hadn't warned for--wait for it--Nice!Jean. No, I'm serious. No, I AM. The story far up there that I mentioned the debate over? It had explicit sex warnings. The problem was, some people wanted them more specific. After two reads, I couldn't figure out HOW the authors could have managed that and kept from basically summarizing the entire storyline. Same holds true with most deathfics, and that's another one that you just really CAN'T warn for or you lose the point of the story usually. Incestfic--same basic idea usually. The thing is--when warnings are basically summaries of the main plot points, it does spoil a story for me. I want to be surprised, learning as much as the author chooses to tell me within the story itself. I want to be even thrown if possible, and I like that. And that's just me, which is why I haven't started the Anti-Warning Revolution and tried to recruit Minions to help in the quest. The current compromise that I've picked up is to have a 0/x email for any warnings that my conscience tells me HAVE to be there, so readers have a choice. But--it's weird. It still feels like I'm spoiling the story for them. See? This is why I'm not exactly well-known for being strong-minded. *sighs* I need to stop practicing the entire compromise thing. And look, the hyperlinks are working! At least, they seem to be. jenn email-- 1:41 p.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope creepy things -- 2002-04-20 Recs first. You're SOOO going to thank me. No, you WILL! Expectations: The Name of the Game. The mumus return! The flip flops! The children's names! Breastfeeding! For extra points, check out ladyvyola's icon. And don't drink ANYTHING. I think you understand this warning by now. Next... Wendi's Jasmine and Silk and the lovely Andariel's Bouquet. Go read both. No spoilers. Trust me on this one. And breathe before reading. Now onto me, me, me, and my personal quest to apparently drive myself crazy Last night I was going to be good and finish editing several of my WIPs. I was going to volunteer to beta someone. I was GOING to chat randomly and nag others to write. I was going to Fulfill My Duties as a Fan. Instead, I wrote thirteen pages of a story that's creeping me out amazingly. And this doesn't happen. With the exception of Illusions, I'm on good terms with everything I write, no matter how strange it ends up. BUT--(thank you TE!), I ended up dreaming about this sucker, which could be either a sympton of insanity OR too much Benadryl before bed. Which, btw, I had to DRAG myself to, fingers almost unable to rip themselves from the keyboard. I haven't gotten this focused since Jus. I'm going to blame Te for this, AIM conniver and some other word for someone that keeps throwing ideas out like a demented bubblegum machine except, you know, it's COOL; Te and Pricklyelf with her "Lex is like Jesus in the desert" because that phrase just sticks in my head and it's creepy, dammit. I don't NEED creepy. I want happy. I want them happy. And the creepiest thing is, according to my definition of Lexian happiness, he very well MAY be happy Real Damn Soon in this one. I need a shower. But mostly, I need to go research more on drug side effects and cultism. Oh, look at that. Back to Totse. My website of maximum addiction. But it's REALLY cool. *sighs* In other news, I'm going to try little hyperlinks per entry. I have no idea if this is long-term viable but it will help navigation on the page. Let's go find out. jenn, more later email-- 10:50 a.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope fiction -- 2002-04-19 Several things to cover.... First off--does anyone know how I can add links to each individual entry? I spent half of last night trying to figure out a way to have it done automatically--I may have to start trying it manually each time with little HTML tags every time I make an entry. What I NEED to do, and I will, is move all the story fragments out of the entries and someplace else. Clever Beth has a place in her webpage for that. Must think on this. I like the grocery store clip. I wish I could have used it in something. Now. Two new stories. Deconstruction: Vix Te Agnovi IV and For Remembrance: Vix Te Agnovi V. Double fic, mostly because themeatically, they really do go better together at once rather than separately. And amazingly, yahoogroups has yet to actually POST the suckers. Hmm. What a shock. Oh well. Read here then and eventually, they just MIGHT appear in your inbox. Anyways. I'm going through my list of finished stories--there are still seven or eight that are complete but that I'm still looking on with disfavor. Can't figure out what's wrong, but at least one is readable. I'll think on it more instead of stressing over the fact that I keep finding continuity errors in Jus V that I would swear anywhere I fixed two weeks ago. Grrr. I could learn to hate that story. I'll love it again when it's posted, but right now.... Not gonna think about it. Instead, I'm going to rationally finish the beta of Andy's story. And as usual, because we're all fic junkies.... Closer by Te. Which you should just go ahead and read FIRST, as I quietly sweat my way through another couple of shirts and reconsider the benefits of really REALLY cold showers. jenn email-- 4:51 p.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope places to go, people I love, good things in general -- 2002-04-18 First--Andy is my hero for the damn MONTH. It's HERE! I can DOWNLOAD MY EMAIL NOW! *throwing confetti* Know what this mean? I can do stuff like reply and catch up and all sorts of good, good things that make people happy. That means if you sent me feedback within the last four months, YOU'RE GOING TO GET A RESPONSE! And hell, I can SEND feedback again, and oh, I may just have a quick dance around the room just for the hell of it. *thinks* Nah. Now. For more cool, cool, cool stuff. Wendi is a gooooodesssss. Wendi is a goooddesssss. Go check it out. Read. Be happy. Think of tequila. Think of it ALOT. Be even happier. *g* *G* And, I completely forgot.... Te. Clark. Chloe. Lex. Ambiguous as all hell. *squeal* Go encourage her more. Go, run, now. Victoria was saying how she has picked up a case of Blogger's Guilt. In which she feels she is disappointing the readers if she doesn't update frequently. I laugh. Because I know how she feels. I get freaked if I haven't posted a story in a fourteen day period. Yes, I DO. It's odd, but I feel as if I am slacking in the fannishness. I mean, let's face it. I don't do really cool screencaps. I don't do decent episode commentary, though I am thinking that I should start a Lexian Minion Society so we can protest His