Category: writing


The Changeling Child


Time for another dream! I can’t tell if I’m having more dreams or if I’m just remembering them better because I write them down, but this one is kinda odd.

I dreamt I was living in a hole in the ground with my family – my parents, GhostSister, GhostBIL and their brood. It was a pretty nice hole in the ground, there was a main room and what I will assume were smaller rooms off of it, the front door was in the ceiling and accessible only by a ladder. All around the tunnel leading up to the door were shelves where we kept books and things. There was also a small window at about knee height  that was covered by a screen and left open from time to time for ventilation on the far side of the main room. The hole was on a hill, that’s why the door was in the ceiling but the window was only knee-high. We were only living in this hole temporarily while a house was being built nearby. The whole family was going for a walk near the river (because the hole was near a river) and I found a matte black plastic violin in the woods. GhostBIL found the bow for the violin and we decided to take them back to the hole. I have no idea why it took both of us. GhostBIL went first and he poked me in the ankle with the bow as I was standing on the surface when I told him to be careful on the ladder. He put the bow on a shelf in the main room and went back up the ladder. I went down and then back up so I could turn around since I was going down the ladder the wrong way, and finally back down into the main room where I put the violin beside the bow. I then decided that it was too stuffy in the hole and I should open the window. I had to lay down on my stomach to open it, when I did there was a black cat with bright blue eyes sitting in front of the window screen. We stared at each other for a few seconds and then the cat asked if Thing 2 was home. I told the cat that everyone had gone for a walk but they should be back soon. The cat nodded and jumped off the windowsill. This whole conversation seemed strange – it was a talking cat! – but I shrugged it off and climbed out of the hole.

A short time later everyone gets back to the hole after taking a long walk and we find a woman and young girl standing by our hole. Thing 2 is happy to see her friend, whom she introduces as Chloe, and the kids play while the adults chat for a bit. I very casually ask the woman if her daughter is a changeling, which surprizes her. She confirms that Chloe is a changeling and asks me how I knew. It was because the girl and the cat had the same eyes and voice. I offer to take the kids into town, which is some distance away, and we start walking. On the way I start making small talk, asking Chloe how old she is. She is very evasive and when I asked her if she would age like a cat or a girl she became very upset. Chloe accused Thing 2 of sharing a secret with me, which we both denied. I insisted I was just being a nosy grown-up and didn’t want to hear her silly old secret anyway. I illustrated this by sticking my thumbs in my ears and singing nonsense until the girls giggled at me.

When we reached town, which looked like one of those tiny towns you see in old westerns, we went to the general store, which had strangely empty shelves. I showed Chloe how a stapler worked, she had never seen one before, and we walked around the store and looked at the empty shelves. There were about six small blue and white boxes on one shelf, they had what looked like wedding bells on the sides, and the girls wanted to buy one of the boxes. I wouldn’t let them, telling them that they were too young to get married.

That’s where it ended. I’m very intrigued by the character of Chloe, she was very odd. I’d like to figure out more about her and possibly put her into a story.

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NaNo Update!


It’s NaNoWriMo update time!

As of Thursday night I was at 23,516 words.

So far I have managed to keep to my self-imposed goal of doing at least two thousand words a day, most of the time I’m closer to twenty-five hundred.

The one exception so far was last Sunday, when I spent most of the day scrambling to finish a big swap project (more about that next week) and only managed to gather up the energy to write about five hundred words.

Isn't my handwriting terrible?

The mystery project involved both Batman and math.

Tuesday was another low-word day, I chose to finish my Library of The Damned post first before working on the NaNovel and time just wasn’t on my side.

I try to pile up the words early precisely for that reason – because I know I’m going to have some sort of problem – a project, writer’s block, Thanksgiving and the attendant family-time – that will keep me from reaching the daily required word count, so I like to bank a little to hedge my bets.

Plot-wise I’m feeling pretty good about where the story is heading – Madame Lennox (evil stepmother) is coming across as a scheming social climber in public and a petty and vindictive tyrant in private, but Jinx has turned out a bit more withdrawn and taciturn than I had originally envisioned her. There are parts of the narrative that could use some reshaping, but so far I’m generally pleased with the results.

GAHHHHHH!!!


 Why the hell did I sign up for NaNoWriMo this year??!?

