kali

Dude, vidding Torchwood is hard.

Can it really be that I know the canon so much less well than Who? My canon knowledge is usually pretty good, but I've watched all of New Who like, at least six or seven times, and Torchwood... only two or three times all the way through. As well, with Torchwood, I have a lot of informational knowledge (plot, etc) but not a lot of visual knowledge, whereas I can close my eyes and see the scenes unfolding if I think about a New Who episode.

Also vidding Jack and Ianto -- all their good scenes together are... in my head? Seriously, it's a whole barrel of other issues than writing. In vidding, I cannot just move them around like puppets! (Well, I probably could if I were, a) better and b) had better software, but STILL.) And all their scenes have... not a wide range of position? Nor do they really... touch each other casually? And Ianto, at least, seems to have very few scenes alone, so they're not all-purpose/re-purposable, as it were.

I persevere, but damn.

Here, have some top 5s:

For such_heights
(  Top five Doctor moments! )


For verasteine
( Top five favourite quotes! )


For itcamefromjapan
(  Top five moments at which you fell completely in love - with a character, episode, fandom, etc. )


For coyotegoth
( top five death scenes – spoilers for Pather Panchali, Terminator 2, Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, Angel, Bridge to Terabithia )


For jlh
(  Five things you didn't think you'd like at first/before you watched them but totally loved. TV/movie/books/music/whatever. )

P.S. How much do I want to teach this course? How much do I want to take this course? SO MUCH.

After many days to cogitate, here are my thoughts on yaoi Torchwood, RTD, the whole shebang.

Dear Mr. Davies,

You like analogies, right? Many writers do. Here's one for you:

Imagine that I'm a fan of sport-- track and field, to be precise. And I've come to watch a patricular relay race. I like races, I may (or may not) be a runner myself, but I'm very familiar with them, and this race is particularly special, because I know that the baton (that this particular team I'm rooting for is carrying) is especially shiny! In fact, it was handed down from another relay team that I particularly like, so I'm excited, you know, weight of tradition and all. It's quite an honor. This baton has the name of the new team emblazoned on it; in fact, all they've done is switch the letters around. Instead of my beloved "Park Lamb" this team's called "Lampbark."

Okay, great. So I'm settling in to the bleachers now, excited, anticipatory, ready for whatever comes. The first runner comes on, and you know, they're not the best runner in the world -- a little overweight, maybe, and not great form -- but oh, man, have they got heart. So even though they look a little silly, from time to time, I'm okay. I'm there, still happy, still cheering. The second guy takes the hand-off, and he starts out pretty well, a bit too flash and full of himself maybe, but still, gets me rising to my feet, yelling, "go on! go on! yay!" And then, omg, just as he's about to hand off, he takes a tumble and FALLS. Not just a little stumble either, but full on face-plant. He struggles to his feet, though, and even though I'm wincing for him with that road rash all over his face, and I don't even want to look anymore because, whoa, gross! and I'm pretty sure they've lost the race now, right? Even then, some sense of tenacity makes me hang on... I mean, this guy had heart too, right, and hey, if you're gonna fall, do it with gusto and panache, eh?

And then, somehow, he manages to make the hand-off. I look at this next runner, and I think, okay. Great, good, perfect. Because he's beautiful. I know him of old (he used to anchor my beloved "Park Lamb") and I'm all like, oh, god, yes. Because this guy can run. AND he has heart, I think. No one else comes close. Now we're gonna fucking knock this baby out of the park.

( Avast. Here there be Spoilers )

Death happens. Not all stories end well, especially some of the most beautiful ones. I accept this. But, let me digress for a moment. There's an author by the name of Sara Douglas, and despite being into doorstopper fantasy, I made it partway through one of her books, and then was unable to continue. And this doesn't happen to me much. Once started, I pretty much almost always finish. One time I googled her, and found the following and then I understood why I couldn't, questions of writing quality aside.

Why did I kill/maim/be cruel to 'x' character?

