Writing From the Inside

Long Lay the World by setissma.

 Slash.

Oh, I did not want to like this story at all. It’s what I call a hanging curtains story because literally that’s what Dean does. He gets sick of the road (if you can imagine such a thing), terrified that one more werewolf is going to finish Sam off, and that’s it. He moves them to Chicago (my least favorite of cities), and buys a goldurn house for him and Sam. It’s all about fixing the house up and how Sam gets suspicious and thinks Dean’s leaving him for some girl, and I’ve got my hands balled up into fists and I’m holding my breath till I turn blue, cause I don’t like it!!! Except I did. Guilty pleasure definately and you know why? Because this line made me laugh like an idiot:

“Sam makes dinner, actual meatloaf with mashed potatoes and some green beans, and Dean decides this house idea was literally the best he’s ever had. Sam falls asleep with his feet in Dean’s lap, watching Christmas movies, and Dean tops out at 27 pieces of popcorn balanced on his face before he wakes up, which is a new record.”

I about spit out my dinner at that one. Plus, you know, Dean he LOVES Sam to pieces, like in this line:

“He leaves it there, and Sam falls asleep again, against his side. It’s a good way to drive, Dean thinks, and he doesn’t even care that it’s a little girly – Sam’s safe, and he’s making Sam feel safe, and that’s all that matters.”

And she had Sam down pat:

“Sam doesn’t scare easily, but he can’t handle fear, doesn’t know how to deal with loss, and Dean figures maybe it’s the two of them, except the only thing he’s ever been afraid of losing is Sam.”

These people, I swear.

What Comfort It Brings by nutkin.

Slash.

You people. What is it with you, sucking me into a story about Dean’s last days on the planet? Don’t you know how that rips at my very heart and soul? It’s cruel, that’s what it is, and it would be much, much nicer of you if you didn’t write it so beautifully so that I won’t loose myself before I even begin, thank you very much. 

Driving Down the Darkness by nutkin

Slash.

Oh, man. This story was perfect. It had no flaws. It was 40,000 words of pure goodness. I think what I liked best was the slow pacing and the atmosphere of normalcy in which the relationship built up. There was no slap dashed-ness to this. The story covers the first season by the end of which Sam and Dean are together, replete with all the “this is wrong, this is so wrong” angst that makes it so real for me and that I love so well.

At first I wondered how an author could actually pull it off, following through every ep and making coda scenes out of it, but it worked. In a few places the writer actually writes out the actual scene and gives us the interior thoughts, including the all important scene from Provenance, when Sam says “It’s not just Jess.” Always wondered what he meant by that, now I know.

 The writing is solid and good and descriptive in the right places. A pleasure to read all the way through. This woman knows her craft. Here’s a quote:

“The truth is, there had been times at school when he really wished they weren’t out here waiting for him. He wished the stories he told were true – a childhood spent traveling because of work, a drunk father, a brother who didn’t care. He wished he could sweep the truth under the rug and believe the lies. It would have made his life so much easier, and there were ugly times when he wished they’d just disappear, leave him to the life he had created.

In all his vague acceptance that death might come for him, he never stopped to think about what he might leave behind. He’s got another good twenty to thirty years before his midlife crisis comes knocking, so it’s never been much of an issue. Yeah, he lives his own life. Yeah, he fucks around. You have to find your pleasure where you get it when you live by the sword.

But when he saw death coming, when time seemed to splinter and dance blue sparks across the water, what flashed in front of him wasn’t his whole life. It wasn’t the good and the bad, the people he’s saved and the battles he’s won, his sins and lies and wrong-doings.

It was just Sam.

Like looking at photographs, he could remember the two of them chasing each other through roadside fields, playing cowboys and Indians and shooting cans on fences. Wading in muddy rivers and hopping between weeds in sidewalk cracks so their feet didn’t burn. Corner store Slurpees, lips stained blue with syrup. All the punched shoulders, all the noogies, all the late-night whispered conversations alone in the car and motel beds. Eighteen summers, eighteen springs, splashing in puddles and having each other’s backs.

That’s what his mind found to remember; that’s what his life was all about.”

Birds on a Wire and Beggars Would Ride by Killa.

Slash.

This story was the first SPN fiction I ever read. I remember that it was because I was looking at Amalthia’s rec list and being overwhelmed, selected the fiction that had the same title as a songvid I once made. I’ve always loved this song and what it was about, so click, off I went. Lucky, lucky me! I got a great story by which all other stories I read in this fandom will be judged. How’s that for subjective reading?

Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve had several discussions with fans over the past fiew days, for no reason in particular, but they all seemed to end up in the same place, and that is, whether or not fanfiction is superior to profiction. Read the rest of this entry »

Season of the Witch by vaingirlfic.

Slash.

Sequel to Outside by the Blue, Blue Moon and OH man. Dean’s got to put the peices back together after rescuing SammySamSam from this horrible spell that was put on him. Sam saves himself, see, but he’s in peices. He needs Dean. Dean puts Sam back together, and all’s well that ends well. Only it’s not perfect, right, but it’s good. Winchester good. Where everyone’s alive and that’s all that matters. More like this, please.

When It’s Twelve O’Clock We Climb the Stairs by cormallen.

Slash.

 I hate stories like this one, I really hate them. Stories that are about the time AFTER Dean dies because Sam can’t save him, that are so sad, they rip your guts out, and so creepy and unnerving, you’ll be seeing them on the back of your eyelids for days. In this one, Sam manages to concoct a spell to raise Dean from the dead. Of course, it’s not Dean, but it takes Sam the entire story to figure it out. I had to read the WHOLE thing to find out for sure too. It seems to me that this author owes me a sequel in which Sam figures out the REAL way to do it and brings Dean back for real. Oh man. Tissues please.

The Placement of Water and Lead by katjad.

Slash.

Reads like an ep. Has many good elements of a lot of good eps, the conflict between good and evil and the choices the boys have to make to decide what to do. The save at the end is a little easy (Dean guesses), but I enjoyed the ep-feel of this one, and the action scenes, which were well done. How Dean thinks is true and clear, like:

“Sometimes when Dean thinks things through, his gut tightens into a dense leaden ball and he understands things that he didn’t know before. He tried to explain the feeling to Sam, once, right after Sam first told him about the visions, but this is nothing like the visions. Sam’s visions are about things he couldn’t possibly know, that push into his mind uninvited; the lead in Dean’s gut is made up of the things he already knows coming together until they fit, until they make obvious what he almost knew before and couldn’t put his finger on.”

and

“”Sam! You’ve gotta unlock the door, I can’t get in ’til you do,” he says, keeps repeating something on the same theme until it gets through to Sam and the bolt turns in the lock. Sam’s on the floor, fingers tangled in his hair, clutching at his skull and rocking. Dean pulls him out of the tiny, porcelain-hard bathroom, and into the room, onto the carpet, but the vision just won’t end; he’s practically howling now, and Dean stops thinking entirely and pulls Sam into his arms and close.”

and especially

“Since he was six years old Dean has catalogued every room he’s entered for exits, cover and weapons the moment he entered it, and this room is no different. He has the image of the whole place in his mind instantly. The bed’s the only cover, and Sam’s got his gun. The rest of the guns are under the front of the bed, out of reach. His knife is on his belt, which is somewhere on Sam’s side of the bed, near the bathroom. There’s only one door to the outside, which is on Dean’s side of the room, but he’d never make it the ten feet between here and the door without giving Sam a clear line of sight.”
  

Untitled by unintended muse.

Gen.

Families are a wonderful thing. This story, sweet as can be, shows us the Winchesters actually going to one of Sam’s soccer games, and THEN to Chuck E. Cheese’s afterwards. Can you imainge such a thing? I can’t. But it was especially gratifying to see them expressing love and not just arguing all the time. To watch Sam win at that dumb rifle game. I’ll bet he got tons of tickets, just tons.

Fault Lines by jewels 667 and Emptying the Bowl by angstslashhope.

Slash.

These two are a pair of stories, the second of which is a remix of the first. Near as I can figure it, a remix takes the first story and gives it a spin. The second story could be a retelling of the first from a different point of view, or it could be a continuation of the story, or whatever. Like SPN makes a writer want to write, a good story will make another writer want to keep that story going. Near as I can figure.

In this case, the first writer creates a Dean-character story, marked by fine writing like:

“Plates shift with the click of the door latch and Sam’s affect is defined by his absence, like a fissure opened up beneath Dean’s feet; he’s been tumbling downward ever since. ”
 

What works in this story is the almost abstract description, where there are fragments of ideas against other fragments, and all of it assembles itself together to paint a picture of a very lonely Dean. The remix takes this idea and spins it. They’re lovely.

“Dean likes the baser things in life. His body’s never quite fit him right, like his skin’s a tectonic jigsaw, constantly shifting and threatening to crack open. Sam’s mouth soothes and stills. Binds the edges together, like the scratch marks down Dean’s back are seams, like Sam’s saliva is blood.”