My notes make no sense – did I even write these in English? Am I using the old outline instead of the newer one? I should date these damned things! 

:incoherent scream:

Okay, I’m better now.

I’m actually slightly ahead of schedule – as of Thursday evening I’m at 7774 words. I’m still not one hundred percent sure what the hell I’m doing though.

I have rejiggered some of the backstory and financial bits based on comments from the other day – Thanks, guys! :waves: – and I think it’s now in the Plausible category rather than the Complete Bullshit category.

 Back to writing.

Bad Time For Second Thoughts


So today’s the first day of NaNoWriMo.

Gah.

Last weekend as I was reviewing my notes, I had the “bright idea” to try to rework a few things because the premise suddenly made no sense. So I ended up pretty much rewriting my entire outline from scratch two days before the start of NaNoWriMo.

Double gah.

I was going over my notes once again last night and stumbled over a problem. It might just be me and the fact that I’ve gone over the same information about a million times, but I think I see a potential issue.

My story is loosely based on Cinderella with the evil stepmother as antagonist and a plucky young female protagonist, Jinx. 

The backstory for the relationship is this – upon the death of her father, Jinx’s stepmother learns that he left everything to his daughter and she will get nothing.  Enraged, she contrives to have the girl declared insane and confined to an asylum with herself as the girl’s guardian so that she has access to the family’s wealth, which comes from a single factory that produces a fabric called Dragonskin – a fireproof cloth used in airships and industrial applications that is incredibly expensive. The factory is the only place in the world that makes it and the only person who knew the formula was the deceased father.

 After over a year of trying to have the process replicated and failing – she’s also near the end of the reserve materials and has burned through much of the family fortune – the evil stepmother visits Jinx on the off-chance that her father told her something about the formula. She learns that Jinx does indeed know the formula but refuses to help her unless she takes her out of the asylum.  (Medical technology is around early 19th century standards, so it’s a nasty place.) They reach a sort of stalemate – the stepmother is still Jinx’s guardian so she doesn’t have access to her family’s wealth and if she stops working for her stepmother she’ll get tossed back in the asylum, but Jinx oversees the production of the Dragonskin that assures her stepmother and stepsisters can continue to live the life they are accustomed to.

Since her stay in the crazy house is well-known Jinx can’t tell anyone what happened because they wouldn’t believe her, and if she tried taking the formula to a rival company they would never believe that it was the real formula since there are countless conmen with counterfeit formulas for Dragonskin. The evil stepmother treats Jinx as an unpaid drudge, constantly threatening to send her back and resenting having to rely on someone she loathes so throughly. Jinx could simply offer to trade the formula for her freedom, but since her stepmother is her legal guardian she has no assurances that she won’t be tossed back into an asylum once she’s handed it over. She would also be penniless, since her stepmother refuses to give her a single cent.

Does this situation seem at least a little plausible? I’ve gone over it so many times that the dynamic is  starting to sound a bit odd again. maybe I’m overthinking things again.

Someone Likes Me!


I was cruising through TV Tropes on Wednesday, trying to look like I was working, when I decided to check in on the entry for my old friend, ITS MY LIFE.

I’m scrolling down, giggling like mad every so often, until I reach the bottom section, which lists some of the tropes found in the MSTings of the truly excretable fanfic.

The bottom two tropes have quotes from my Library of the Damned riffs as examples.

 Specifically, these quotes –

So GLaDOS’ super-effective plan was;
 
1. Give Chell a brain damage relapse so she would Booty Quake
2. Force Wheatley to watch Chell Booty Quake without him knowing he was being forced to do so.
3. Tell Marissa about the zombie-making potatoes curing brain damage.
4. ???
5. Profit! Marissa’s Emo-Gothification and the death of everyone!
 
and
 
Marissa laughs at GLaDOS, reminding her that she is immune to the nero …. nerdro … neuro … icky green farts.

:does happy dance:

The fact that someone thought well enough of something I wrote to quote it on another site thrills me down to my freshly-painted toenails.

Ummm…


I enjoy writing.

For the past few years I have done the NaNoWriMo – the National Novel Writing Month – in November, where writers from around the world try to write a fifty-thousand word novel in thirty days.

Just typing that number makes my hands hurt.

I’ve managed to “win” so far every year, but I have developed a little cheat that I use.

