(no subject)
1. What fandoms have you written for? Italicise your currently active fandoms (in terms of fanfiction writing, not general squee).
Aside from original fic: Lord of the Rings, DNAngel, Yami no Matsuei, Assassin's Creed.
2. What pairings and genres do you find yourself writing over and over?
Right now, two of the stories I have up on FF.net have huuuuge "gay people living in homophobic societies" plotlines. Generally, I like to write about power and identity issues. I believe wholeheartedly in what William Faulkner said in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, that
"Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only one question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid: and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed--love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, and victories without hope and worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands."
3. What’s one fic you’ve written that you think is kinda under appreciated?
None, really. The Office of the Night doesn't get much attention, but its summary is kind of badly written (Note to self: Revise that plz.), and it's a comedic piece.
4. What characters do you write so in-character that it is kinda scary? Why do you do it so well?
No idea. I don't really worry about OOCness when I'm writing; I just try to write something that makes sense.
5. What genres and characterizations are outside of your comfort zone?
I can't write dramedy. I wish I could, because I think it's extremely effective when done right, but it's just something I don't know how to do.
6. What are the best three fanfics, in your opinion, that you’ve ever written. Link to them.
I went for a really long time without writing any fanfic at all, so I'm going to include o-fic:
1. I'm rather fond of Suckers, an original short about a woman whose husband turns into a giant octopus on her wedding night. Tentacle porn jokes GO.
2. People of Lot, an Assassin's Creed fanfic about a gay man in medieval Syria.
3. I'm also rather fond of Phobia, an oddly structured little short that's about a girl who... disappears.
7. Pick out three excerpts from the fics in question six to illustrate what you like best about them.
Suckers:
It was a charming reception, I suppose. The kind I liked. Quiet, small. Just family and neighbors. My cousins had it catered from a local place that gave them a discount because they'd always been good customers. I think it was Chinese food because they had one of those cheesy vinyl-stickered dragons pasted on the side of their van. The dragon's brows were huge, bushy, curled into an enraged scowl; its red lips dragged back in a grimace, revealing pointed teeth and tongue, all set around red tonsils. The creature stretched its mouth in a perpetual roar, screaming, forever silent. I don't remember it much, just that I was too nervous to eat, so I grinned and held up my wineglass and pushed the hoisin-glazed duck around my plate until it was time for my new husband to bring me home.
*
People of Lot:
A shadow passed over the sun, and Malik saw Altaïr move closer. The air was dark and thick with sawdust. It was dark, dark as the shadowed evenings in which the deadly elements moved. They made their lives in unmentionable acts, those faithful to the foundation, and perhaps it made sense that behind thick-drawn blinds and below rocky cliffs, far from any prying eyes, they committed even more. Altaïr's palms were cool and callused, surprisingly light on Malik's cheek. His lips were chapped, and Malik could feel the rough line of the scar that cut into his mouth. Malik reached up and pushed Altaïr's hood back, as if unveiling a woman. Do not speak, a voice at the back of his brain seemed to proclaim; make no sound. His breath was shallow; the rise and fall of his own chest seemed ludicrously pronounced. With hard fingers he cupped the back of Altaïr's skull, feeling the hair, the tender yielding skin of his neck damp with sweat.
Then there was the soft whish of a foot stepping on to hay, and Malik bit back a surprised oath. He pushed Altaïr away and turned back to the saddlebags; in an instant Altaïr had vanished, crouching in the shadows in the northwest corner of the stall. Ears peeled, they both listened as the unidentified intruder padded away from them, towards the tack and feed rooms; the footsteps faded away but soon returned with an added rustle and metallic clink, as if the person was leaving with a saddle or bridle. Then they were gone. It had been less than a minute.
Slowly, Malik relaxed. Altaïr stood up, tension remaining in the lines of his body.
*
Phobia:
come meet your new daddy, sweetheart. smile for him. he worked hard so he could meet you.
kind of a fatass isn't she.
robert, please don't.
what? i'm just telling you the truth. girl needs to get that ass to the gym, lindy.
But he likes me eventually. Shows me how to play chess & checkers, and gives me a little kitten to keep. She dies because I can only feed her fish food. When he gets home his jeans smell sickly-sweet, and some days he throws me up in the air and calls me his cute little Brandy. He asks me how I am. His breath smells like macaroni and tunafish.
"What do you mean, you don't like kids?" my mom asks, laughing.
"I don't." He pinches my cheek. It hurts, in a good way. "But I just can't help liking my little Brandy-dandy, can I? All pretty with candy-eyes just like her mother."
8. Have you ever won an award for a fanfic?
Nope. Haven't been entered in any contests, to my knowledge.
9. How long have you been writing for?
I've been writing stories since I was in first grade. Proper stories, though... since I was thirteen or so.
