3pipeproblem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
3pipeproblem) wrote2006-12-27 11:33 am
3pipeproblem) wrote2006-12-27 11:33 am
Entry tags:
The Post-Christmas...Post
First of all, a belated Merry Christmas, happy holidays, etc. to all on my FL (if you're reading this and you're not on my FL, no well-wishes for you). ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likeadeuce, bohemiancachet and nicalamity, I got your cards. They are cherished and adored. Nic, your card/gift will be going out today. I hope you like it!
And![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide. I wrote a story and an itsy-bitsy drabble, and I really wanted to write some Philadelphia Story fic, but when I tried to get ahold of the movie (since I'd foolishly left my copy at school), it was checked out from both the library and Blockbuster. These things always happen to me.
But enough about my hard, hard life.
I got the awesomest, awesomest (it even merits the invention of a word!)yuletide fic I could have asked for. It's Brick fic, Live a Little (The Two Things That Kill You Every Time).
I just...yuletide is designed around the premise that you write a story in a rare fandom, sure, but you also write a story that suits your recipient. This story was written for me. It has so many things I absolutely adore. The sense of setting is there, the characterization is spot-on and digs deeper than what's revealed in the film, there are Bob Dylan references in the section headings...I could go on and on. And the tone is perfect. There are so many fantastic lines and images.
I'd like to say you could read this even if you haven't seen Brick, but...you probably can't. So if you haven't, go see it, and then go read this fic. It's stunning. It's my favorite of all theyuletide fic I've read this year (and clearly I am in no way biased).
As a little girl in Cleveland, Emily Costich used to daydream about Southern California. The dreams and the stars and the jingle jangle of the classic songs. She wasn't the sort of silly girl who hoped of hitting the big time, all chandeliers and champagne and lying half-prostrate atop a grand piano. No, she was just looking for a little bit of sunlight, a little bit of starshine.
And the dialogue is superb.
Requiem at Reichenbach (Sherlock Holmes)
Despite my love and adoration of Holmes, I've never written fic, and this is a prime example of why. The fandom is just too damn good. This story's a look a young!Holmes from Moriarty's perspective. Nothing is wasted. Not a word is out of place. It's fascinating and extraordinarily in character and the ending packs one hell of a punch.
You absolutely refused to learn the calculus. "Can I carry an infinite number of pounds on me?" you asked of me. "Can I walk an infinite number of yards or live for an infinite number of years? The infinite appears nowhere in nature, and as thus the practical mind, dealing in what is real and thus finite, has no need of it. You tell me that if I cut a circle into an infinite number of pieces I can rearrange them so as to form a rectangle. I see the evident usefulness of such a piece of information in that it shall allow me to measure a circle should I need to do so, but why on earth should I need to know how or why this should be so?"
Buy You a Looking Glass (To Kill a Mockingbird)
Scout's fourteen in this story, a realistic, self-absorbed, liquor-sneaking fourteen, and the author captures that wonderfully. The story deals with Boo Radley's death and the scrapbook he leaves behind, and it strikes a wonderful balance between Maycomb's (and the Finches') past and the future that looms. The dialogue is wonderful--believeable and never overdone--and Dill even pops up!
Maybe because the night had grown dark suddenly, maybe because drinking after supper always made me a little queasy, maybe because Boo's book wasn't exactly what I'd expected—whatever the reason, suddenly I was grateful to know that Atticus was nearby, and I wished harder than usual that Jem was home. I wanted to peek out of my room, see that the light still shone under Jem's door, slip into his room and ask, careless, if he wanted to take a turn with the scrapbook. I wished it weren't mine, or that I could close it tight, shove it under the bed, and read something else.
Eight Mistakes Jerri Has Made Out Of (Final Tally Still Pending) (Strangers With Candy)
I didn't put SwC down as I fandom I could write because I had no faith in my ability to write Jerri Blank. I know I certainly couldn't write her as well as the author has here. These are a series of quick looks into Jerri's misspent youth and...second misspent youth, and in everyone one her voice is spot-on. Which also means the story is laugh-out-loud funny.
Jerri ran into her room and slammed the door. "I'll get a pet cougar if I want to!" she yelled.
She shook her fists wildly in frustration. How dare they tell her what to do! She was fourteen and old enough to vote, eat sushi and own a submarine. Grown up enough to choose whatever pet she pleased, that was for sure. She grunted and lifted up her mattress, pulling out her diary.
"Dear Diary," she scrawled on one of its blank pages. She intended to write about the horrid events of her day, but she couldn't get past what her diary stood for. Money grubbing, Christmas hating, evil loving. All she could write was, "You're no better than the Mexicans."