There are times when I’m chugging along, really pounding away, when a roadblock gets thrown up. Some little niggling detail I didn’t think of when I did my outline pops up and it breaks my train of thought. It’s frustrating and pulls me out of my groove. Until I came up with a solution to my problem – the Snoopy.

Most of what I write for pleasure can be considered fantasy – very rarely do I write things in a modern setting. I decided that I needed a word that would be easy for me to remember but wouldn’t pop up on a regular basis as I wrote – so I picked Snoopy. If I come to a scene that I haven’t fully plotted out, or that I think should be improved upon by adding foreshadowing for an event that I haven’t written yet, I’ll type Snoopy and continue on. When I reach the scene I want to reference in the earlier scene and figure out what details I want to add, I’ll do a word search for my Snoopys, find the one I need, and rewrite the scene.

This came about from my chronic inability to think of good names.

I used to use simple boring names – I have one story where all the good guys are Bobs (Bob1, Bob2, Bob3, etc…) and the bad guys are Garys. When I finally picked a good name, I could do a search-and-replace to remove the boring name and put in the new one. It was easy for me to keep track of, but kind of dull. So I started using comic book characters.

And then things got weird when a minor female character, Batman3, had an affair with one of the evil henchmen, Dr. Doom8. I didn’t plot it that way, it was just something that developed from the characters’ interaction.It’s hard to explain.

Some of the scenes read a lot like a slashfic if you don’t take into account that the names would be changed later.

His fingertip brushed against her skin, fainter than a moth’s heartbeat, tracing the lines inked into her pores that marked Batman3 as one of The Chosen. Dr.Doom8 knew that she had only to give the alarm and his death would be slow and bloody. At that moment, such things were inconsequential; his world had narrowed to a patch of skin no bigger than a promise.

Yeah, I’m not proud of that.


So I’m winding down my critique of ITS MY LIFE and have started searching for the next pile of craptastically bad fanfiction to rip into tiny pieces. I’ve been browsing through the FanFiction.net listings to see if anything catches my eye and so far I’ve found quite a bit of bad (really bad) fanfiction, I’m still looking for something appropriately terrible. I’ve got a few chapters to go, so there’s not a real rush yet.

I have discovered that some of the strangest, most bizarre stuff can be found in the Crossovers sections.

What is a crossover – or as it is often spelled, “x-over” – you might ask?

A crossover is when you take characters from one source material and cram them together with a different source material. Like taking a square peg and trying to force it into a round hole. Just as the process of fitting a square peg into a round opening  is not often successful, crossovers tend to be mashed-up messes of hysterical failure.

Crossovers are the red-headed stepchildren of fanfics, viewed as only slightly better than realfics. (Fanfics featuring actual historical figures, living or dead. Realfics are almost universally despised, except by the small group of authors who write them.)

The pairings are often … unique. Much in the same way a flaming porcupine tossed in your face is a “unique” experience.

Want to read about Smurfs and Left 4 Dead-style zombies? There’s a fic for that.

Want to read  a My Little Pony version of the Christmas Story? There’s a fic for that. (My fellow Library of the Damned snarker Lara has already claimed that one for snarkbait.)

Want to find out what would happen if the Millennium Falcon crashed in the Beaver’s neighborhood? There’s a fic for that.

Just like with regular fanfics, the source materials with the largest fanbases (Doctor Who, Star Wars, Twilight, Star Trek, Harry Potter, etc…) tend to have the most fics. (There are hundreds of Harry Potter/Twilight crossovers that would make both fanbases froth at the mouth.)

In crossovers where the two source material worlds are vastly different (Harry Potter and Star Wars, for example) the author will often do one of the following;

  1.  Insert the crossover character into the story with a modified backstory that resembles the source material’s canon version, or
  2. Remove the characters from one source material and replace them with characters from another, or
  3.   Use magic and/or improbable science to explain away the crossover character’s presence, or
  4. Ignore the canon inconsistencies and just stick the crossover character into the other world with no explanation, or
  5. Create an alternate universe (AU) with the desired characters from the different source materials in a setting different from any found in the source materials. High school AUs are very popular.

While some (most) regular fanfics border on the incomprehensible, crossover fics are their own special brand of crazy. Where else could you read a story about Bella Swan from the Twilight books becoming pregnant with Optimus Prime’s baby?

Oh, how I wish I were making that up.