I am going to use Ray Feist's answer here: "Because I bloody well could". Because I'm the author and because it felt good for me and for the integrity of the novel at the time. I don't particularly like happy endings, and novels where no-one gets hurt occasionally makes for bland reading. Tension requires that the characters which readers get emotionally sympathetic with must occasionally die. Badly.

[...]

Is Faraday ever going to have a happy ending?

I would dearly like to squash her under a huge pumpkin studded with rusty twelve-inch nails so that she dies a lingering, painful death from blood poisoning and a badly leaking belly, and I reserve the right to do so any time I feel like it. (Of course, by the time you get to the end of "Crusader" you'll see that that is not quite the fate I've given her ... nevertheless, I've been nasty enough ...)

Do I like my characters?

Sometimes, sometimes not. As is apparent in the above question, I have never liked Faraday very much, and other characters I get seriously annoyed with... (Source.)

What I ask from a writer of meaningful texts, and tragedy, is very simple. I ask that you love your characters and your world. I ask that you be them, though they are not you. I ask that you mourn with me when they die, because you love them, and because it hurts you to do this to them as well, but you will, only because you must. If we use the divine metaphor, where you are the god of this world you've created, I demand that you be the kind of god that cares for the fall of a sparrow as much as for the death of a star. Or a person.

I do not respect you if you kill these things and experience no pain. I think, then, that you are a coward. And one that has no understanding of stories and their immense power.

I also do not respect you if your method of justification involves cutting down the community around you, and other writers and other stories. Your fans, many of them, are writers too. And not just of fanfic (though that is not a value judgement.) Also, they are scholars, artists, activists and most importantly readers. They too fight. They too think. They too are geeks in a mainstream world, curved in a world of straight lines. Their typing is not fundamentally, essentially different from yours. In quality perhaps. In quantity perhaps. But you don't always come out on the right side of that balance, and in the end, it's simply a matter of degree.

Respect them. Sure, there are the crazy ones. What lover of something isn't a bit mad? And some more than others. Even then, they just might have a point. They might make you better. They might keep you grounded.

Be a reader of your own work, with them. It might remind you...

...you are not alone.

Love,
Kali

Hi guys. Thanks to all the commenters on The Deep That We Shall Never See; I'm sorry I haven't responded yet, but I will. It's a problem of... not knowing what to say, and being... on a weird page, I guess. Anyway, I do sincerely appreciate it. And luckily rm has been holding down the fort.

I've been taking a computer break. Saturday, I had to watch CoE again, with my darling faris_nallaneen who had not yet seen it. And the lovely magnetgirl came over too. ( spoilers )

Today I left the house. It was exciting, maybe the most gorgeous day of summer we've had yet, with not a cloud in the clear, blue sky. D. and I drove down Riverside Drive, and had dinfast at the Boat Basin Cafe -- a big juicy charred burger, with juicy red beefsteak tomato, and red onion and sharp green lettuce. It tasted unbelievably good. Then we walked through Riverside Park, stopping at the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial to watch two guys practice the fencing scene from Hamlet. (Which I discovered just now through a little google-fu is for an actual, free production, to be performed on the North Patio there from the folks at Hudson Warehouse.)

And then we wandered over to Broadway, and D. bought me a copy of The Demon's Lexicon by sarahtales.(I've just finished it, and I loved it, actually. If you like YA, and/or watch Supernatural, I strongly recommend you give it a go. Two brothers, demons, snark, magicians, betrayal, love in odd places and of odd kinds... it's quite lovely. I knew what the deal was before I was a quarter of the way in, but it's not really an "oh what a twist" book -- the fun is in watching it unfold to the characters, and that part is done really beautifully. It's the first entry in a trilogy, but absolutely satisfying as a standalone.)

After that, we sat in the sun for a while, reading, and snuggling, and laughing, with the breeze in our face. Ten minutes at a time went by that I didn't say something about Torchwood. (I think it was at least half an hour, but D. disagrees.)