Antiheroness's frequent injuries and encourage him in his future-evil world domination plans. I can meta in indecent amounts, but it's relatively personal to me, since I can't speak for All of Fandom For the Ages. Or I could, but I'd be sort of, you know, lying. So. I write. And write. And write. And nag others to write, which I also feel is my Duty as a Fan. I'm slacking right now, though to be fair, I can't actually work on anything fannish right now, even if I really, really wanted to. *sigh* And I'm really, REALLY tired of LJ going down just when I need to read it. Grrr times two. I can't actually prove it's working against me, per se, but I can point out that four out of five times, the thing refuses to respond. Four out of five. Look at those odds. In other news, I'm going to finish editing Jus, the next two Vix stories (since I NOW HAVE THE BETAED VERSIONS AGAIN AS I HAVE EMAIL ACCESS WHOO-HOO!) and finish the fairy tale. Then beg PricklyElf for those two DELICIOUS stories. Then maybe stalk Te or Livia or Andy. Especially Andy, adorable little email-savior and Writer of Seriously Creepy Fic of Maximum Guilt that I am SO going to start beta'ing Real Soon Now. I'm in love with the damn world. *thinks of singing* jenn email-- 4:16 p.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope blah, blah, blah, WiP ficlet -- 2002-04-18 So, while planning how Lex will destroy his enemies and raise a good army, I remembered that I forgot the following links. Expectations: Angst. The third installment of the Trials and Tribulations of Lex Luthor and His Super Fertile Pregnant Male Lover. Extra points for gratuituous use of Barney. People wonder why I love her so. Also.... Victoria muses on Stray. Beth muses on Stray as well. AND... Tigers and Coconuts and Sand, Oh My! by Peggy. Go Peggy! She wrote desert-island cliche fic! All Dialogue, All the Time. Go giggle through it. Wonder where on earth she picked up THAT information on coconuts. I suppose the same place where Bethy and I were calmly discussing how to past tense the verbal form of fellatio. And they say Latin is a useless language. Stray, Stray, Stray. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. How I dislike thee. Let me count the ways...and there are many, little Lana-loving, Lex-abusing kid. *sigh* I'm a Lexian Minion. I might as well just start reading the Evil Overlord list (link over to the left) to get brushed up on my duties. I like Beth's thoughts on the subject of Lex's eventual turn to the Dark Side of the Force (or Metropolis, as the case might be). For extra fun, read Raincitygirl's responses below. I want one episode where Lex comes out on top. We have not seen this since Hothead, when His Antiheroness got the better of Dear Old Dad. Ever since, it's been Gratuitious Lex Abuse Week. I mean, IS there a sign at the city limits stating "Attention All Villians! Hurt Lex While You Can! Act Fast!" Eh. In other news, I got eight pages of my Clexian fairy-tale "Sleep While I Drive" done, all thanks to the lovely Wendi and her sweet, adorable little single scenes. Good chance I'll be changing titles Real Soon, but that one works for now. It's slow going--I'm doing a strange return to the stylistic trials of In a Thousand Miles (X-Men, W/R) which means I'm playing with prose again. Always a dangerous thing, also known as Jenn Seriously Overwrites Everything In Too Much Detail. But I can't help it--it's just moving that way, and in any case, I might as well brush up on my ability to write an overdone story. You never know when that's gonna come in handy. I'm boring tonight. Dear God. Okay, for reading enjoyment, since I'm going a page a day and this sucker looks suspiciously as if it will take many many days to finish... I mean, THEY won't even tell me what's going on. But the journey, as they say, is more important than the destination. That's a good thing right now. Livejournal's being antsy and my diary missed me. Sleep While I Drive ***** "Clark driving that night. Lex dozing in the light of a harvest moon, the summer warmth still lingering in the air enough to keep the top down in the dark." --Wendi ***** There's a car curled up like a sleeping cat outside the barn, and Clark drops his backpack into the dust by the front door, wondering how he'd missed it on his walk to the house. Somewhere in the back of his mind is blind, unquestioning gratitude that he stopped running just as he got out of the cornfield, stumbling to a halt on the only part of the yard that would be in view. Granted, it's been a long day, so who can really blame him? There was Chloe and Pete being themselves, and there was a kid in English class who was suddenly wearing a lot of layers and Clark could swear he was looking through the front wall and into the girl's locker room during class. Then again, Clark's been getting a little paranoid recently. There was lunch and it was meatloaf, which just isn't on his top ten list unless his mom makes it, and that pop quiz in chemistry that, okay, he did fine, but it's just *wrong* to give pop quizzes on a Friday. Unnatural. Mildly sadistic, but then, no one would accuse Mr. Laurence of being exactly thrilled with his life's work or with people in general. Maybe that explains why he's not married. And work on the Torch after school--it makes him tired just to *think* about those endless layouts that seemed to stretch from the computer to the far wall and covering every inch of usable floorspace, and it had to be an act of God that Lana had shown up to help Chloe out when she did. And symptomatic of his need to just *get away* that he didn't even consider hanging around a little bit longer, despite her smile. So. It's been a long day. Sun's already touching the horizon and skipping downward to approaching dusk and the white car in the driveway is painted in a sheen of pale purple. Really symbolic if you think about it, not that he needs to. There's only one person he knows who thinks nothing of driving three grande imports around pot-holed country roads. Or a person who drives a three grande anything period, unless you count Mr. Carlson with his new John Deere tractor that his dad's always talking about like it's some sort of religious icon. Standing on the porch, Clark's uncomfortably aware of the dust on his sneakers and coating his arms beneath the once-rolled up sleeves of his shirt. Superspeed is hard on his clothes. Sweat sticks his t-shirt to his back and his jeans are just--not something he wants to think about, not in comparison to that car. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he flicks the screen door open and kicks his backpack inside. God, it's been hot recently. Something about April this year--it's almost never this like this, except when it is, and already they're predicting drought and heatwaves for the entire state. Clark shudders at the thought. The edges of his vision show the truck's gone--Dad and Mom must have already left. Letting the screen door bang shut, Clark jumps lightly down the stairs, taking in the way the dust on the ground's already shifted so the tire marks aren't visible anymore. There's no wind worth speaking of, so Lex must have been here for awhile. Maybe since school ended, and Clark wonders what Lex has been doing for the hours since. The top is up, of course--smart thing to do with the heat and Lex's skin, but it's a convertible and it's got to be some sort of crime to leave it up when it's not freezing or raining. Leaning into the passenger-side door, Clark notes the windows are cracked and the air conditioning on--the engine's purring soft as a cat being stroked. Clark enjoys the cool air wafting across his face from inside. There are definite perks to having indecently rich friends. Lex is in his immaculate business best, but the tie's off and curled loosely in one fist, two buttons of the collar undone, revealing traces of pale skin. Pale purple shadows beneath his eyes, almost a match for his shirt. Mouth set in a hard line. Something like dozing if anyone could be that guarded and still be asleep, but the blue eyes slit open almost instantly, meeting his without a trace of surprise. Lex does that sort of thing--Clark's beginning to wonder what exactly that meteor strike has done for Lex besides the entire hair thing. "Clark." Little almost-curve of his mouth, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Carefully, Clark pulls back, opening the door and sliding inside. Oh God, oh yes, yes, cold like a Kansas winter and the sweat on his back could be freezing in place. He's getting dust all over the nice leather seats, but Lex never seems to care so Clark won't either. At least, not while he's enjoying the cool. Turning his head, he catches an unreadable expression on Lex's face. "Hey." Not sure what to say exactly--he wants to make a comment about the unfairness of being able to lounge in expensive air-conditioned cars while other people have high school nightmares to attend on a daily basis, but the words die before they get much farther than vague thoughts. "What's up?" "Hmm. Good question." Lex stretches a little, shift of long muscles beneath skin and shirt that 's just a little more fascinating than Clark thinks is normal. Slim gloved fingers reach for the keys, hesitating briefly, before Lex looks back up. Something's in his face that Clark can't quite read, but it disappears almost immediately, replaced with a quick smirk. "Come on." "Come on?" Not that anything like saying no is anywhere near his head right now--farm chores and snacks and calling Chloe later on are all fading like the grass in the yard, crisping brown and disappearing before they even fully form. "Where are we going?" Lex's head tilts and he deliberately peels off his driving gloves, letting them fall onto the console between the them. "I don't know. You're driving." ***** An Aston Martin had never been meant to be driven by someone like Clark, whose driving lessons were done in a truck that stopped if you so much as twitched the clutch the wrong way, but Lex had been patient with every jerk of the clutch, fingers ghosting over his on the gear shift, showing him what to do, how to do it. It took time, but soon, Clark had felt the car like part of his body--its moods, its shifts, the slight pull to the right when they took a curve, how fast he could make the straight-aways because the cops didn't bother to come out this far into the rural districts. And in any case, this was a Luthor car, and Clark had a vague suspicion that was a deterrent in itself. Zero to eighty in five point six seconds, slick, soft leather seats that he tries not to feel guilty about getting grimey, has that new-car smell though Lex's had it for awhile, and moves like something out of a particularly good car fantasy. The entire night huge around them and Lex had let him pull down the hood so--wow. It's nothing like running--not as fast, not as hard, not as high, not as free. But--not as alone, either. Easy to pick a favorite. "Lex?" He keeps his voice low. The sun's down in dark blue and Clark's been watching the asphalt of Metropolis show up before making the curve to circle around the city. Just missing the suburbs, though he recognizes the sign for the place that Chloe lived before her father's transfer to Smallville. Lex doesn't answer--seat shifted backward, head turned a little toward him, and relaxation is written into every line of his face. He's been sleeping almost since they left Smallville, and Clark almost thinks that it happened the second they passed the city limits. Something like the space of the car becoming less tight, the way Lex relaxed into the seat after tilting it back, eyes closing until the last sliver of blue was cut off. Clark remembers reaching out and catching himself before he touched Lex, smoothed that little frown line, but it disappeared soon after. The slow, steady pulse of Lex's heart and edge of regular breathing told Clark that Lex was asleep. He'd been careful to stay on good, flat roads ever since. There are a lot of questions in his head--God, so many, so many they crowd up the space inside this car. But--they aren't as important as they should be, probably, might be another day, another time. Not with the edge of the heat off and the night cool and smooth, not with the top down and the wind cutting into his hair and drying the sweat, and the roads stretching far and wide going on forever. Like he could go anywhere, anywhere at all. Though it'd be nice to have a destination. The only instructions he got were pretty--well, ambiguous. "Not here." Well, that certainly clarified things. The turn-off of the highway goes to the east, and Clark thinks carefully before ignoring the first exit. The second too, looking to his right to see downtown Metropolis alight in the dark. There's the bank building and more skyscrapers than he can count; farther down there's the tiny yellow fairy-lights near the ground grouped in a near circular glow, so maybe there's a baseball game tonight. Center is the LuthorCorp headquarters, every room alight and dazzling in the night. Clark glances at Lex before turning his gaze back to the road. There's a convenience store to the right and Clark hopes his skill with doing actual turns is as good as his ability to navigate straight-aways. Taking