There are some decent crossovers, I’ve found the best ones are the ones where the different source materials compliment each other and the author has made some attempt to reconcile the different source materials. Like Batman and The Nightmare Before Christmas –  both are fairly dark and have a similar Gothic feel.

My all time favorite is a Shaun of the Dead and Doctor Who crossover I found, if for no other reason than because The Doctor beheads a zombie with a working lightsaber and that is just made of awesome.

Smoke and Fog


(I haven’t posted any fiction for a while, so I thought I would. I found this when I was cleaning out my files, I wrote it about three years ago when I was going through a swords-and-sorcery phase.)

Smoke rolled over the Dread Plains, thick and dark as ancient wine.  The rising mists mingled with it, acrid gray and smothering white blending into a colorless wall.  Shapes danced amid the vapors; here a face, there a hand. The scent of death and blood hung like cheap perfume in the cool morning air. It was not a good time to be walking the world.

General Tobias, Warmaster of The Horde of Devils and victor of ten thousand battles, sat resplendent in his dragon-skin armor; flakes of dried blood drifted down around him like snow with each movement his fearsome war-beast made. Like a cresting ocean wave, his Horde surged forward, trampling the tall yellow grass and screaming curses to the steel-cold sky. Armor gleamed and swords flashed, teeth and talons glowing red against dark flesh.

The city before them had high walls of clean gray stone, unmarked by soot or rust. It rose quite abruptly from the gently rolling plains like the forgotten stump of some long-vanished tree. The gates were thick oak, bound with serviceable bands of black iron and lacking the bristle of spikes most of its brethren sported. No towers protruded from the wall, no guards walked its length. To the Horde of General Tobias, fresh from many victorious battles, it was a ripe fruit begging to be plucked.

When word had come from his scouts that a city had been spotted, he had given the order to attack at once. This was The Horde of Devils; they feared nothing and no one, living or dead. No simple city, walled or no, could stand against them. He did not think to question where this city had come from; when last he had passed this way there had been nothing but the grass and the mists.

Thundering across the yellow plain, screaming fearsome curses in a dozen languages, the Horde was a sight to turn the blood of even the strongest man to ice. The city lay silent in the early morning, unwary and unsuspecting. A fiendish grin split the scarred face of the General. This would be an easy morning’s work. As they drew neared to the city, a small door opened in the massive gates, admitting a single figure dressed in the same shades of gray as the city wall. It was small and slender, rubbing its eyes and yawning like a child newly woken. Tobias laughed and signaled his men to slow. They formed a semi-circle around the gates, an ugly wall bristling with steel and malice. The general raised the visor of his helmet to get a better look at his adversary.

It was a child; a young boy (or girl with boyishly short hair) with the clear, wide face of the common born.

“What is this? A bribe to save your city? It will take more than this morsel to sate my men. They thirst for blood and conquest.” The child scratched his side lazily.

“I am prepared to accept you surrender.” Laughter thundered around them as the words drifted through the Horde, passed from mouth to ear. Tobias nudged his war beast closer, looking for the fear in his quarry’s eyes. There was none; no fear or excitement, only a curiously flat boredom. Tobias leapt from his mount’s back, drawing his sword; the dread blade War-lust, who had drunk the blood of a thousand enemies. He pressed the wickedly sharp tip to the boy’s chest, just above his heart, knowing the fear would appear. It did not; in truth, the child looked half-asleep. He applied the slightest of pressures, the razor-sharp metal parting the threads of the boy’s tunic as if they had no more substance than the fog. The boy’s face remained impassive as a drop of bright red seeped into the thin gray cloth and the General felt something stir uneasily within him. It was something he had not felt since he was a boy himself, the first faint threads of fear.

“Insolent child, I will peel the skin from your bones and fly it from the walls of your own city! Have you any last words, worm?” There were no words, only a slow smile that froze the bones in Tobias’ body. This was not the smile of a child, but of something best left buried and forgotten. General Tobais, Warmaster of The Horde of Devils and victor of ten thousand battles, saw his own death in that smile.

Waves of pain washed over the general. His world shifted, colors grew dim and everything became gigantic. He screamed, the sound growing suddenly high and shrill. Dimly he was aware of the horrible screams coming from around him, his terrible Horde was gone. An enormous hand closed around his newly furred body and Tobias felt his bladder release. The child’s face, huge and indistinct, filled his vision as a voice roared in his ears.

