Writing From the Inside

You can read my review of the Supernatural episode “Born Under a Bad Sign” at pinkraygun.com. Thank you!

An excerpt:

“Then he says to Jo, “I could be more to you, Jo.” (The tone of his voice, at this point, makes me uneasy and I wonder, what’s up with Sam?) And then he grabs her hand. He’s got his wrist cocked at an angle, with his sleeves rolled up on his manly forearm, and I have to tell you that he’s so powerful and bulked up, it’s pure, unadulterated wrist porn. It’s hard to explain why such a little moment could be so damn intoxicating, but it is. What’s even better is when Jo asks him to let go of her, he flips her hand away like so much dead meat, and the strength with which he does this contains the scary implication that he could have held on to her, if he’d wanted to, and it is only by some mercurial inner whim that he’s letting her go now. It’s a whole new Sam. Why, it’s Dark Sam!”

Lost

Looking for clues

Afraid of going darkside

Always protective

Please shoot me

I got your triple threat right here

Wants to be good to Jo

Shooting at demons

My brother belongs to me

Exorcise resistant

Many years ago, I wrote a fanfic called “Velveteen Hutch,” which I talked about in this post, and which you can read here on Flamingo’s archive. The story was, so they tell me, well-received, and the original publisher of that fanfic, Linda Cabrillo, wanted a companion piece even before the ink was dry on the first piece. That was some 15 years ago, and since then, I’ve had it in the back of my head that I would oblige her, which I have now done with a fanfic called “Corduroy Starsky,” the ordering information for which is available here.

The distance between the two fanfics can be explained by other fandoms taking over, as I went deeply into Blakes 7, The Professionals (songvids), and Dark Shadows (many, many stories). Then Real Life had its full share as I got a pair of Master’s degrees, bought a condo, sold that, bought a house built in 1902, refurbished that and sold it, and then bought another condo, which is a lot of moving! By the time I got back to the companion piece, I had lost touch with Starsky and Hutch, and felt rather adrift that I couldn’t just call up the passion I once had for them, let alone remember the canonical details that bring every fanfic to life.

With my publisher’s handholding, I managed to write something that we both felt was not only a good companion to the first, but that also captured Starsky’s devotion to Hutch.  I wrote it from Starsky’s point of view, which had a very different feel from Hutch’s because, naturally, Starsky has a different outlook on life than Hutch does. I always felt he was the more serious of the two, on the inside, while playing the clown to hide this. His recall of events is much more linear than Hutch’s, plus, he became very focused on not only when events happened, but what they meant. This was a strong contrast to Hutch’s stream of consciousness memory of the same timeframe, that is, from the time they met to the events that happened after Gunther and Lionel. I still feel that I didn’t do the boys justice, but what is there that is good I owe to several sources.

First, there are the DVDs of the original show, uncut and commercial free. This includes Season 4, amazingly enough, and the credit for that must go to Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson, David Soul, and Paul Michael Glaser for making the Starsky and Hutch movie that was SO much fun and brought this wonderful fandom back to living and breathing color, and allowed the fourth season to be produced, which, as I hear, was not a sure thing. Watching the eps brought it all back to me, how cool this show is, how fun the boys are to see in action. And so crisp, so clean! Such a nice upgrade from my old VHS tapes.

Next, I owe a debt of gratitude to my silent resource Pepper Ckua and her brilliant Compendium that contains every factoid EVER conceived, written, imagined, shown, told, or filmed about Starsky and Hutch in Bay City. You would not BELIEVE it unless you see it, how complete and in depth this website is, how ginormous and richly detailed.

And then, of course, there’s Keri, my publisher, who has untapped amounts of enthusiasm for this project, and was wonderful to work with in a way that I remember fanfic publication being. Now, if she’d only hang her fanart…

You can read my review of the Supernatural episode “Houses of the Holy” at pinkraygun.com. Thank you!

An excerpt:

“The boys check out the crypt and this time it’s Sam who sees the MOW, the white light that shakes the ground and hands out directions of who to kill and how and when. But what’s even better, what is the BEST, really, is what white light does to Sam’s face. Why, it lights it up, that’s what, and I get an eyeful, and absolutely glorious eyeful of Sam, from the inky locks across his forehead, to his bright, wide eyes, and that cotton candy mouth, all lit up in living color, every graceful line, everything. Everything. It’s like a gift from above, and I begin to wonder what I must have done to have earned this unexpected gift. Only you shouldn’t, you know, question gifts like these, but rather, should accept them with grace and humility and many, many prayers of thanks. Oh Lord, we pray, thank you for Show’s Lighting Team, who know just where to stand and where to aim their Halogens at Sam’s beautiful face to make it more gorgeous than it already is. If that’s possible. Amen.”