There will be more recs later on, as I work my way through the fandoms, but please check these out! These people haven't received nearly as much feedback as they deserve.
likeadeuce, bohemiancachet and nicalamity, I got your cards. They are cherished and adored. Nic, your card/gift will be going out today. I hope you like it!And
yuletide. I wrote a story and an itsy-bitsy drabble, and I really wanted to write some Philadelphia Story fic, but when I tried to get ahold of the movie (since I'd foolishly left my copy at school), it was checked out from both the library and Blockbuster. These things always happen to me.But enough about my hard, hard life.
I got the awesomest, awesomest (it even merits the invention of a word!)
yuletide fic I could have asked for. It's Brick fic, Live a Little (The Two Things That Kill You Every Time).I just...
yuletide is designed around the premise that you write a story in a rare fandom, sure, but you also write a story that suits your recipient. This story was written for me. It has so many things I absolutely adore. The sense of setting is there, the characterization is spot-on and digs deeper than what's revealed in the film, there are Bob Dylan references in the section headings...I could go on and on. And the tone is perfect. There are so many fantastic lines and images.I'd like to say you could read this even if you haven't seen Brick, but...you probably can't. So if you haven't, go see it, and then go read this fic. It's stunning. It's my favorite of all the
yuletide fic I've read this year (and clearly I am in no way biased).As a little girl in Cleveland, Emily Costich used to daydream about Southern California. The dreams and the stars and the jingle jangle of the classic songs. She wasn't the sort of silly girl who hoped of hitting the big time, all chandeliers and champagne and lying half-prostrate atop a grand piano. No, she was just looking for a little bit of sunlight, a little bit of starshine.
And the dialogue is superb.
Requiem at Reichenbach (Sherlock Holmes)
Despite my love and adoration of Holmes, I've never written fic, and this is a prime example of why. The fandom is just too damn good. This story's a look a young!Holmes from Moriarty's perspective. Nothing is wasted. Not a word is out of place. It's fascinating and extraordinarily in character and the ending packs one hell of a punch.
You absolutely refused to learn the calculus. "Can I carry an infinite number of pounds on me?" you asked of me. "Can I walk an infinite number of yards or live for an infinite number of years? The infinite appears nowhere in nature, and as thus the practical mind, dealing in what is real and thus finite, has no need of it. You tell me that if I cut a circle into an infinite number of pieces I can rearrange them so as to form a rectangle. I see the evident usefulness of such a piece of information in that it shall allow me to measure a circle should I need to do so, but why on earth should I need to know how or why this should be so?"
Buy You a Looking Glass (To Kill a Mockingbird)
Scout's fourteen in this story, a realistic, self-absorbed, liquor-sneaking fourteen, and the author captures that wonderfully. The story deals with Boo Radley's death and the scrapbook he leaves behind, and it strikes a wonderful balance between Maycomb's (and the Finches') past and the future that looms. The dialogue is wonderful--believeable and never overdone--and Dill even pops up!
Maybe because the night had grown dark suddenly, maybe because drinking after supper always made me a little queasy, maybe because Boo's book wasn't exactly what I'd expected—whatever the reason, suddenly I was grateful to know that Atticus was nearby, and I wished harder than usual that Jem was home. I wanted to peek out of my room, see that the light still shone under Jem's door, slip into his room and ask, careless, if he wanted to take a turn with the scrapbook. I wished it weren't mine, or that I could close it tight, shove it under the bed, and read something else.
Eight Mistakes Jerri Has Made Out Of (Final Tally Still Pending) (Strangers With Candy)
I didn't put SwC down as I fandom I could write because I had no faith in my ability to write Jerri Blank. I know I certainly couldn't write her as well as the author has here. These are a series of quick looks into Jerri's misspent youth and...second misspent youth, and in everyone one her voice is spot-on. Which also means the story is laugh-out-loud funny.
Jerri ran into her room and slammed the door. "I'll get a pet cougar if I want to!" she yelled.
She shook her fists wildly in frustration. How dare they tell her what to do! She was fourteen and old enough to vote, eat sushi and own a submarine. Grown up enough to choose whatever pet she pleased, that was for sure. She grunted and lifted up her mattress, pulling out her diary.
"Dear Diary," she scrawled on one of its blank pages. She intended to write about the horrid events of her day, but she couldn't get past what her diary stood for. Money grubbing, Christmas hating, evil loving. All she could write was, "You're no better than the Mexicans."
There will be more recs later on, as I work my way through the fandoms, but please check these out! These people haven't received nearly as much feedback as they deserve.
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-Ari, who wrote "Buy You a Looking Glass"
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Thank you for writing the story. I felt like you captured not only the characters, but the world of the novel as well.