“I suggest you run.”

 The mouse leapt from his hand into the dirt, scrambling amid the dry grass as the transformed Horde meowed and gave chase.

 Fog rolled in like a blanket, covering the discarded weaponry the Horde had left behind, leaving the plains as featureless as they had been before. The boy bent and picked something up; it was the battle standard of The Horde of Devils, blood-red silk embroidered in black with the leering face of a demon. It had flowed over countless battlefields and over numberless conqured cities. He used it to wipe the mouse urine from his hand.

With a smile, the boy opened the door in the gate and returned to his city.


For over a week I have endured the horror that has been the Forbidden Fruit series. Having finally come to the end of that long, bleak tunnel filled with inappropriate penile metaphors, I would like to offer some advice to fanfic writers.

Red Lines of Death – Turn on your spell checker and actually use it.  All those red wavy lines are there for a reason – you suck at spelling. There is no shame in this; if there were not so many crappy spellers then spell-checkers would not exist. You cannot rely on your awesome natural ability to magically produce the right words. This is a time when the emotionless machine does, in fact, know more than you.

 Pop an ALL CAPS in Your Ass – There are certain things that should be capitalized, such as proper nouns and the beginning of sentences.  Capitalizing every single damned thing your character says is a very bad thing – in most circles, using ALL CAPS conveys shouting or strong emotion. It should be used sparingly or not at all. Having your characters constantly yelling at each other is just silly and annoys your audience.

Chameleon McChangiepants – So you have this list of character names a mile long and each one is a precious gem; fine. Pick ONE and use that ONE for the character. Add it to your browser’s spell checker so that you will not misspell it. Do not change the spelling whenever you feel like it.

The Wonderful World of … That Place  – Writing something like “We was out in the woods.” or “It was a typical school.” does absolutely nothing to convey to your audience what you are trying to describe. You don’t have to go overboard and describe every brick and window frame, (You are trying to paint a picture with your words, not club a baby seal to death with them) but some rough outlines are appreciated by your intended audience.

To The Library! – In these modern times, it is possible to find almost anything on the Internet, if you look hard enough.  You have no excuse to half-ass things – Do the damned research. Watching a special on the History Channel will not cut it. You will have a better story in the end.

This is Some Good Shit – Drug or alcohol use does not automatically equal “evil” – most drug addicts care more about getting their next fix then about doing “evil”. “Doing drugs” can also cover any number of substances, from prescription medications to street drugs to common household items like paint thinner, and not all of these substances will make a person behave in the same way. Again, do the research. If a character needs to behave a certain way while under the influence, find a drug that has those symptoms or make one up, don’t just use the catch-all phrase “[character] did some drugs.”

“Informal” is Not Writerese for “Half-Assed” –You cannot write something that looks like it should be scrawled on a truck stop’s bathroom wall and excuse it by saying that it is “informal”. Most creative writing can be considered informal; that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make the effort to clean it up and make it presentable.

The Eternal “I” – If you are writing a first-person story, every sentence shouldn’t begin with “I”.  First-person narrative often mimics spoken language; if every sentence you speak starts with I, then you may want to do some serious self-examination.

LEGO Anatomy – If you are writing a sex scene, it is a good idea to be familiar with human anatomy beyond the vague notion that “Tab A goes into Slot B”. I’m not saying you should go out and shag the first person you see or spend hours watching porn; but as someone with access to the Internet, you can familiarize yourself with the basic equipment involved. (Reading a Danielle Steele novel does not count as research.) Try Wikipedia; they’re are plenty of pictures of genitalia on Wikipedia. If you do not feel comfortable doing this, don’t write graphic sex scenes. The same goes for any mature subject matter (rape, abuse, drug addiction, etc…); if you don’t feel comfortable reading about it when you research it, you probably shouldn’t be writing about it.

Death to Mary Sue – If you don’t know what a Mary Sue is, you should. There are a number of “litmus tests” on the Internet that can help you determine if your character is, in fact, a Mary Sue. Google “Mary Sue litmus test”, you’ll find thousands of them. A quick way to spot one; if the character does everything better than everyone, even canon characters who are experts in that particular field, you have a Mary Sue.

