How do you feel about fan fiction?

Where the heck have I been!

Honestly, who cares?  The answer is mostly boring.

What have I been doing?

Of course I have been writing.  What I have been writing may shock you.

There are times in which you get some very good advice and as you sulk that you are not yet brilliant and extraordinary, due to the fact there isn’t much of anything better to do, you listen.

I admit my mind has not changed about fanfiction in many ways.  It is the writerly cesspool.  You will find examples of the most horrible literary endeavors to be typed since fifth-grade book reports.  I would give some fifth-graders far more credit, in fact.

With that said, I feel it only fair to say I have read beautiful, eloquent literary genius as well.    I have met fantastic critics from 14 year old grammar gods, to English professors educated in places from which I can’t afford to by tee-shirts.  I have officially been stalked by a not-a-fan insane person who dutifully read everything I wrote and made hate filled comments in order to converse with me.  I have written my million + words of crap again and learned to play the violin. 

No, I mean an actual violin.  I have received small compensation related to my musical abilities.  See picture and I think you will get the idea.

Now if someone would pay me not to write, the world would be so much safer.

I adore the words of wisdom of Mary at Kidlit. 

Write what you can’t. Write what you’ve been afraid to write this entire time. - Mary Kole at kidlit.com

I made a list of what I could not write.  It included things like romantic scenes, good fight scenes, character death, slash, hottie scenes that didn’t tumble down the porn cliff, drug use, and many other things that are just plain hard to make happen without going purple, ending up flat or sounding funny rather than awe inspiring.

Think of anything you absolutely dread writing.  Guess what, if you come swim with me in the cesspool, there is a free place in which you can get all sorts of opinions, even misguided ones.  The good part is that from average-Joe reader, you will find out what works and what does not by the questions they ask?  Even the most gushy-fan-girl reader can give the writer insight to what they have over done as opposed to what they missed doing.

It doesn’t make you a dime, but if you resolve to always do your best to improve, there are benefits.  I promise you, when someone tells you that you really touched them in some way, it is an addictive substance.  Reviews can make your fingers tingle with greed. 

I am going to share with you two of my fanfics.  They are written for BBC Sherlock.  I discovered the show through fanfiction. (The correct procedure is usually the other way around)  I had read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle many years ago.  Who hasn’t heard of Sherlock Holmes? 

This version is written by writer-gods Steven Moffet and Mark Gatiss – who are responsible for many wonderful episodes of Dr. Who. (If you don’t know THE DOCTOR – the longest running science fiction television show in the world – see picture, then watch a few episodes.  At least find out what a TARDIS is so you don’t miss all the fun) 

Anyway, back to Sherlock.  (Oh, Martin Freeman, You have seen him in The Hobbit – plays Dr. John Watson. The bad guy with the voice from Star Trek – Benedict Cumberbatch – plays Sherlock.  Two of my favorite actors along with the gorgeous writer/actor Mark Gatiss who brings Mycroft Holmes to elegant life.  I warn you, there are only six episodes – English Telly works very differently from ours here in the states.  Filming on series 3 has just started and you will have to wait FOR—EVER to see what happens next.)

I realized that Fan Fiction has been going on far longer than the internet.  Basically, this entire production is well done Fan fiction.  As is House, M.D., Bones and our Movie Sherlock as well as Elementary.  All of them are based on Sherlock Holmes.  Holmes gave a nod to Edgar Allen Poe who wrote detective novels as well as horror.  Even Poe was inspired by a real life Paris detective. 

What does this mean?  It means writing fan fiction does not mean you are a derelict writer.  It means that you are in good company.  No matter if you approve of this medium or not, as a writer, it is not a dead end, new fad.  It is a legacy, much overlooked by literary snobbery.  I was guilty of it too.  But my mind has been changed.  If it is good enough for THE MOFF, who am I to disagree.

Please consider reading one of the following and I would adore hearing your comments, here or there. 

A Statue in The Temple of Mendacity   

Summary: post-Reichenbach, angst, complex relationships, slash, suicidal thoughts

50,000 words - Book one

John and Molly would have never noticed each other if Sherlock had not died. Sherlock asks her to watch over John.
txt msg: What are you saying? You want me to shag John to cheer him up?
-Molly has courted disaster before, but it's courting her now.
What happens to John and Molly while Sherlock is away?

 http://archiveofourown.org/works/605537/chapters/1091690

 

 I think the Cat is on Fire!   