Born with a bedside manner

Afternoon delight

 Dithering about angels

Still doesn’t believe

Visited by a vision

Holy brotherly clutching!

Not seeing angels

Listening with heart

Awash with grief

Liquor instead of holy spirits

You can read my review of the Supernatural episode “Nightshifter” at pinkraygun.com. Thank you!

An excerpt:

“Hendrickson knows, man, he knows about how The Dad dragged those kids from pillar to post, raising them up in cheap motels and backwoods cabins, and just as I’m leaning forward for MORE delicious factoids like these, Hendrickson switches into opinion mode because he can’t figure out whether The Dad was a survivalist nut job, a Unabomber, or what. He rattles on to be insulting but simply doesn’t know and is just trying to get Dean’s goat. (Which he had, as they say, at hello.)  And Dean says, “You don’t know crap about my dad. He was a hero.” I love, love, love Dean in this scene, it might be my favorite scene in the whole ep  (besides Sam’s mandroid line), on account of Dean’s shoulders go back and his chin comes up and there’s a whole lot of love and pride running through him. Plus, yeah, I loved the factoids about where the boys lived when they were growing up. Show needs to give fangirls like me MORE like this, and right away, if not sooner. Otherwise I’ll just make stuff up and it’ll be a whole lot darker than what Show had planned.”

Pictures…

On the phone with Hendrickson

Sexy with flashlight

 Playing the part

Wanting to keep Ron safe

You brought a knife Dean?

Couldn’t come in naked

 Dither in the dark

Sam is so screwed

Dean is so screwed

A bunch of people have asked why the episode review for “Hunted” has not been posted, did I skip it, was I doing the reviews out of order. I have answered those e-mails, but for anyone else who was wondering and wanted to know, here it is. I have written the review, and it’s sitting in the vault. Pink Raygun did an interview with Rachel Talalay, who directed this episode, as well as a number of other shows. When that interview is posted, then, as a courtesy, the review of the ep she directed for Supernatural will posted as well, and the two will be linked together. Hope this helps and thanks for your patience.

So I’m having a rough week, considering my temp job, in which I do secretarial type stuff for a smudgy little man who cozies up to his superiors while stopping to take time to throw everyone who works for him under the bus when the opportunity arrives. It’s like waiting for not one shoe to drop, but a whole boxful. (Or for them to get thrown at you as you slip screaming under the black wheels of the RTD #205.)

They’ve got “summer hours” where I work, which means that anyone who’s someone can leave at 11 am on Friday. I mean, why come in to work at all? Mostly you hear people talking about how they’ve got 2 hours to go, or 1 hour to go, counting down the time till Freedom arrives. The way I see it, if that’s the way they’re looking at it, then they have the wrong job.

Anyway, to the point of this little diatribe. Unsupervised, at promptly 11:45, I whisked myself away to my favorite coffee shop, Amante, on North Broadway, where I ordered a new (for me) drink, a Granita, to smother my woes with some iced half and half, coffee, sugar, and whipped cream. It was pretty good, and I had a nice outdoor seat in the shade, and a view of the foothills where there were a number of paragliders easing over the rocks and trees, riding on the same breeze that tossed my umbrella.

But woe is me. I’ve got a shit job and no prospects of a new one, no matter how many places I apply to or interview for. Interviews especially come dear because I have to take part of the day or the whole day, and that costs me because temp people don’t get vacation, holidays, or sick pay, so when I’m not at work, I’m not earning a dime. Doesn’t that suck? It does. Especially considering the cush job I USED to have before layoffs last August. I had cush work, work where I knew exactly what I was doing and how to do it well, a GREAT boss, four weeks of vacation (I KNOW, right?), and tons of benefits. And it’s not that I had any choice in them laying me off (we had 40% cuts in staff), but I wanted it, so I’m responsible for it – wanting it, putting it out to the Universe and learning to live with the consequences.

Which brings me back to my coffee today, that I sipped through a straw under my umbrella, my notebook in front of me, twirling my favorite pen in my hands (It’s a Dr. Pilot Grip, purple with blue ink), with nobody in particular expecting me back at work any time soon. In spite of this, I was miserable, sitting there, couldn’t think of a thing to write, couldn’t come up with any interesting takes on the next Supernatural review, couldn’t bestir any energy to work on fanfic, and especially couldn’t manage to find the time, the all important time, to work on the novel. It’s like I’m all tapped out, and part of that is because I feel I should be done with a lot of that (esp the novel) long ere this.