Euphawillies – It is called a penis. It is not a flesh sword, a man-carrot, a love wand, a gigglestick, or a man-fruit thing. Unless you are writing a comedy, such terms are better off not being used.

Beta to the Max! – Over at Fanfiction.net, they have an excellent beta reader program. Betas act as peer reviewers, reading through to check spelling and grammar, as well as offering notes about specific points and problems. Betas are a valuable resource for the fledgling writer;  a good beta will not fix all your problems for you, but they will suggest ways you can fix them yourself.


Forbidden Fruit Pt 8


Chapter 8 – the Kidnap

WOO-HOO! It’s the last chapter!

:does happy dance:

But I still have to read it.

Ugh.

I am going to try my damnedest to make some sort of sense out of this steaming pile but, like building a full-size replica of the Titanic out of Doritos and dryer lint, it might prove to be very difficult.

Here we go!

Alabama is still in the locker room, partially nude and crying, looking very exotic and gorgeous (even thought she doesn’t care about that sort of thing at all) with her hair falling over her face in “a curtan of soft yellow cream with bits of purple” as she cries “a tepid summer rain of misery and woe” because Ewdard has left her alone. She is also very mad at him, since he went after Bella (to prevent her from killing herself) after he had called her a mean cow and vowing to never leave Tachymeter’s side. Deciding to skip the rest of school and go home, she then sits on her bed (wearing a black corset and leather panties) and smokes “some drugs” while she cries some more.

I hope this girl remembers to drink plenty of liquids, anyone who cries as much as she does must have some serious dehydration issues.

Clueless Foster Father Dave enters her room and “makes a big smiley face”, possibly out of macaroni and glitter glue. (This would be the same “very sad” man whose brother was found a few hours before in the forest with his head torn off like he was a chocolate Easter bunny.) He happily asks her how school was without noticing that she is smoking dope.

he didnt notice i was smokin drugs he thougt my cigarete of pot was a chapstick

Okay, just how stupid is this man? Not noticing that his brother is constantly raping and beating up his foster daughter is somewhat believable, you sadly hear about that sort of thing in the news, but she is sitting right in front of him with a LIT JOINT in her hand, making no effort to hide it or get rid of the smoke it is producing. Dressed as a dominatrix. Even the most clueless man knows that you don’t smoke lip gloss, and a sixteen-year-old smoking anything anywhere should raise a few alarm bells in even the most clueless of parents.

She screams at him that her life sucks and she wants to die (while her eyes “glitered with beauty”), but Foster Father of the Year just laughs it off as “u teenagers and ur problems, LOL!” This enrages Tickertape (just like everything else  in the world) and she tells Dave that he’s a nice guy but also a dumb asshole. She tops this off by tossing her ashtray at his head.

Without touching it.

Because she can now move things with her mind (what mind?) when she’s angry. (All the damn time)

His response to an ashtray (no doubt filled with “Chapstick” ashes) being telekinetically flung at his head is to agree with her;

“haha, i guess your right” he laughed (he thougt i was joking, i wasnt spoiled or anythin)

(Your definition of “spoiled” differs vastly from mine, little girl.) and tell Tarzan that he is glad she is in his home. Oh, and by the way –  she looks even prettier that ever! And her breasts totally look like they are getting even bigger!

Her reply, after jumping down the throat of anyone who has dared to give her the slightest complement?

“yeh i no they are like an E cup now”

This is not a healthy family dynamic.

He pats her on the head (Seriously?) and leaves. Fed up with being treated like a child, she gets off the bed and puts on a long black dress (over the corset and leather panties) and takes “some pills (of drugs)” (rather than, say, the pills from a sweater – which she doesn’t own) before heading to a local goth nightclub called “Pablo NIghtmare” where all the cool people in Forks hang out. (“bella probably had never even heard of it, LOL!”)

On the way to the club she meets Snoofles, the talking panda that only she can understand, and he comes to the club with her. (Because all nightclubs are panda-accessible now.) They get some drinks and start dancing to the heavy metal music (pandas are excellent dancers) while people stare at them. They stare at them partly because she is “so diffrerent looking” and partly because Snoofles is a dancing panda. (I’m also picturing him drinking a bamboo martini.) Typhoon doesn’t care how many people are staring, because she is “SO drunk” and because she has taken so many drugs that her head “was fuzzy like there was snow everywhere.”( I don’t see how that would be any different from any other time, but let us soldier on.)