the exit, he flicks on the blinker and turns into the parking lot. It's edging on ten, so the place isn't as crowded as it might be usually, but Clark pulls up in the area under the brightest light nearest the door and flips off the engine, turning to Lex, who hasn't even stirred. He must be *really* tired. "Lex." There's a little sound that makes Clark grin, and he reaches over to touch one shoulder. Inches before contact, Lex's hand is wrapped around his wrist and the blue eyes are fully open as if they've never been closed before. He's never seen anyone human move that fast and it makes him catch his breath. "Clark." Instantly, the grip on his wrist eased, but Clark almost forgot to pull back. Lex straightens, glancing around. "What are--" "Getting something to drink. Bathroom. You know, normal things people do after being in cars for awhile." The corners of Lex's mouth tilt up in what is unmistakably the beginnings of a smirk. "Should have gone before we left," he answers, shaking his head. Straightening, his hands automatically smooth his shirt back into uncreased perfection, a trick that Clark watches with something like awe. All he has to do is *look* at his clothes and they get wrinkled. One glance around the parking lot and Lex grins again, but something in his eyes isn't . "All right. Bathroom break for the children. Run along, Clark." "You need anything?" Clark asked, and Lex actually pauses, head tilting. Which is--okay, weird, but then, Lex takes questions seriously, even non-serious ones. Sometimes, Clark thinks he does it just to throw people off. "I'm not sure." Meditative, before he reached out, taking the keys from the ignition and dropping them in Clark's hand. "Hmm. I'm hungry." And Lex--Lex eases *over* the top of the door, unlike any other person, who would, well, open the door, but he makes it look so--regular. So…normal. So I-am-Lex-and-people-like-me-aren't-stopped-by-such-petty-things-as-closed-doors, or maybe he's overanalyzing Lex again. And Clark does the normal thing and opens the door, feeling Lex's amused eyes on him, shutting it behind him and hitting the alarm on the keychain. Locking it is--well, the top's down. Stupid much? The store's dimmer than Clark likes--paranoid, paranoid, paranoid, can't say it too often. It's one of the older places, with patched linoleum on the floor, a bulb missing near the fountain drink area, not exactly that clean, but Clark's only really asking for a working toilet here, though he does spare a thought for Lex following him inside. Glancing back, Lex looks his regular, slightly amused self. Hmm. Bathroom is small and never, ever meant for anyone who wasn't really short and *really* thin. Washing up, he gets a paper towel and cleans the accumulated grime of a fast run and a long, open-air car ride from his face and hands, then give the mirror a long look. Fact. He's not at home. Fact. He's well outside Metropolis, a good three hours from home. Fact, his parents would so not approve. Fact. He doesn't care very much. Fact. He has no fucking clue what he's doing. Clark wipes off and decides to think about it later. Lex is walking the aisles like he's expecting diamonds to show up. Pacing the selection of chips on display with that intense concentration that's just a little spooky if you were the focus, but really funny otherwise. Coming up behind him, Clark doesn't even try to startle him--not because it's childish, but because it has never, ever worked any time he's tried it. At all. Even a speeded up heartbeat, and how, how *damn* annoying. "That hard to pick chips, Lex?" Lex tosses him a dazzling grin. The lavender sleeves are unbuttoned, Clark notices in some part of his mind, and Lex is neatly rolling them up--it *is* still a hot night and he can see traces of sweat on Lex's forehead. The store is pretty much the definition of an oven, for that matter. "I'm evaluating my choices, Clark. It's called smart shopping." Clark grins. "You know how to shop for yourself? In a store?" So he gets some pleasure in mocking someone who has his water shipped from out of state. It's the little things in life that make it worth living. "The theory is, exchanging cash for goods or services, or so television has told me. Run along and get yourself something to drink." Once in the car, he looks at Lex, who's getting that sleepy look again, and Clark pushes his curiosity down. "Where are we going?" he asks, and Lex looks at him for a moment that stretches with a significance that Clark can't quite interpret. Little edged smirk that has nothing to do with anything in this car. "You tell me when we get there." ***** Lex takes over at three am, and Clark hadn't even known how exhausted he was until it seems like seconds later sunlight slit its way between his eyelids and the car is slowing. Stopping. Stopping--somewhere. Clark opens his eyes. Small parking lot, second to last place in the world a Luthor would show up. Makes Smallville look cosmopolitan. The motel makes Clark wonder if they've flicked into an episode of Reservoir Dogs. Peeling paint, chipped, old godawful orange doors, and Lex just sitting calmly like they're at the Hilton. Clark stretches, absently flicking the seatbelt off as Lex turns off the engine. A glance around doesn't raise his opinion of the area. The road's a nightmare of potholes and seriously bad geometry, and there are only a few buildings stretching around them. "Lex?" Are we--wherever? Good question. Though Clark doesn't really think so. Dust is just rising with the morning, dawn slowly disappearing behind grey clouds, and the heat and humidity is so thick it's closing around like a damp blanket. It's going to rain. From the looks of it, probably really, really hard, but to Clark's experienced rural eye, it won't last long. Quick, hard storm, fast and furious, over before the echoes even have time to register. Still a little out of it, Clark helps Lex put the top back up, there's the sound of the car alarm, movement, Lex's low voice a little far away, and they're-- --inside. The cool is--oh, so welcome, and a gentle push to his back sends him onto something soft and comfortable. He barely cares where the hell they are, finding a pillow by touch and pulling it up against his chest. There's movement around the room as Lex--does things. Whatever it is. Smells of cheap detergent and age were all around them--not very Lex, a place like this, but weirdly appropriate. The theme seems to be Lex Is Doing Something Significant, though to be honest, everything Lex does ends up being significant, even if Clark doesn't know it at first. Maybe it's just he's never seen Lex be this blatant