10. What inspires you to write a fanfic?
There are stories in my head that break my heart or strike me as amusing, and I type them into word processors.
Aside from original fic: Lord of the Rings, DNAngel, Yami no Matsuei, Assassin's Creed.
2. What pairings and genres do you find yourself writing over and over?
Right now, two of the stories I have up on FF.net have huuuuge "gay people living in homophobic societies" plotlines. Generally, I like to write about power and identity issues. I believe wholeheartedly in what William Faulkner said in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, that
"Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only one question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid: and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed--love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, and victories without hope and worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands."
3. What’s one fic you’ve written that you think is kinda under appreciated?
None, really. The Office of the Night doesn't get much attention, but its summary is kind of badly written (Note to self: Revise that plz.), and it's a comedic piece.
4. What characters do you write so in-character that it is kinda scary? Why do you do it so well?
No idea. I don't really worry about OOCness when I'm writing; I just try to write something that makes sense.
5. What genres and characterizations are outside of your comfort zone?
I can't write dramedy. I wish I could, because I think it's extremely effective when done right, but it's just something I don't know how to do.
6. What are the best three fanfics, in your opinion, that you’ve ever written. Link to them.
I went for a really long time without writing any fanfic at all, so I'm going to include o-fic:
1. I'm rather fond of Suckers, an original short about a woman whose husband turns into a giant octopus on her wedding night. Tentacle porn jokes GO.
2. People of Lot, an Assassin's Creed fanfic about a gay man in medieval Syria.
3. I'm also rather fond of Phobia, an oddly structured little short that's about a girl who... disappears.
7. Pick out three excerpts from the fics in question six to illustrate what you like best about them.
Suckers:
It was a charming reception, I suppose. The kind I liked. Quiet, small. Just family and neighbors. My cousins had it catered from a local place that gave them a discount because they'd always been good customers. I think it was Chinese food because they had one of those cheesy vinyl-stickered dragons pasted on the side of their van. The dragon's brows were huge, bushy, curled into an enraged scowl; its red lips dragged back in a grimace, revealing pointed teeth and tongue, all set around red tonsils. The creature stretched its mouth in a perpetual roar, screaming, forever silent. I don't remember it much, just that I was too nervous to eat, so I grinned and held up my wineglass and pushed the hoisin-glazed duck around my plate until it was time for my new husband to bring me home.
*
People of Lot:
A shadow passed over the sun, and Malik saw Altaïr move closer. The air was dark and thick with sawdust. It was dark, dark as the shadowed evenings in which the deadly elements moved. They made their lives in unmentionable acts, those faithful to the foundation, and perhaps it made sense that behind thick-drawn blinds and below rocky cliffs, far from any prying eyes, they committed even more. Altaïr's palms were cool and callused, surprisingly light on Malik's cheek. His lips were chapped, and Malik could feel the rough line of the scar that cut into his mouth. Malik reached up and pushed Altaïr's hood back, as if unveiling a woman. Do not speak, a voice at the back of his brain seemed to proclaim; make no sound. His breath was shallow; the rise and fall of his own chest seemed ludicrously pronounced. With hard fingers he cupped the back of Altaïr's skull, feeling the hair, the tender yielding skin of his neck damp with sweat.
Then there was the soft whish of a foot stepping on to hay, and Malik bit back a surprised oath. He pushed Altaïr away and turned back to the saddlebags; in an instant Altaïr had vanished, crouching in the shadows in the northwest corner of the stall. Ears peeled, they both listened as the unidentified intruder padded away from them, towards the tack and feed rooms; the footsteps faded away but soon returned with an added rustle and metallic clink, as if the person was leaving with a saddle or bridle. Then they were gone. It had been less than a minute.
Slowly, Malik relaxed. Altaïr stood up, tension remaining in the lines of his body.
*
Phobia:
come meet your new daddy, sweetheart. smile for him. he worked hard so he could meet you.
kind of a fatass isn't she.
robert, please don't.
what? i'm just telling you the truth. girl needs to get that ass to the gym, lindy.
But he likes me eventually. Shows me how to play chess & checkers, and gives me a little kitten to keep. She dies because I can only feed her fish food. When he gets home his jeans smell sickly-sweet, and some days he throws me up in the air and calls me his cute little Brandy. He asks me how I am. His breath smells like macaroni and tunafish.
"What do you mean, you don't like kids?" my mom asks, laughing.
"I don't." He pinches my cheek. It hurts, in a good way. "But I just can't help liking my little Brandy-dandy, can I? All pretty with candy-eyes just like her mother."
8. Have you ever won an award for a fanfic?
Nope. Haven't been entered in any contests, to my knowledge.
9. How long have you been writing for?
I've been writing stories since I was in first grade. Proper stories, though... since I was thirteen or so.
10. What inspires you to write a fanfic?
There are stories in my head that break my heart or strike me as amusing, and I type them into word processors.