For a delightful change, Ewdard doesn’t appear out of nowhere, but another Cullen does show up. (I assume suddenly and from behind.)

“hi your called Tiana arent you? I am Jasper and I go to your school” said Jasper Cullen who was tall with blond curly hair like straw only soft and nice and not dry. he was tall. he was wearin a black pulover and red metal pointy shoes. (AN – haha, that descripton sounded beter in my head, OH WELL!)

(AN is shorthand for Author’s Note; it is considered very bad form to stick one in the middle of a story, but that’s the least of the travesties this author is guilty of.)

Tennessee gives an offhand “hey whatever” and asks Jasper where his girlfriend Alice is. (Because even though she has never met this person before, she knows everything about him and who he is dating.) He looks “soddenly very sad and started to cry and bite down hard on his lips.” Strangely concerned about someone who isn’t her (it must be the drugs) she asks Jasper what is wrong. He tells her that he doesn’t love Alice like she loves him, because he is gay and “thats wrong, and i feel so horible about it!” She tells him that being gay is “proper normal” and that “Snoofles is gay and everything”. (Snoofles waves at him when she tells Jasper this and Jasper waves back at the panda) This revelation (from a total stranger he meets at a nightclub) makes Jasper secure enough with his homosexuality that he picks up a guy named Vince. Jasper also shares his drugs with everybody. (Vampires are the dope fiends of the paranormal world, despite consuming absolutely nothing but blood.)

The four drunks pile into Snoofles’ car (Yes, the panda has his own car) with Arabesque driving while the three male characters are in the backseat having sex. She is drunk but it’s okay for her to drive because her reflexes are better than a human’s. (That’s what every drunk driver thinks.)

Suddenly (Ugh.) someone jumps in front of the car and she has to stop. It is a;

“man standin in the middle of the road he was tall and mussely and had black hair like the black feathers of a raven in the black darkness.”

(I think the author is trying to say that his hair is black.)

Even though he’s good looking, he looks angry so she decides to get out her samurai sword (all sixteen year old girls carry samurai swords with them at all times. Kinda like having very pointy pepper spray.) but someone comes up (You guess it – suddenly and from behind her) and takes it away from her;

there were like ten people all grabbing my body in the darkness and they put a thing over my face so i coudnt see and they tied me up! Jasper Snoofles and Vince were too busy doing gay sex on each other to notice, i cud hear them grunting and humping and having orgasms on each other – it was so cute but now was SO not the time! The men who had caught me took me away and somethin hit me over the head and i was unconshous.

I would like to be rendered unconscious right now so I do not have to picture that.

Absentia “awokens” in a small dark room, stripped down to her underwear (the black corset and leather panties from earlier) and chained to a chair with Mr. Tall Mussel Man in front of her.  She calls him a “WANKY PERV” and wants to know who he is. (She actually “shoyted” it at him.) He responds in a perfectly normal manner – by yelling “I AM JACOB … THE WEREWOLF KING!”  while his eyes roll around his face. (He should see a doctor about that.)

Now, there has been absolutely no mention of Jacob or werewolves in general until this point. Terracotta has so far accepted the existence of vampires, her erratic visions of Daddy Glowworm, a gay talking panda, and the Bag ‘O Miscellaneous Half-Assed Powers she has so far displayed with complete indifference and her patented blend of bitchy whining and complaining sprinkled with self-compliments. The simple shouted introduction of Jacob The Werewolf King makes her give an epic “NOOOO!” and try to “broke” herself free of her chains. Sadly she cannot; even though she possesses the ability to accidentally melt a girl and smite her with lightning, some simple chains defeat her. Instead she stares into his “wagging face”and asks him what he wants. (She also responds with the standard hysterical weeping.) His response deserves to be reproduced in its full glory.

“YOU MUST BE PUNISHED FOR WHAT YOU DID TO BELLA SWAN!” he shreeked and the drool was sloapping down his face just like rain only thick and foam-like. “YOU ARE A HALF-BREAD! YOU SHOUD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORNE! YOUR FATHER WAS A VAMPIRE AND YOUR MOM WAS A WHITCH! ITS WEIRD AND WRONG AND NOW YOUVE BROKEN BELLAS HEART! HALF-BREAD! HALF-BREAD! HALF-BREAD!”