Summary:post-Reichenbach return fluff. non-slash, depression, grief, happy end, humor and angst

15,500 words

John is broken inside but manages to carry on thanks to his loving wife and a little furr-ball he named Sherlock. He convinces himself that the cat is a spritual gift from his dead best friend if not the actual persona of his friend in animal form. Guess what happens when the real Sherlock comes back to John and discovers his namesake. Poor Mary, fighting two Sherlocks to keep her place in John's heart. Hilarious Battle with silly situations and twisty angst packed ending. Must read - no slash - but in the spirit of canon people do make assumptions
 

 http://archiveofourown.org/works/706964/chapters/1305422

Do You write fanfics?  If so leave a link in the comments and I will be happy to review you back!
Ok that's it for tonight, happy Easter!

 

 

Happy 4th of July!

Blog 4^th of July

Happy Independence Day.   I do wonder if this day is more about getting to blow up some gunpowder and have a cookout or if anyone really has a concept of independence any more.  We are now paying more taxes than ever before, have less voice in Government decisions and more rules and regulations to follow than humanly possible. The promises made to the public, mean nothing.  

To put this into a writer’s perspective, let’s metaphor our current situation.    

I sit down to write a book.  I decide that I can delegate each chapter to be written, setting forth rules to keep the writer of each chapter safe.  I spend a year thinking up an exciting name for the book.  I study several random books from the discount shelf to determine what I want the book to be about.  I begin marketing the book to the public to stir excitement and build demand for my book.

I come up with a pretty cover and show it around promising that this is the greatest book ever written, and then after the various denominations of potential readers protest my words, I say that I meant the greatest book written in the last few years. 

 I tell one group that the book is about them and it will change their lives for the better.  When I address the next group I promise to keep them in mind and explain the benefits of reading the book will far outweigh any money I ask them to spend on it.  The next group point out that I have not actually explained what the book is about.  I label them terrorists and deride them for not having faith that my book is the most exciting read since Sherlock Holmes.

The chapters arrive, and I will not bother to look at them, having faith that all will be clear if they are just published.  Hundreds of extra chapters flood my desk from people wanting to try their hand at writing.  I include them and publish a ten book series.   I point out to subsequent groups that anyone incapable of understanding the book (now ten separate 400k hardcover books titled with obscure passive phrases), is simply incapable of reading and I vow to cure their affliction with free books for those who qualify.

Nobody will qualify. I will now charge them double but offer to include a pamphlet explaining how much they need my book for free. I will also attach another pamphlet and send out two separate letters advising them that the second pamphlet explains how to use the first pamphlet and one side of one letter will be written in Spanish for the assistance of those of Latino decent.  The money they spend will be used to hand out free books to any non-English speaking countries and I will personally tour these places to show my charitable side.  The books will only be printed in English.  I will show shock and regret that the free books were used to start fires for cooking but will also mention how very useful they have proven to be.

I will wrap a detailed statistical analysis showing how vital and useful these books have become and lobby for them to be required for safety in every home.  When I am criticized that they are unreadable, I will pretend astonishment and indignation.  I will make it a law that these books are read and used as life reference for all situations. 

When it is finally proven the books are utter trash, I will promise to write a better book next time.  I will begin marketing the next book.

***

Ok this was a bit tongue in cheek about how independence run amok doesn’t look so pure these days.  I am not a radical sign toting anti-government hater of freedom.  I simply look around and wonder where freedom went?  I don’t feel that much good has been accomplished in the last 20 years and I am wondering how to ever fix what has slipped away.  Most ideas have good intentions at their base.  But then special interests come into play and the Good Idea seems to get bogged down in lots of not so good ideas.

 The government seems very intent on bailing out wealthy criminals and imposing impossible rules on random citizens.

  I feel suffocated and small business seems to be at war with expensive regulations that have little purpose other than to drive them out of business. (Look who lobbied for the regulations, and there is a striking pattern that explains most of the pork belly gobbledygook we seem resolved to keep stacking higher each year.)

 Doctors are not in charge of a patient’s health.

 Teachers are not in charge of the classroom.

 Once your money disappears into the electronics of a bank, it really doesn’t belong to you any longer.

  We are required to purchase all sorts of insurance, which rarely pays what you expect, and can randomly drop you for all sorts of reasons and constantly changes the rules after purchase. But you are required to purchase this service, or break the law, which makes it a tax.  

Being lazy is rewarded.  Working is punished.  Saving is punished.

 The other guy is always responsible for the stupid people and more rules will make stupid people safe.  If stupid person finds a way to be ‘injured’ anyway, there will be a lawsuit against whoever owns the place he picked to be stupid.  (Seriously – people stuff their face get fat and sue the person who sold them the food? And Win? People trespasses, into a person’s house with the intent to do them harm, and fall down while still doing that, and sue the victim? And Win?) Who wrote these books?   