before. Outside, Clark can hear the first drops of rain splashing into the hungry ground and he reaches out as the bed shifts, touching smooth cloth and warm skin beneath. There's a single tense moment, before the body beside him relaxes into the mattress with a soft groan of old springs. "What?" Low drawl that means Lex is tired, though if he looks, Clark knows it won't show on Lex's face. And--what? What, why, what happened, Clark wants a compass and a roadmap, and not because he's lost in Kansas either. There's this moment that lasts forever where all the questions want to start trickling off his tongue but what actually comes out is, "Are the windows rolled up? On the car?" "Yes." Lex's fingers cover his and Clark decides not to open his eyes, letting the beginning sounds of rain rush through his mind. Soft and wet over their head, hitting the roof, a closer sound of thick droplets hitting a carpeted floor that might mean there's a leak, and Lex, rubbing his fingers slowly, rhythmically, thinking maybe. Or listening, like Clark is. The kiss is unexpected--Lex always moves so fast, faster than some people can even think, faster than Clark knows how to follow. Startling, hot, so hard, Clark's on his back and he isn't sure what to do. First times are all about that, though. No clue what's going on, just knowing the moment--*this* moment--is important. Knows he'll remember it forever, the rain outside and the cool of the room and Lex's body, hard and long and so warm against his, like his clothes have been soaking up the heat of the sun for days. There's cloth everywhere his hands touch until he gets to Lex's face, stays there and holds on, opening his mouth under the pressure and letting Lex have this. Letting himself have this. The hands in his hair tighten, tilting his head, and inside his mouth--licking slow and steady, exploring with deliberate care. Taste warm and soft and uniquely Lex, something like spicy and something like dark. A lot like want, though Clark hadn't known that it had a taste. Edges of sweat on the silky skin behind Lex's ear, thumb brushing the strong line of his jaw. Arching up and trying to get more of the taste, of the feel of the man against him, and the easy sprawl of Lex's body on top of his, heavy and so different from the feel of a girl's body. Strange in all the right ways. "Lex," he mumbles when Lex pulls back, but the warm lips settle on his throat, slow and steady sucking across his collar, pushing his shirt aside. Drawing patterns on his skin with a wet tongue that Clark can't quite follow, he's lightheaded with the touching, with Lex's hands on his head and pushing him into the pillow in another soul-shaking kiss that--oh God, please, Lex. Somehow manages to get a thigh between Lex's legs and pressure where he *knows* they both need it, and the sharp, quick-bright bite on his throat is approval enough. It's slow, though, all deliberate--Lex's careful, almost lazy rocking against him, hard length against his hip. Tantalizingly light bite into his shoulder and Clark slides his hands down Lex's back, pulling the shirt loose, moving underneath. Silky, flawless skin that he traces with short nails and Lex bucks against him. "Yes." Hissed against his shoulder and Lex pushes himself up on both arms. Stares down at him for a few long seconds, not moving, before an easy, graceful shift away. Clark can't help holding on, rolling onto his side to keep some kind of contact, and the little smile he gets in return is nothing like mocking. "Lex--" He doesn't know how to ask, can't even quite find the words. Soothing, soft touch to his face that he turns into, licking the warm palm and tasting sweat and leather and the lingering remains of tortilla chips. Unable to help sucking one finger into his mouth, staring at Lex, who's just--watching him. Huge eyes, dilated to near-black, ringed in bare dark blue, want and heat and need unmistakable. Sleepy surprise too, and other things Clark can't read, maybe no one can, even Lex, before the finger pulls away, drawing a wet line across his cheek. "Take your shoes off." Well, that was--practical. Easy to do, and Clark kicks the sneakers onto the floor, socks a quick afterthought. The flush of hot arousal fading, the cool rain outside and the room's just a little below what would be comfortable, and Lex is pulling back the covers before Clark has a chance to comment. And he *is* tired, so it's easy to curl up, let Lex drape the blankets over them both. Warm hand settling low on his stomach beneath the rucked edge of his shirt, a finger sliding just inside the waistband of his jeans. Strangely soothing, rhythmic strokes that aren't so much arousing as--nice. Weirdly intimate, in some way Clark can't define. He can feel Lex's breath, warm and steady on the back of his neck and he wants to ask something, anything, even if it's something stupid, like why they're wandering through Kansas (if they're even in Kansas anymore) when that's not even the first thing that Clark wants to know right now. But before he can even begin to form the first question, the question that will at very least make something make sense, sleep is pulling him in. ***** email-- 2:18 a.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope meta'ing, recs, etc -- 2002-04-17 I have written out my issues with my poor, poor Lex. Let's build him an army and destroy all in the path of his greatness. Or, you know, something like that. Arg. Thank you Wendi for your theory--I leapt quite metaphorically to my feet and said, (quietly) YES! YES YES YES DAMMIT! Though--if you're right, the entire family is even more screwed up than I thought. And *really*. JULIEN? Sledgehammer of Foreshadowing hits again. Before I wonder off tangent, for your reading pleasure.... And I'm really getting into the habit of reccing stuff. It's weird. But on the other hand, so much easier to do it in dribbles daily than all at once in massive great chunks that make me put off updating my rec page. A few oldies.... First I liked it, then I really liked it, then I just fell for it hard. For my money, I like Eos the best--that wonderful combination of coldness and vulnerability in Lex is just wonderful and its so rare an author nails his voice THAT well. And you know, hot. Hot, hot, hot. Hot. Moving on... Invulnerable by LochNess. Email the author for the story. I can't quite put my finger on why this story totally obsesses me--God knows, the author doesn't even know that, as I have yet to send feedback. Six lashes to me and all that. I like the edges and I like the characterizations, I worship the style that brings out the best in who these characters are. It