Take a moment to shout “HALF-BREAD!” out loud. It’s fun!

So His Majesty has a problem with Twinkie; she’s the product of a union between a vampire and a “whitch”, who incidentally also broke Bella’s heart. (Because Angleiron was the Man-Carrot who was dating Bella and dumped her for the new girl with even bigger emotional problems. Oh, wait … No, she wasn’t. She was the one half-heartedly protesting the advances of the Lavender Man-Fruit who was dating Bella, while taking turns tearing her clothing off and begging him for sex.) It is uncertain how the bakery-themed insults figure into Anaconda’s parentage.

With all this screaming (complete with thick and foamy saliva) something manages to capture the frail butterfly that is Arable’s attention. (Actually it “caugt” her “atention”)

“What do u mean my mom was a whitch?” I said.

“MY FATHER USED TO NO HER! SHE LIVED HERE IN LA PUSH AND SHE WAS A WHITCH! SHE COUD MAKE FIRE COME FROM NOWERE AND CONTROLL THE WETHER AND TALK TO ANIMALS AND LOADS OF OTHER STUFF! SHE WAS A FREAK LIKE U!”

His Majesty only has one volume, AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE. He also seems to know an awful lot about this random girl he kidnapped off the street. How would he even know that the girl who “broke Bella’s heart” , someone that he has never seen before, would be driving that particular car down that particular street? (a car that doesn’t belong to her, but to a homosexual panda who is still fornicating in the back seat somewhere with a gay vampire and some guy named Vince.)

Suddenly (:sigh:) everything makes sense to Tropicana, but she is so shocked by whatever realization she has that she faints.

When she comes to, His Majesty is naked and seems intent on introducing Aggravation to his little prince.

When i woke up Jacob was in front of me and he was NAKED! He was smilling in a proper creepy way and looked totaly weird like a greasy frog thing and his male genital item was not nice like edwards it was like a horible wet mushroom. he stroked my knee with it and i gapsed. whatt was he going to do to me! but sudenly before he coud come any closer the door of the room we were in burst open!

(Who could that possibly be, I wonder to myself without caring in the slightest.)

IT WAS EWDARD!

That’s how it ends, with those three words. Terrycloth is still chained to a chair (in her corset and leather panties; the author has obviously never spent a lot of time in leather clothing. If I wear my leather work gloves for more than an hour I get a terrible case of swamp-hand. I can’t imagine what a night of binge-drinking and goth-dancing has done to this girl’s netherbits.) with a naked Werewolf King rubbing his chew toy on her leg while Ewdard stands in the doorway. The story hasn’t been updated since February of ’09, so it is unlikely that any of this travesty will ever be resolved in any meaningful manner. I would like to think that a pack of feral Twitards located the author and destroyed every computer she would ever be able to access, for the sole purpose of preventing her from finishing this story.

There are several ways you could end this brain-melter;

  • A nuclear bomb could accidentally fall on the town, saving it from an eternity of Twilight knock-offs.
  • Areonautica develops the ability to change the metal chains into fishnets so she at least has something else to wear besides leather panties.
  • The mystery car containing the talking panda and his two boy-toys with amazing stamina rolls down the hill that suddenly springs up and crushes the one room shack and Jacob, Terrapin, and Ewdard into a fine paste, thus solving forever the Team Jacob – Team Edward dilemma.
  • A school of air-breathing piranhas appear, suddenly and from behind, and consume everyone in town.
  • Aliens arrive and vaporize every single one of these horrible people, sparing the rest of humanity from having to deal with their petty and confusing bullshit.
  • Tourmaline becomes a crime scene technician who uses her awesome vampire powers to solve crimes, with the help of a wise-cracking ferret who deals meth on the side.
  • Ewdard decides that he doesn’t love Bella or Arabia and decides to run away with Jacob and open a tanning salon. (After a quick orgy in the back seat of a car with a talking caribou named Princess Igor.)
  • Teratogenic opens the world’s strangest grocery store; stocking it solely with lavender man-fruits, man-carrots, “horible” wet mushrooms, and greasy frog things. She does excellent business among the single women (and certain men) of Forks.

If you have any ideas on how this Cleveland Steamer should end, I would love to read them.

I have finally reached the end of this excretable …thing. I have learned many things, sad and strange things, and it will take a while for me to drink the memory of them away. I’d better go get started.