We are free to worry about what we want to worry about.  Do be careful where you voice specific worries.  You still have the right to say some things that are worrisome, but we all know that unless you are wealthy, the squeaky wheel routine isn’t financially practical.  Being arrested when a peaceful protest turns ugly is expensive.

I guess today, I just want to acknowledge that the cost of freedom is about more than a war fought 200 years ago against people with who have different words to God Bless America.   It is about more than the lives lost saving the world in the 1940’s.  It is even about more than the young men and women fighting and dying and giving up bright futures to serve this country in an unforgiving land this very second. 

Don’t misinterpret what I am saying.  All of those things are part of the whole and should be honored.

My point is it is also about small wars right here.  If freedom really matters, it matters on the small scale as well.  It matters that our rights and our constitution have been breached and overrun with, boring but important little, mandates, regulations and political drivel that is making that pursuit of happiness less available. 

There are times, Government is needed to step in and solve some problems.  We need them to help mobilize disaster relief of course, but I am less certain that I have much appreciation for their apparent need to give 70 year old women body cavity searches because they wanted to fly somewhere to see the grandbabies.  I do get the need for prisons, but I am less happy that so much space is used up for people guilty of addiction that the murderers get a smaller amount of time to make room.  If the addicts are not violent, let them be free to be addicts instead of a tax burden.  Do we own anything if not our bodies?  Not these days, if you want to get on a plane or happen to have a prescription classed as controlled or need some test more often than average Joe Statistic, this becomes pretty clear. 

Do we own anything?  Is your house yours or can a bank foreclose on you when you have made all payments after they were bailed out for billions in shady loan practices?

Can you pass your life’s work on to your children or will they have to sell the family farm to pay the estate taxes? (be sure to die in a convenient year)

 Did you save for your children’s college only to have the account emptied by identification theft or worse, a tax lien that is an unfixable government error?

 Did you lose your right to work(any professional license revoked), drive to work(license suspended), hunt to keep from starving or even leave the country for your job(passport denied), for child support arrearage, because you were injured or laid off? (non-custodial equals deadbeat with no recourse and no right to ever be so sick you can’t work.) Did you discover you have no real-world ability to protest or even mention that the children don’t actually have any right to the money, because it is custodial spouse support renamed?  (Common sense would tell any normally intelligent person that if you keep someone from working, they will have no ability to meet the government mandated obligation. The Bradley Bill disagrees – thanks Hillary and Bill.)  

No, we have lost something somewhere.

  We are free to pick a TV show to watch that has been surveyed and catalogued by regulations.

We can pick a hobby if it does not lead to unreported income or barter.

 We pick who we marry. (Well, provided they meet government approval which can be revoked at any time should there be any other people who religiously don’t quite approve.)

We can pick what we grow in our gardens, provided the plants are not banned by the government as nuisance weeds like thistle.

We can pick what we have for dinner, provided it meets government approved labeling laws and isn’t imported from certain places the government doesn’t approve of and isn’t thought to be unsafe. (You know like haggis, prosciutto, French cheeses, and a whole list of other things we are not allowed to buy.)

We can pick what we wear, provided it isn’t deemed offensive, or violate laws on exposure of certain bits. (Breasts are, of course, offensive, unless they are on men – and Moobs may be shown almost anywhere. Babies may be fed discretely)

Maybe if we all were fighting a little harder to keep a bit of common sense, it would show more honor to the many that have died in the pursuit of freedom.   

So again jumping to metaphor, because this is a writer blog and I like to Show, not tell….

This evening as you light that fuse, a symbol of freedom, a symbol of who we think we are, do remember this.

You just spent money for fireworks.

You will light the fuse and walk away.

You will watch the thing put on a big display, say wow, and then be left in darkness.

Fireworks are taxed and are being used as a symbol to celebrate freedom from hidden taxes.

You are paying for Fireworks with the money you are allowed to keep after they take taxes out of your labor (Days of your life, serving your government without compensation or choice), they are again taxed and it is included in the cost, and you will again pay sales tax to honor a country founded on no taxation without representation.  (A symbolic trinity of contradiction)

It is your right to mix alcohol and explosives and not care that you don’t see the irony in having to put on a seatbelt to gather the elements of potential disaster.

Please have a safe and happy Independence Day.

My year on the blog

Blog Post one year

I have now been blogging for a year.  I have not been terribly faithful to it recently but some of that is due to Blog Bugs, rather than intent.  I have a terrible time posting on other people’s blogs suddenly, yet it is now resolved on most occasions.  I post a reply and it informs me that I am not allowed to post.  It took me a while to find out, they had not decided to ban my words personally, and they’re doing it to many bloggers. They seem to have it fixed for now…sometimes.