cuts and it hurts but it's also hope, which is about the minimum I ask these days, since happy endings are thin pickings indeed on the ground. And... Deepest and Hardest by Brighid. It's not like there's anyone in the fandom who DOESN'T know how gorgeous her writing is, so there we go. I like the sweetness of this very much. Edgy stories are thin on the ground recently--we've got Maude going the hopeless route (I love Maude, but she put my muse into depression for awhile there, and GOD that story worked on every damn level possible) and we got the fluffy stuff that I love but know WILL NOT HAPPEN. Livia and Te both went diametrically different ways of a happy ending. yet both worked for me beautifully. And yes, dammit, Te's was happy. I'll get jaded soon enough and start feeling the call of the hopeless, but it's not happening yet. And won't happen for awhile. And I'm avoiding my Lex/Lana three pager with everything in me right now. I mean it. I have a Clexian fairy tale to write for Wendi and dammit, I refuse to break my pairing monogamy quite yet. And anyway, canon seems to be encouring my Vix stories, which I sort of need to finish editing. Along with Jus. Another thing I'm avoiding. *sigh* I need to be in a hopeful mood to do them, and I'm just not that hopeful right now. Ack. More later. jenn, slightly jaded email-- 11:47 a.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope on AIM and early mornings -- 2002-04-17 Excerpts from a convo.... All About Pricklyelf, who rocks.... On Lex and Minions Jenn: Clark's getting stupider by the episode. pricklyelf: *Yes* Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, yes. pricklyelf: Feh. He's barely even good enough for Lex. Jenn: *sighs* Jenn: No one is really good enough for Lex. Jenn: But Lex WANTS him so badly. pricklyelf: Plus, I found it weird that when Lex brought up going back to Metropolis, Clark grinned. Jenn: He didnt' think Lex would do it. Jenn: He KNEW Lex wouldn't. Jenn: Which I thought was odd, and maybe I misread that, but he didn't have that--belief look. pricklyelf: Yeah. That's it, really. We love Lex enough that we want him to have whatever he wants. Even if it's a kind of dumb alien. Jenn: It was like, theoretically, you say you might, but I really know you'll stay until you have me in bed. Jenn: Yes, I really do. It's sad. Jenn: I'm like Lex's minion or something. pricklyelf: We all are. There's a vast rank of us. That's why he goes bad, you know -- all the good people hit him on the head or try to shoot him and constantly mistrust us, while there's this vast cohort of minions saying, "We wouldn't hurt you, Lex, and we'll give you power and greatness and oh so much sex..." pricklyelf: Wow. That was scary. Lex is like Jesus in the desert. pricklyelf: apparently I like the word vast. Jenn: *dies laughing* Jenn: This is killing me. pricklyelf: Plus, of course, the devil leaning over him, massaging suggestively, saying, "Come back to Metropolis, Lex. Come back to me." At least Lionel's never knocked him unconscious... so far as we know. Jenn: *giggles* ***** *nods* Total agreement. jenn, smiling email-- 1:57 a.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope rec and damn episode.... -- 2002-04-16 This is how it happens. There's Lex abuse. Again. I'm seeing a theme here. There's John Glover, which granted makes it fun, since there's probably nothing better than seeing Lex and his Dad doing their thing. Especially since I'm not going to be seeing my boys get hot and sweaty in a random bedroom. Then there's that kid. I do not hate eleven year old children, but if ONE MORE PERSON warns Clark away from Lex, I'm going to start making no exceptions in my dislike. And the WORST thing is, hearing about Julien, dammit, the first thing that came to mind was curiosity as to whether Lex killed the kid in his sleep. *shivers* I had utter faith that Lex did not kill Jude, but Julien--and we have this pattern thing going with names again. Grrr. I. Do. Not. Think. This. Well, to help me through the very sickness of my mind (heh), there came... (thank you God....) Kate Elizabeth. Strategem--oh man. I've recced the girl in X-Men, you may know her from Buffy, and yet again, she makes me smile with sheer joy. She also knows fencing. *smiles* Unusual style of writing, but utterly beautiful, and wonderful liquid prose. I love her, love her, love her. Go read now. Run. I NEEDED that. So of course I do not suspect our Young Lex of nefarious deeds towards small children. Unless he wants to go after that little psychic, in which case, I'm good with it. Beth's comments on tonight's episode.... "HEY SMALLVILLE VIEWERS: LEX IS GONNA GO BAD.... SOMEDAY!! THIS IS CALLED FORESHADOWING, THEY TAUGHT IT IN SCRIPTWRITING 101!!!! AREN'T WE SUBTLE!!!1" I think she's reading the scriptwriter's minds. On a happier note, I'm going to kill Clark in a story. It's going to happen. I don't know how, but I need to relieve my feelings Real Damn Soon Now. God, someone, warn Lex that he's doomed and JUST GO BAD ALREADY. He's being good and is pretty much miserable. Sociopaths, I've noted, enjoy life more. He'll be happier once he's into wholesale murder. And I've said it before--ALL I want is for Lex to be happy. jenn, turning to the dark side Real Fast Now email-- 9:17 p.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope Fanfiction as Literature, Take 2--linkie thingie -- 2002-04-16 To keep from cluttering up the reading pleasure of those who think my fumbling toward literary understanding.... Fanfiction as Literature, Take 2 More recs and Smallville stuff later today.... jenn email-- 11:51 a.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope Sex and Literature--there's always a c…. -- 2002-04-16 My Hero is Andy. *hugs Andy* Now, I have a thought. Well, I have two, actually, since discussion was closed on the first before I finished the thread and could answer. Dammit. o there are two different but loosely related thingies going on. I'm weird like that. What, you say. The mood is gone? No, I'm still high on my mood and have three pages of a story to prove it. I'm also in the middle of trying not to be offended, but I'll get to that part later. I only get offended when I'm in the mood, and I'm still singing Drops of Jupiter. But I am going to throw a temper tantrum. But a pretty one. You know, I don't think I've ever thought that sex, in itself, wasn't literary. But then, I'm pretty well known for my rather expansive and somewhat plebian tastes, not to mention the fact I seem to have issues with splitting myself into small pieces for genre. I've always been of the opinion that one cannot have too much sex