As I watched the paragliders I bemoaned my fate, wondering what the hell I had given up for wings. (See above list of the great things about cush job.) What did I give up for wings, what did I give up for wings? Oh, it was a beautiful day, truly, with that blue, blue sky of August cutting over the mountains, little puffy clouds that might turn into a thunderstorm later, people passing by on bikes and with strollers, a little gaggle of two mothers and three children with gelatos sitting nearby, just as pleasant as you please, and all I could think about was what I had lost.

But, as you may or may not know, with coffee, all things are possible, and I had a sudden little somersault feeling in my brain (which is always rather uncomfortable when it happens), where I realized that in spite of my current sense that I was in exactly the wrong place and job, that I did, indeed have wings. That it wasn’t about what I had given up, but the fact that I had WINGS.

First off, although I do not have that cush job (See above list of the great things about cush job.), I also do not have the limitations of it, I do not have the metaphorical leash tying me to that particular cubicle, and the promise of retirement in so many years, of being a certain type of person/worker in order to get those four weeks and those nice benefits. Instead, I can have anything. Anything at all. I can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. “Wings” is a metaphor for the boundless possibilities of life and everything good that comes with it, so instead of giving everything up for nothing, I’ve given up just a little tiny bit of a world in exchange for a much bigger one.

It terrifies me, my life, with the open-ended scope of it. Instead of a schedule of vacation and deadlines and a specific decided-upon environment, the world, as they say, is my oyster. I’m the kind of person who feels rather comfortable with schedules and deadlines and end dates and being within a certain kind of framework. To not have any of that…what am I supposed to do now? Anything. Anywhere. I guess I should be brave and realize that the question “What did I give up for wings?” now becomes “Now that I have wings, where shall I fly?”

Anyone got a map?

I wrote a little peice about going to the comic book store to buy a copy of The Watchmen graphic novel for Pink Raygun. You can read it here.

You can read my review of the Supernatural episode “Playthings” at pinkraygun.com. Thank you!

An excerpt:

“But really, and perhaps you’ll agree, that the finest thing about this scene is the shirt Sam is wearing. It’s a thin, grey one that looks like cashmere, which everyone knows it couldn’t be, seeing as the boys get their clothes from the Salvation Army. Then again, maybe it could be; I once got a cashmere sweater there for a dollar. At any rate, it clings to every single curve of Sam’s arms and chest. Or rather, to give credit where it is due, it clings to Padalecki’s arms and chest. I’ve not got the math smarts to graph a chart that will demonstrate just how often and how hard the boy’s been working out, but it’s plain to see that he has been. Vigorously, and, dare I say it, religiously, because if working out and muscles were prayers, then this boy would be SAVED. The long, once boyishly lean torso and arms, the once tender and young sweetness of his neck, all of it has now turned into rippled iron, covered by silky skin, turning his frame to a divine work, so that when he shifts, or turns, or flips a cell phone closed with a resounding click, and it’s grace personified. He’s always had the height and the charm, now he’s got control and confidence. All wrapped in unassuming wool. (And his hair, lest we forget, spires down like inky ribbons across his intelligent forehead. It’s enough to make a fangirl swoon.)”

Angst AND Emo

How he move

Sam I Am

I know, just don’t kiss me

Desperate to save

Checking it out

 The Dad said so

You promised

Yeah, my brother likes dolls

Taking a break

So I’m at work, right. It’s a so so job where I’m more secretary than anything, and god bless secretaries and all the work they do, but I can’t stand it. Moreover, I’m horrible at it, because I don’t like the feeling of being at the boss’s beck and call. I’m a tech writer damnit, and I am used to being considered professional and mature enough to determine my own daily schedule. At any rate, that’s not as important as the talk I had with a coworker, a wonderful and talented woman who is also underpaid and underutilized.

During the conversation, I was telling her about my SPN articles, and how much I enjoyed them, how much I enjoyed talking with fans about them. Then she goes, what about that novel? I said what? (On account of I never remembered telling her.) And she said, two weeks ago you were talking about redoing the outline for that, what happened to the outline, did you work on it? Well, I lied and said that yes I had even though, no I hadn’t, because while I really appreciated her interest and her asking, I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I’d actually not working on it at all – that I’d taken a Saturday afternoon to read through it, but lazily did no acutal work. (I was at my favorite coffee shop, Amantes, on north Broadway.)