Looking back, it has been weirdly wonderful.  I went on road trips with YAW, met wonderful authors and discovered, I do not use enough contractions in my writing and it annoys people.  I wonder if that could be the reason why my husband gets people to like him so easily. I rarely use contractions when I speak.  He is from south Texas and they contract every other word.  I shall endeavor to dapple’em  int’a my speech patterns more often. 

I have learned many things in my writing journey this year.  Dear beaming beings of unrequited light, look upon my wretched dim gradient, shadowed only upon ponderous wretched fields of fallow furrowed brow, it has indeed come to light that I speak in deep purple.  I am happy to discover that I don’t write that way.  My sarcastic entertainment is safe and my writing has tightened, to a much more controlled level.  I have learned that I do not write quotes properly and I have remedied it, hopefully.  I over explain.  I stopped.  I have been noted for writing a little passive. I stop. I learned many of my flaws and I appreciate those who were kind enough to point them out.

There are many avenues that I have used to improve this silly useless thing I love to do.  This blog began with me wondering what in the world would I say, but things filled it I never expected.  It leads places I never expected.

This year, I did things. I ramped up power words, learned how to write the hottie parts in my own style without cringing, learned how to kill a main character, gave my first in person agent belly flop, wrote fan fiction(blech), learned it has value after all, watched a tornado, learned to blog, began round three of foreclosure fraud with BOA (bank 666), taught my daughter to play golf, and I wrote.  My house is falling apart, I am falling apart, the government is falling and failing everyone, the world is falling apart, but I wrote. 

I wrote.   

Good year in all.

Life has been such disaster for so many, yet there are moments of hope.  I have found many apples this year.  The blue variety can still be found in plain sight and they are so precious. I am thankful for the ones I discovered, both within and from afar. 

The year 2011 is almost gone.  Thank you blog and blogger buddies for making me laugh so often and making me wonder so many new wonders. Astonishments fill this place and I hope my next year of blogging has as many curiosities for me to discover. 

Perspective

Perspective = Perception + Interpretation + Backstory / (mood x hormones) +square root of time - blah(conflict + hope)

My son meanders to my car, a handsome fellow among a sea of clothing choices.  He flops his book bag in the tiny back seat of my convertible Jag, asks to put up the top, turns the radio down and keeps looking at me as I try to back around the yellow fuel efficient dinosaurs. 

"Hey Mom, do you know where the crossroads of America is?" he asks in his twelve-year-old engineer studying metallurgy voice.

"Um, Nebraska?  Or maybe Oklahoma City. That is where I-40, I-35 and I-44 cross," I say, knowing he's only happy with a detailed guess.

"Nope.  We learned today that Carthage, Missouri is the crossroads of America.  Isn't that interesting?" he looks at me expectantly.

Oh, good grief, every small town makes some claim. Looking at the figure standing in the street with her mouth open, finger disappearing into it's favorite location and her feet not moving, I am thankful we are not the booger capital. "Ok, but how is that based, sweetheart.  You know little towns like to claim things, that are more advertisement than truth." I wait for a pick-up to pick up the kid. They are blocking the road and all traffic movement for blocks, while said kid sends snotty texts to someone she is probably 15 feet from, here in the crossroads of boogerville.

"Well, I have been thinking.  It could be true.  Crossroads.  That is the key word.  Now we all know it is urban myth that demons live at crossroads.  So, if Carthage is the crossroads of the whole country, what would live here?" he asks, turning in the seat to study me.

"Oh, that is funny!"  I grin at him.

Finger waving in an old professor lecturing way, he says, "On Supernatural, the devil lived in Carthage. Demons live at crossroads and Carthage is the crossroads of the whole country.  You live here.  You do kinda creep me out, Mom.  Do you have something you need to tell me?"

I glance at him, and grin and shush him, like we have a secret. "So, you still want ice cream?"

He twists back forward, looking at his hands. "Might as well," he says with a small nod, then mumbles, "before you melt it all..."

Perspective - an authorly account.

A) My son loves me enough that even if I am Satan, he will still eat ice cream with me.

B) My son will dine with Satan to get ice cream.

C) My son is concerned enough with this subject that he put all those plot points together, to have a conversation with his Mother.

D) I should check his master-blaster for rosary beads, and fish them out before he sizzles me.

E) My son needs a new haircut and a Doctor's appointment.

F) I am scary.

How is this about writing?

As authors, or wanna-beez, or wish-we-weres, it is our job to understand each of our characters perspective, explain the motive for that perspective and put it in conflict with another character's perspective and motive.  