in a fic. But then, I'm also an erotica writer. No, hold it, I'm a slash writer. Wait. Of both types. And a het writer. *thinks* And PWP. And friendship. And plotted epics. And series. And alternate universe. And alternate history. And anti-canon. And canon. Semi-canon. Cowriter with several different authors. Novelist. Short story writer. And-- --okay, I'm getting tired. But the list does go on. I don't care for compartmentalization, though. Or blanket generalization, for that matter, though God knows, I'm guilty of doing it. Zendom's having an interesting discussion--my email access is difficult right now and in any case, I'm really not sure I want to weigh in on this one there, since it might be rude as I've been pretty out of it for awhile. I really can't deny any basic idea that a story doesn't require an explicit sex scene in it-- --well, except when it does. Sex is sex, and it's never the same twice, no matter what well-choreographed porn you've been watching with the too clean lines and the strange ability to hold an attractive look during orgasm. It's messy and exhausting and rather sordid and exciting and terrifying and looks damn strange if you start trying out the kama sutra-type moves. Sex is a basic drive (aka reproduction), is responsible for at least half of all Movies of the Week, and quite a bit of crime. It's caused a few wars and destroyed a few reputations, inspired some seriously strange mystics and it's the reason most of us exist in the first place. Generalizations are killers. And the statement that sex is always unnecessary is remarkably like saying i always comes before e. And it does. Except after c. There's (almost) always going to be a c somewhere out there. A lot of us write PWP--me, I'm a whore for them. I love them. I love them when well-written and fun to read, and I love them when the emotional overtones come through. I love them because they are hot. I also love them because they tell me something about the characters that dialogue never can. I also love them because they are exactly what they are. When a reader gives me a glimpse into the mind and heart of a character through sex, through their reactions, their responses, what they say, how they sound, if they get freaked by nudity or are exhibitionists, do they have kinks, are they dominant, submissive, masochistic, sadistic, everything. *Everything* Sex is both the least and most honest we're ever going to be in our lives, because it's exposure in every sense of the word. You can treat it as sacred as going to Church or reduce it to going to the fridge for a snack. It can be consensual or non-consensual, it can be adultery or it can be wedded bliss, pre-marital, underage, violent, kinky, vanilla, and of course, it can be slash, which can be all of the above. And *because* it's all of these things, it's possibly one of the most imporant parts of the human experience to explore. And I can certainly envision a plotline where a blow by blow of a bathroom break is necessary. Interestingly, though, I don't think the objection in this case is inherent in sex scenes, though. Fiction as literature. Okay, the meat of my thoughts on the subject, since the discussion was closed. After reading through the arguments, I got a strange feeling that I was thinking about what was being said in the wrong way, and I still could be. But. I've been wrong before, I'll been wrong again. If nothing else, I'm going to clarify my own thoughts on the subject. There are lots of schools of thought in what constitutes great literature, and there are something like a dozen or so TV specials and movies about it--not to mention the Book Bannings, the Great Books lists, etc etc etc I'm getting sleepy. Yeah, I never claimed to be very cultured. Erotica in fiction is acceptable and even sometimes necessary when writing about characters themselves. I'm from this particular way of thinking--to me, the characters themselves shape how the story goes. I may have an idea, but that changes with how I write them, how I feel when they are written, and so forth. Sort of fluid, if you're being kind, but messy if you think about it a different way. However, erotica wouldn't be nearly as necessary in a story that is plot driven, where the characters exist specifically to forward the plot. Nor does romance that does not forward the plot, or in fact, any action at any time that does not, in some way, forward the plot. Interstingly, I've heard this argument before, but this is the first time I actually can sit and say, I really, really, REALLY don't care much for category #2 stories. And keep in mind, you English majors--it's been awhile since I was actually studying this stuff, so my terminology is going to be weird and possibly confusing. For example, I'll use my Jus Ad Bellum, which is a plotted, character-driven story. It has themes, but they're not the reason I wrote it. And the story shifted and changed as Rogue changed, even though I kept to the concept pretty well. I never considered the plot as something I had to forward--I just wrote Rogue and let the plot more or less fend for itself while I walked Rogue through the world, so to speak. That's more or less how I write. I like themes and plots and all the fancy stuff. I just don't like theme or plot at the expense of character. And when writing, character almost always comes first--it's almost a personal view of a story, if that makes any sense. As I said earier in my diary, this is a very different POV for me. I did start out with a passion for plot and theme, using the characters to further what I saw were the important things. Now, to me, it's more about the personal journeys of the characters themselves, and how I write them, how I feel about them, and how I think they feel, decides how everything progresses. Which may be the reason I've become far more attracted to ship-based stories and plots involving those than plot based stories that have the characters in them. I want to know more about the experience, not necessarily the mechanics of it. I don't think this is a unique way to write--in fact, I'm pretty sure it isn't. What I'm wondering is, does this make my work less literary because I'm not interested in always exploring universals, or putting those universals first? CLassic literature is all about that, after all--first thing we learn when we start studying them, what makes a classic (and let me tell you, those class convos were great). Victoria, babe, get up here and give me an English major's pov. I get lost easily in the terminology. Not to mention the differnt points of view going on. Feel free to tell me I'm thinking about this wrong. Feel free to email your thoughts on the subject. Or you know, guestbook up there. Use it. jenn, thinking email-- 12:00 a.