Then, I’m getting my hair cut yesterday by a lovely woman named Christine, who recently realized that she can’t cut hair forever and has started radiology school and is going to be an X-ray technichian. I’m more pleased for her than I can say, as long as she continues to cut my hair every six weeks, because frankly, she can cut it any way she wants and I never ever have to blow dry it to make it look nice. So, while sucking on my frappichino, I’m talking to her a million miles a minute about my plans and schemes (because, as you know, with coffee, all things are possible), and she goes, well, what about that novel? And I did remember telling her, and started talking about the outline I wanted to work on, so she goes, you’re going to do that outline then? And I said yes, I will. And she goes, so don’t worry about it then because you said you’d do it and you will – but I want to see it the next time you come in here. Okay.

So then today, Sunday, I call my sister Caren like I do because on Sundays I work on my reviews, and she’s my beta. She reads them and gives me her reaction, assures me that they don’t suck, and begs me to make them funnier next time, because she dearly loves to laugh. And then she goes, so how’s the novel? (I’d already lied to her about the outline because while I’d read through the many, many words of crap, I couldn’t bring myself to do any actual work on it.)

It’s about this time that I about broke a gasket, and snapped that everybody needed to leave me alone now, because otherwise I would feel obligated to THEM to write the thing, and not following my own heart. She asked me what happened, and I told her about ALL these people (including my friend Danuta, who likes to call up from time to time to remind me that I could be working on my novel) asking about the damn thing. And she said, “Well, mabye the universe is trying to tell you something,” and I said, “Well maybe it should realize that I’m getting it loud and CLEAR!”  

It makes me tired to think about, because the problem is not that I don’t know how the plot’s going to go, because I do, down to the last scene. I might be a little afraid of my subject matter, but that keeps the writing exciting, so that’s okay. The problem is, and this is what I keep telling THEM as well as myself, is that the characters have taken over. I’m not sure why they’re acting the way they are, or how they are supposed to relate to each other, and once I got them started on their journey, they went AWOL on me.

That part is true, but the fact of the matter is that I’m overwhelmed. Just completely OUT of my depth about the entire thing. I’m not sure of my audience, I don’t understand the characters and what they want, I don’t have a handle on the material. It’s like one of those papers you used to do in college the night before the damn thing is due, remember those? You stayed up till 3 am typing your heart out, exhausted and not caring anymore. That’s how this novel feels.

I got a good chunk of it done before I got this temp job in March, and the writing isn’t bad, it’s just that the scenes go all over the place. They’re not heading in the same direction, and the bad guy, I’ll just tell you his name, Mr. McCready, is too bad, too soon. He shows his hand early, which is fine, but things get out of hand because I can’t decide how mean he should really get.

So my plan is this. I’m going to (yes) take the printout that I have to work and make a list of what I need to do. This isn’t makework or distraction, the list has helped me before, and it will do so again. Then I’m going to do a little sketch on each of my main characters, list the minor ones, and then I’m going to take a look at my rising and falling drama. THEN I’m going to rewrite the outline from the begining, so that I’ll have something to show Christine and everyone in six weeks. After that, it’s a peice of cake, right? RIGHT?  

I decided recently to post some of my zine stories that I wrote when I was deeply, deeply into Dark Shadows. I wrote many stories, all of them to do with the character of Willie Loomis, who I found (and find) to be fascinating. He was the servant of the vampire Barnabas Collins, and while there’s a good many people out there who think Barn is the hero and the good guy, I thought Willie was the best. He had the heart of a lion and wasn’t afraid to step up to Barnabas and tell him he was an idiot. So, to start with, here are two links to my LJ where the following stories are posted:

Title: Lilacs in Bloom
Author: Sylvia Bond
Genre/Rating: Het/PG-17
Verse: Lilacs Verse
Pairing: Willie/Victoria
Word Count: 10,257
Summary: On a fine spring day, Willie takes time out of his busy day to tend to a lilac tree. By chance, he is able to give the fresh petals to Victoria Winters who is, at the time, being vigorously courted by Willie’s boss, Barnabas Collins. Barn finds out and the bad things happen. The sequel is Stopping by Woods.
A/N: I once thought that Willie and Maggie were the OTP in Dark Shadows fandom. That was, until I wrote this story.

and

Title: Stopping by Woods
Author: Sylvia Bond
Genre/Rating: Het/PG-17
Pairing: Willie/Victoria
Verse: Lilacs
Word Count: 27,326
Summary: In this sequel to Lilacs in Bloom, Victoria contemplates Barnabas’ courtship of her and is shocked when he tells her that Willie is carrying a torch for her. He warns her to be careful, at which point she becomes rather more aware of Willie than she should. And then bad things happen.
A/N: It is my secret dream that one day Willie and Victoria will run off together, leaving Collinwood far, far behind them.