I see many little stories, that set up a wonderful conflict, then resolve all the bad stuff in a couple of lines and poof, the conflict falls into the abyss while we go on to read 20 pages of what is for dinner, and witty little exchanges that do not push the story anywhere.  Some of this is quite charming and, believe me, I am horribly guilty of it. (uhemm, thank you Beth - no more amaretto scented pages)

But, as authors, even if we know all, we must not 'over explain', partially because we easily lose the conflict if we do.  We must see every possible angle, then choose the condition that both enhances the story and fills the conflict void.  Our job is not to fix the world for our characters.  We must avoid playing Mommy and kissing all the booboos. Our characters are not us and will make different choices from what we would make.  If all your characters believe exactly alike, they can't be in conflict.

That brings us to motive.  Do you know why Mary-Sue just fainted?  If it is from blood loss, fine.  Blood loss is a motive for fainting.  Seeing a boy kiss her best friend, is not.  Hearing bad news, is not. Getting your story out of a Plot-hole corner is not a motive for Mary-Sue Heroine to faint.  Ever.  Boys do not rescue fainting girls, unless you are writing period romance.  Boys who are really mad at Mary, are not going to lug your fainting girl up stairs and fall in love out of concern.  The boy must have motive, and you must know it, even if you don't explain.

Motive - must be tied to perspective.

Marty-Hugh Perfect sees Mary-Sue Heroine faint.  What happens?

Nothing.  You have no past, no perspective, no motive -- so anything you make happen is occurring in a bubble. (You can open with that -- but why do any of your readers care?)  

Do not write scenes as soap bubbles of stuff that happens. You do not write every moment of life, but they must exist in perfect clarity in your authorly mind.  That is the only way to slip motive into a story without info-dump.  Knowing the whole life of your character up to the opening scene gives you perfect perspective of each character. Think of it as putting a straw in water and blowing a stream of bubbles surrounded by every moment of the characters life.  You are in charge of the bubbles, but they automaticly fall within the kenetics and physical dynamics of each character's surrounding life.

Having pretty eyes or exceptional hair, does not equal perspective.  (Perhaps for character two - the vision of character one's pretty eyes is a small motive, but physical description should be in your notes, not the first page.) 

Here is what I mean.  Same scene written two ways.

------------------------

Marty-Hugh watches Mary-Sue walk across campus.  There are people looking at her because she is not popular and they all make fun of her.  Mary hardly notices them because she is reading.  She is smart and there is something about her that makes him want to talk to her, even if his popular friends won't approve. Her hair is messy and she is dressed like a yard sale, but her perfect orange eyes make him not care about her cloths, but what is under them.  He is the first to notice that she has just been shot and he runs as fast as he can, wanting to reach her as she lays on the ground.

-------------------------

That girl, the one who had killed the class rabbit in second grade, has her book open and her face bowed to it as she floats above the sly glances and mocking faces of her classmates.  Marty-Hugh ignores his friends, a wistful curl touching his lips, as he follows her ambling path and unfashionable hips across the broad green breach of popularity. The soft pop barely registers in his mind, but the blood that decorates her in stereo, back and front, before she lurches, twists and collapses, has his feet playing track star before anyone else sees the world is erupting in red sorrow.    

>>>>Which one do you care about?  

They are both an opening scene in which a violent, life changing event, is going to occur in the first paragraph.  A popular boy watches a unpopular girl walk.  He likes her.  What do you learn about him in each version -- that is perspective.

Now I just knocked the scene off - so it is far from perfect - but just to make a point, I want to compare some phrases.

1) Line one, you learn her name (so what) and she is walking (so what)

2) Line one, you learn he has known her at least from second grade to now (history is there) and she killed a bunny (gives you a glimpse of backstory without dumping it on you - I know she killed the poor bunny by letting him chew on her eraser, thinking he liked it, she didn't know bunny tummy doesn't do well with eraser nibbles --but you don't need all that - you suspect this may be one event that has challenged her ability to be popular) You learn that she reads or studies as she walks - she is not well liked and that she seems to not notice anyone.  Also you are given one ID for her - That girl...you don't know if it is a complement or not --but even if he isn't thinking of her by name -- to him she is some form of a person who stands out in some way.

If you, as an author, don't know all this stuff about your characters then you will fall into the trap of making physical characteristics the description and blowing air bubbles of floating blah for scenes, stealing the pure flow from your story. People read because they can get an open line to the perspective of another human being - (pseudo-human being).  There is an intimate connection to characters because you get to step in and be one with them.  If you don't understand all the pieces of a life - you rob your readers of richness in your characters.