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope surprisingly good mood -- 2002-04-15 So. I was given this--thing. This scene. This scene that suddenly would NOT get out of my head. And there I was last night, sitting innocently at my computer, thinking pornographic thoughts, and then-- --dammit, Wendi, it's sweet. Grrr. I see it too. Give me a day or two? It's yours if you don't mind me using your summary. Or writing a story around it. Please? Anyway, playing with my HTML again and trying to be productive, then I decided to do an entry. Oh what shall I rant on? I'm in such a good mood it's scary. It's WENDI'S FAULT, btw. I was ready to be depressed and bitter and pull out some ranting, but now everything is sunshine and roses. First off.... Thirsty Earth-- Put down whatever it is you're doing--it's not important. Go read this. It broke my heart. It's also Maude, who rocks just on general principles, but this is--yes. This I can see. This is good. Cathedral--okay, first off, wow. Scroll down a little, read it once, pause, read it again, think, read it the third time and THEN go "whoa". I'm on read six. This is--just good. Just incredibly, incredibly good. Run along now. What on earth are you still doing here? Almost Dawn by Justine. I love this story for being so good, but also for the great Martha. THIS is the Martha I want to see on the screen. May she keep writing, please. Please. Sleeper by Te. Okay, took me awhile to add it, because it--made me think ALOT. Like Cathedral above, it's so highly interpretable that I hate to start saying I love something before I know why. And everything that Te's not saying in this story is just--flooring. It needs more than one or two reads. Just. Mmm. And--pricklyelf. My Hero. Who is officially on my Stalking List, as not ONLY can she write, she can write anything and make it so good I'm wondering why I bother anymore. God. Where have you been and what sort of bribes can I offer? I mean, you're that good in AIM?????? Please, please, more, soon. Okay? Soon. Please. Now, for other news, if you're still here and not drooling over the authors above, which hey, your choice. *g* I'm going to do a serious overhaul of my rec page soon--I don't think I have enough and I'm still missing the months I was gone so I'll be adding more of those. And it's interesting--I got a comment from someone that I seem a little--er, expansive--in my tastes. In other words, I rec too much stuff. That's not true. I only rec things I truly loved and re-read. More than once. And I read very, very, very fast. Which is bad sometimes, but on the other hand, hey, I actually can honestly state that I've read almost every CLex story written that didn't send me running or hiding under my desk in horror. And I've read some of those too. Okay, most of them, but sometimes, it's like a car accident on the side of the road--you just have to get out and go check out just how mutilated everything is. In slow motion. *sigh* I'm weak. There's this percentage that I think Mary Ellen Curtin had on good verus bad fic, and I can't remember what it was, but it boiled down to more bad than goodfic. That might be mostly true. Except I try to split it a different way, by author. There really ARE more good authors than bad authors. No, really, I'm serious. The cliche that bad authors write more, however, is pretty damn true, and depressing (to prove this one, go to ff.net. *shudder*). Except of course for those wonderful cliche breakers like Te and Mako and Victoria P, who write well AND write a lot. Te makes me happy in that I'm always guaranteed a story roughly once a week to ten days. Victoria P makes me happy for the same reason. There were several others that do that as well. And it's interesting, if you think about it. Like Minisinoo told me once when she was beta'ing Jus, most authors only have so many--I suppose the word is themes in them. Only so many stories to write, so to speak. And good authors are rarely prolific because of that and because they tend to spend more time working on their stories than bad ones or inexperienced ones. And authors, let's face it, repeat themselves. Which isn't necessarily bad or in fact even bad at all. There are a thousand ways to tell a story, and if you can do it clean and interesting every time, repeat yourself forever, I'll read it. This is NOT a bad thing, let me repeat this. And authors who suddenly get freaked by this should relax--unless you're carbon copying your original with a new setting, it's not something you should stress about. There are only so many ways Clark and Lex can get together, or Logan and Rogue. That isn't the dealbreaker--it's the style and the way you write it. So go. Shoo. So the hell what if ten authors have done it. If you can make it new and good and intersting and do it WELL, in the name of God, take the cliche and make it yours. I LIKE cliche fic. Ooh. Did I just lose my license to write? I know what you're thinking. And no, I don't mean standard-issue generic stuff. I mean the way people take the outdated and the overdone and make it theirs. This is probably, in my opinion, the biggest challenge to any fanfic writer out there, and probably the hardest, but the payoffs kick ass. Because when it's done well, it's shiny and new and it's FUN and it's good, and I challenge anyone, anywhere, to write the desert-island CLex scenario RIGHT NOW and make it shiny and interesting and NEW. Come on. Do it. Hell, you do it, I'll beta it. Please? Send them already. I want to see the boys half-naked on a desert island. There's a reason they're cliches. They are FUN! Think of Debchan's fabulously fun Let It Snow. Think of TheSpike's What You Want. Those were wonderful, they took the cliches and said, mine now. I LOVE that. Ah me. Someone, somewhere, is having a stroke as I indicate there should be more cliche-fic. I don't want more cliche-fic exactly. I want more GOOD cliche-fic. So there. My God, I'm in a good mood. This is just weird. I feel like dancing. I'm even singing to Faith Hill's "Just Breathe" right now and A.) I don't listen to country music very often and B.) I don't sing aloud. Ooh. Drops of Jupiter! I know all the words! And any minute now, the dog is going to start howling. Wow. Happyfic feelings. I'm so there. jenn, exuberant email-- 2:20 p.m. The only size six Michael Rosenbaum is getting into is the one on his date. - by Hope Bethy! -- 2002-04-15 Yes. DON'T, for the love of little green apples, DRINK WHILE READING! jenn, smirking email-- 2:29 a.m. The only size six |