Then we drove home.

Life, it goes on.

Also, sex is nice. Note to self: Do not get so wrapped up in bloody Torchwood that you forget this simple fact. *grin* I don't know how D. puts up with me. But I thank all the small gods for it. ( spoilers )

I have stuff to say about writing and stories and art. But that will wait for tomorrow later today. I really need to get to sleep.

Title: The God from the Machine (1/1)
Pairing: gen
Characters: Ten, some minor characters from TW: CoE, Ianto, mentions of Jack, Rose.
Author: kalichan
Rating/Warning: all ages
Summary: A deus ex machina (pronounced /ˈdeɪ.əs ɛks ˈmɑːkinə/ or /ˈdiː.əs ɛks ˈmækɨnə/) is a plot device in which a person or thing appears "out of the blue" to help a character to overcome a seemingly insolvable difficulty.
Spoilers Written after Children of Earth: Days 1 & 2; a small amount of unspoiled speculation for the rest of CoE
Wordcount: 818 words
Author's Notes: Have we learned nothing from cannibals, Ianto?

( 'Oi! Get out of that!' )

I'm supposed to be thesis-writing...
Which is why I'm posting.

I heard that TW-fandom has had a little poetical excitement re: John Barrowman while I was away in the Desert of the Real.

So... er... I decided to present y'all with a small sample of my *ahem* lyrical stylings.
[rm dared me to post it at dalekinthepond. I'm reposting here for those of y'all who don't read that ;-) ]

Title: He Walks In Beauty Like The Night
Rating: 13+
Genre: POETRY
Pairing/Characters: John Barrowman, Captain Jack Harkness, OFC
Warning/Spoilers/Notes: So I was having a little conversation with rm about fans, celebrity, and verse. This was the result. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Disclaimer: It's all true, baby. Except not.
Summary: ( ~I want a dream lover so I don't have to dre-e-am alone...~ )

Meanwhile: cancer continues on apace, but hopefully paces slower than the chemo. The lung tumor, is, we're told, shrinking -- but it seems unclear as to what that means in real life (or death?) terms. Insurance battle goes on, but is at this precise moment out of my hands -- and with the neurosurgeons who are appealing the decision -- they seem to think they'll have better success getting the 50 grand out of Empire Blue Cross Blue Shield than they will out of us, which makes a certain amount of sense.

I've been pretty depressed lately.

But I seem to have had some social engagements here and there: Dave took me to see Chicago, he, D., Tam and I had a post show Bacchanalian Revel (I'm still a smidge hungover...). The sunrise was pretty. I haven't seen one from that end for a while. Tam's taking me to the ballet tomorrow night - it appears to be about pirates! (Le Corsaire from the Byron poem @ ABT which is extremely awesome.)

However, one assumes that I will get back to the internets SOMEDAY. To that end, I've got a dreamwidth account courtesy of bentley who rocks like a rocking thing. I'm fictional.dreamwidth.org over there -- it's almost completely empty at this point, but at some point I'll make it all spiffy, so please do let me know if you're on there! At some point soon (for a given value of soon) I will begin cross posting etc.

Also, I got twitter -- that is, I registered a number of names.

[Poll #1405703]

I miss y'all like whoa.

Title: Enough To Go By (1/10)
Characters: Gwen, Jack, Ianto, Rhys
Pairing: canon + various permutations of Jack/Gwen/Ianto
Authors: rm and kalichan
Rating/Warning: NC-17, het, slash & poly
Summary: Everybody lies.
Wordcount: ~11,000
Authors' Notes: This is our poly curtains!fic. You have been warned! Title is from the song of the same name by Vienna Teng. Set post Series 2, so spoilers for all aired eps.

( Gwen tried to wring the dampness from her hair as she skidded towards the Tourist Information Office, late as usual. )

Happy Valentine's Day from Gally. Some vague talk about S3.

( among other things, discover the actual rules of naked-hide-and-seek )