 

Motives can't be determined if you don't know them. (very frustrating for reader)

I can't jump into my son's head and say -- this is the one reason he acted in this exact way.  In real life we don't even understand ourselves very well at times.  In your stories, if you don't know, you should stop and find out or you will end up with plot holes, corners, and flat, dull beings with cool made up names -- pretty eyes -- and nice hair. 

With deep perspective, conflict will naturally ramp up - flow will be there and you can tell a satisfying story.  That is what it is about - at least from my perspective.

P.S. -- I have been gone - not blogging.   Life bombs - working on my crafty issues and being a little under the weather -- (double entendres, not cliche') have been contributing factors.  I now have a working lap top and we seem to have a working tower again -- yeah!  Thanks to everyone and I will be visiting blogs and saying howdy's as time allows. 

Update on Me

LIFE BOMBS ----


We all have life bombs where we are sailing along and the world blows up in your face ....

I have had a few, lets just say Mr. Life Bomb and I have made acquaintance.

So I went to Dallas had a fantastic time got home - got sick - and the bombs began.  Just got done with those and any of you who know where I live --will know about what has happened here.

This is a before and after that gives you a tiny idea.

Our house was not in the path of this one, we only lost trees and screens and yard things, but we have so many friends who literally had a house full of stuff and now don't own a toothbrush.  My daughter and husband are working over there right now for friends who were lucky because they all made it out alive. They have no house and are still hoping to dig out one of the cars, but the things they had were not just scattered about, they were lifted away.  Other peoples unrecognisable things were left where the house used to be. This tornado went just south of us, and its friend went just north. Carthage didn't really get hit, but we are still hit because we are just up the road.  The Carthage kids were excused from school to help, because they all have family and friends who were in the path. They have teachers who live in Joplin (10 minutes away) and relatives and friends. You see things like this on television, but you don't really know what it means on a person by person level until you are in the middle of spotty cell service trying desperately to get calls in to people you know lived or worked in this path.  There are so many horrible stories, it makes your mind shut down to them as you accept each then move to the next and the next.

I may not be posting for a while, our internet is a bit over taxed by all of this.  I just wanted to let those who have emailed me know that we are fine.  We have stuff to do right now that takes priority, but the weather is finally letting us help.  Sometimes life bombs seem really big, but then a life tornado hits and puts the stupid little bombs into perspective.   Love and Hugs to everyone --- be back soon.

One flu over the fan fiction

Ok I have been sick as can be every since I got back from Dallas.  I have not even unloaded my car!!!

I have about a million things to do but sneezing and sleeping have become my total hobby.  I have not edited pictures or written anything important.  However after reading some pretty fun fan fiction, I decided to give it a go.  It is really just silly stuff my fevered brain came up with.  Anyway, I thought I would share it in case anyone felt like reading some fluffy - lemony - insanely stupid stuff.
This Is my first attempt at fan fiction ever --  I have never been much of a fan of fan fiction honestly, but I have to say that it has been a very cool writing exercise that is surprisingly harder than you would think.

My three attempts (two shorts and one long) are Hunger Games fan fiction -- The books were laying around and so I attempted two shots at cannon with a twist and one that was just a fun cannon inspired different thought on Mockingjay.  (disclaimer - I don't own the characters or derive any profit from this exercise)

Things I learned -  When character motives are not clearly defined, they can be skewed to almost any interpretation.  I have done this and felt I could justify my odd side stories with the rather obscure passages surrounding them. 
I found it challenging to try to stay in the voice that didn't come from my own imagination. 
I took my favorite character (Haymitch) and all three stories revolved around things that I felt were rather obvious in the books but never defined.  From book one I felt there was more going on with him than what appeared on the surface.  I also felt that he had much deeper feelings for Katniss then were ever explored -- so sicko nut case that I am...I explored them.

One story explores how he feels but would never act on.  One explores How he feels knowing his feelings could never be returned and the long one explores how a true romance could actually form and grow between he and Katniss.  (I know he's twenty years older and she is a minor by our standards - but I have also known people who found love in that very context so it isn't impossible.)

Please don't read them if you find May-December romance offensive and note the content ratings.  Here is where they can be found if you are interested.  Please forgive the formatting - I had no control over it - the website formats all the stories very strangely.  Also I will include a small sample of one ------

New story from Howlynn,
Title: Haymitch and Peeta talk about the Quell
Category: Hunger Games
Character(s): Haymitch A. & Peeta M.

Words: 1,806
Genre(s): Drama/Friendship
Rating: Rated: T
Summary: during CF after the quell was announced to feature victors, Katniss
was falling apart in the basement.  This is what happened between Haymitch and
Peeta.  One shot conversation.  Haymitch and Peeta in a verbal sparing match
to determine who will go.
URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6929651/1/


New story from Howlynn,
Title: I will take her home
Category: Hunger Games
Character(s): Haymitch A. & Katniss E.

Words: 1,952
Genre(s): Friendship/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: Rated: K+
Summary: How is it that Haymitch took Katniss home to twelve then didn't visit
her - what if there were more to the story... and there always is when
Haymitch is involved.  This is my version of stuff you didn't see happen. one
shot
URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6929787/1/

and the longer one --
Title: The Mockingjay and the Chameleon
Category: Hunger Games
Character(s): Katniss E. & Haymitch A.

Words: 35,134
Genre(s): Romance/Drama
Rating: Rated: M
Summary: Gale is hot and Peeta is toast - now there is only one person who can
fix the little mockingjays broken wings.  Haymitch the clown is really a bit
of a Chameleon and Katniss wants him, what will it take for the man with the
bottle to finally hold her?
URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6929989/1/

Here is a short bit of the long M rated story showing a little peek at what starts it - a misunderstanding played as a strategy reflecting the P/K romance -- yes this is a much more adult story -

I think he could pull it off with class!

I look around and am mortified to discover the entire cafeteria has heard this exchange. I can almost hear their minds clicking away at my shameful betrayal of poor Peeta who is partially responsible for their lives being saved with his warning. They all know the price he paid to give us this information. They all knew the price it cost for them to rescue him to keep the Mockingjay happy. Now, they knew I somehow soiled it. I stood up, face cold and shimmering a heated red. I took my tray of wasted food and dared the attendants to say a word.
I was soon with Haymitch, drinking and slurring a confession of what I had done and that everyone knew now. I passed out in his room and that was where I spent the night. I tried to sneak out in the morning, but immediately bumped into Gale. He saw Haymitch passed out half clothed on the couch before the door swung closed, took one look at my rumpled hair and the dark circles under my eyes, and jumped to one very stupid conclusion. "Making the rounds now are you. I waited for you." He says with disgust so vile I couldn't believe I had ever seen his face before. "Am I going to have to beat up every man under the age of sixty just to keep you?"
"You don't have me. How dare you even think I …"I can't finish realizing the hallways are busy.
It only took four hours for every single person in the district to discover that I was cheating on Peeta with my cousin and cheating on my cousin with my old mentor. I didn't dare tell anyone that Haymitch and I were sneaking liquor, beings it wasn't allowed in district 13 under any circumstances. I can't stand to see him dry out, it's worse than the drinking. So, there was no other explanation to provide in place of passing out in Haymitches room.
Coin was furious with me. She scheduled a meeting between Haymitch, Plutarch her and I. Haymitch strolled into her office looking like a Mockingjay eating cat and greeted me in such a way that there was now no doubt in her mind of what we had been up to. "Hello sweetheart, looks like we're caught once and for all this time." He leans over me and actually pulls my face to his and whispers "trust me" before kissing me like we are carrying on some secret affair.

Charlie is Haymitch

Coin collapses in her chair in disgust "Oh dear crummy hell. Well, there is no …stop that this instant! …No sense hoping the two of you will have the good taste to deny this nasty little business of yours."
"Haymitch how could you be so stupid!" Plutarch says watching us carefully.
Haymitch grins. "No, we will not deny it. Announce it to the world for all I care. I am tired of pretending."
I blush, covering my face with my hand. I can't even look at her, much less him. I peek Coin's way as she sits with her mouth open, flabbergasted. "Well this certainly explains a lot Miss Everdeen. Is this drunken old fool actually your choice? Can you say to me that this is important enough to you that I can't forbid you from…"
"Tell her sweetheart. Tell her there is nothing she can do." Haymitch holds out his hand to me.
I glare at him, having no idea what he's up too. I want to scream at him that he's making a fool of me, but at the same time, I have learned to trust him. I take his hand and kiss it. I hold it to my face and close my eyes. With a huge sigh, and near tears that are quite real at the thought of what Gale would have to say now, I follow his lead. "It's true. Since before the games."
"All this time!" Coin demands.
"No. You old dog…"Plutarch says with amused respect and almost a note of jealous approval.
"All this time? Can you imagine what I have gone through all this time? Twice now in those damned games. Can you blame me for drinking?" Haymitch says with a perfect little choke of emotion.
I stand and embrace him. "Oh Haymitch, sweetheart, don't start that again. I just got you back from your scare yesterday."
He leans into me and shudders as if near falling apart. Then he wipes his eyes and smiles at me cupping my face with his hand. "Not much more they can do to me now, aye darling?" he says, his eyes so filled with love I am almost fooled. "So, is this what you wanted to see us about, or was it something important?" He says slipping his arms around me in a familiar way as if our audience is an afterthought..
Coin leans back in her chair shaking her head. "Peeta was all an act and what about the brooding cousin?"
"Smoke. If they suspected she was mine, had even an inkling, what would the game makers have done to her?" Haymitch says smoothly. He glances at Plutarch and winks.
"So the chameleon isn't such a idiot with his money after all…" Plutarch says nearly sick with his snickering.
Coin purses her eyebrows and nods. She glares at us both and wipes her face in frustration. "Every time I think I know your song Mockingjay, it changes."
"We had a little scare back before the Quell was announced, Peeta was hoping to get me out of having to go." I add helpfully.
"And he took your place and protected her? Why?" she has me stumped.
"Well the boy loves her of course. He did, before he killed her yesterday." He smirks, and kisses my hand.
"What is that about?"
"Trying to convince him his mission is complete so they can treat him. He is finally able to be sedated which is a marvelous improvement." Haymitch explains while glancing at me and flirting with me to the point I wanted to slap him.
"You two are making me sick – get out." She waves us out of the room.
Haymitch bends me way over backwards and kisses me so long and deeply that Coin throws a shoe at us. Plutarch cracks up laughing. I resist the urge to wipe my mouth on the back of my hand.
We walk up the halls and I keep trying to ask him what he thinks he's up to, but he keeps shutting me up with his mouth on me and finally we arrive at this room. As soon as the door closes, I sock him in the chest. "What are you doing?"
He laughs. "I am saving your beloved ones from being constant targets. I am protecting your little boyfriends. Scandal travels fast and before night falls on our drunken deeds, even the capital, will be aware that I win. Now, should we loose at some point – they will use me against you and not someone you actually care about. Who knows you might even be allowed to enjoy it before your own execution."
"oh…Haymitch." I can't say more. I am so mixed up with both gratitude and shame that I can't figure out how to begin. "It won't work as well as you think."

"Lets just hope we never find out. But in the meantime you have your privacy again so long as you're careful. I do expect you to leave my chamber rumpled frequently, I do have a reputation of debauchery I must maintain, but it will buy you a little time." He smiles and pours us brown spirits. "To a long and beautiful relationship."

Ok if you happen to take a gander -- please give me a review or a comment -- I will be back as soon as I can, but having some life bombs so I won't make any real promises.

Last but not least-- Who do you think should play Haymitch and why?  Have you ever written fan fiction? Leave us a link and share if you have?

 

Road trip Wed at YA highway

Road Trip

Young Adult Highway - What book were You obsessed with as a child?

The first book I ever loved was a Little golden book called Rusty goes To School.

My Mom was a teacher in a one room school house at the time called White School.

Every day I missed her, and would stand at the front door waiting for her.  My Grandma would draw me away with this book.

Then I became obsessed with Robert Earl of Huntington - Beings our own family Book(dates from 1602 -and is so fragile it scares me to touch it) listed when we left England(1647) our name was Huntington - then Huntley - and finally Hunt.  I found an actual Long Bow in my closet and after talking my mother into letting me buy a string for it - I practiced for hours.  I was shocked at the sting of the string snapping your arm and even with a guard - it hurts.  I was not so bad for a 10 year old.  It belonged to my mother the College athlete - who was on the archery team at OSU.  I still can remember the way the arrow does not end up where you aim it depending on how you shoot - for me aim was to the left of the target and up.  I learned old English - in the forth grade.  This poem was the first I remember knowing by heart.

Hear underneath dis laitl stean
Laz robert earl of Huntingtun
Ne’er arcir ver as hie sa geud
An pipl kauld im robin heud
Sick utlawz as he an iz men
Vil england nivr si agen
Obiit 24 kal: Dekembris, 1247.

for those of you who didn't find the old ways easy to filter

Here underneath this little stone,

Lies Robert Earl of Huntington

No other archers ever as he/they so good

And people called him Robin Hood

Such outlaws as he and his men

Will England never see again

written 24th of December, 1247

I can still shoot a long bow buy the way - though the pull is harder on me now.  I was devastated when the beautiful old wooden thing broke on me - and was replaces with a fiberglass one.

This is not flat Old English or Middle English but a tween form.

It is said he is not buried here - this is actually the resting place of the final arrow that flew from his bow.

I don't like all the new versions so well - Marion was a betrayer and his love for her was tragic.  She killed Robin - bleeding him to death as cold as stone as he smiled up at her full of trust and love.  Only love could kill him - not the world.  I loved Errol Flynn too.

Then the Scottish play consumed me along with Hamlet.

I loved Mel In this ---Who knew it was foreshadowing.