Persistent Ghosts of Memory

If you're attending the DC march or any "sister march" anywhere in the world tomorrow -

Fri, 20 Jan 2017 14:10:14 GMT

Please stay safe!

Everyone be good to one another and I don't mean in a "pretend to be nice to each other's face while you're screaming inside" kind of way. (IF someone is screaming in your face, however, do what you need to do to take care of yourself.)

I plan on attending the Sister march in Rhode Island as I can't go to D.C. (my fault for waiting too long to make up my mind. But Providence is cool.)

I haven't been able to write partly because of my part time seasonal job and partly because - I haven't known where to begin (rage, grief, etc.) And not just because of Carrie Fisher, Debbie Reynolds and George Michael. (At some point I'll talk about that stuff too.)

With all the news about Russia lately and it's ownership of LJ and it's ties to the incoming adminstration that I've blithely ignored until recently,* I've copied my LJ posts over to my Dreamwidth account. But I haven't mastered formatting over there (mostly, how to do cut tags properly. So I've got these long threads over there and it's still a mess.)

Crossposted to LiveJournal: http://red-satin-doll.livejournal.com/108419.html

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Entry for the Big Damn Love Fest: BtVS 2 x 11 "Ted"

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 14:21:03 GMT

In case you haven't seen it, my contributio the Big Damn Love Fest, a meta on "Ted" (2.11) is up You can find it here on DW (I've also posted it here on my LJ if you prefer; although I encourage folks to vist the BDLF to see the other great entries.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go give the Summers women some hugs.

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"The Hours" fanfic (with implied slashy goodness)

Fri, 01 Mar 2013 01:28:34 GMT

Title: The Tides

Fandom: The Hours (2003 movie)

Pairing: Laura Brown/Virginia Woolf

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None

An AU take on what Laura Brown experiences when she goes to the hotel in the movie. Because I'd only seen the movie the once, I'd completely forgotten that she went to a posh hotel instead of the dingy motel I described. Again - AU. Humor me

I wrote this story in 2003 but never posted it anywhere; it was inspired by the movie version of "The Hours"; I hadn't yet read Michael Cunningham's novel. When I wrote this I was just emerging from a writer's block of ten years; or more precisely, from a refusal to allow myself to write. The friend to whom I had dedicated this story has been long gone from my life and I'd forgotten it still existed on my harddrive; but Virginia Woolf came up in a conversation kikimay were having recently, and she expressed interest in reading this. Parts of it make me cringe but overall, I can live with it. (What's really freaks me out is how much of this reminds of Buffy, circa S6. *hugs Buffy and Laura*)

( What was the proper ensemble to wear when abandoning one's family? )

She’d been in this place before. Contemplating the end, feeling herself drowning...

Yes, she’d come to this motel before, if not this exact room. But it didn’t matter. This one looked exactly like the last one, she was certain. She imagined every room here must look the same, lined up within grey concrete-block walls in a neat row; all alike, just as the houses on Sunnyvale Road were - all alike.

There were the same curtains and bedspread, a once-cheerful shade of yellow faded by too much sunlight and too many washings. The same heavy, ugly furniture, every piece of it bolted down, even the lamps. Who’d want to take it? The same black plastic ashtrays, the same nicotine stains on the ceiling. She wondered if similar stains of another substance also graced the mattress.

And she knew, without looking, that the same palm-sized, green-covered copies of the New Testament rested in the nightstand drawers, offering salvation to no one.

The only thing that marked this room as distinct from any other, in fact, was her own presence there; her brown monogrammed suitcase on the thin carpet next to the door, patiently waiting to be unpacked. Her shoes, summer espadrilles, lying on their sides by the bed where she had removed them. Her own body laid out neatly on the bed, arms stiff at her sides, legs closed, as if afraid to claim any more space for herself there than necessary.

She caressed her well-worn copy of Mrs. Dalloway, the only object that held any meaning for her, laying it on her belly and feeling her breath rise and fall more distinctly because of the book’s slight weight. Tenatively, she spread her arms over the width of the bed. Would she feel that rush come over her again, feel the wave rise up to consume her, as she had before? She had resisted it, then; would she let it complete it’s work, now?

Was she contemplating the ending, or the beginning?

“They are one and the same, my dear girl. You don’t know that yet but soon, soon you will.”

Laura thought she should have been surprised by presence of the other woman, but wasn’t; and found that, in itself, oddly comforting. The gentle voice was a further comfort, low and rich and tinged with cigarette smoke; every sound and syllable pronounced as distinctly as a jeweler cuts a diamond. Still, she did not—could not—turn her head to face her unexpected companion. It was enough right now just to breathe. Feel the weight of the book on her belly, rising, falling, rising again…a miracle. Just breathe.

She thought, perhaps, if she remained silent, the other woman might also. That they could remain in deep silence until darkness settled itself in the room. Or until that tide came, yes, and when would it come?

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know. “ Would the water be cold, like it was the last time she’d nearly drown in it? When you drown, Laura mused abstractly, is it the water in your lungs or the cold that kills?

“Of course you know.” The woman’s voice was grave, but there was a hint of sly mockery to be found there, as if she were indulging a petulant child. “Why else would you be here? Why else would you leave your family? Leave that strong, dependable husband, those beautiful babies, leave them behind for – what? For what, Laura?”

Laura turned her head to her right, where the woman sat on the edge of the mattress. A long face, “patrician” Laura supposed it was called. Lively almond-shaped eyes splashed that darted about the room and defied sleepy-seeming lids. Mousy hair, neither brown nor blond, pinned into an uncertain bun at the nape of her neck. Shapeless, unfashionable tan cotton housedress of the sort Laura remembered her mother wearing, with orange ribbon trimming a square neckline; a fraying brown cardigan, though the weather seemed too warm to require it. A teardrop-shaped pendant of angel coral on a long sterling chain was the one concession to any conception of feminine adornment.

Laura suddenly became too-aware of the tightness of her own green organdie dress, the scratchiness of her petticoat, the discomfort of her girdle. She felt distinctly overdressed; but, what was the proper ensemble in which to abandon one’s family?

“Not the sort of the advice to be found in latest issue of The Ladies Companion, I take it?” The tone of mockery was front and center now. The woman sucked the end of a hand-rolled cigarette, and blew a long stream of grey smoke through a tiny opening in unpainted lips.

“How did you know –“

The woman shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. “I know you, very well. I know you, Laura Brown.”

“How?”

“How could it be otherwise?” Long, slender fingers reached out and stroked the worn cloth cover of Mrs. Dalloway, still resting on Laura’s stomach. Stroked it back and forth, lightly, and Laura felt the touch in every inch of her own skin. She trembled. “I know you because you know me; you’ve held me in your heart for a long time. Held me closer, perhaps than your own husband or children. Closer than you’ve held yourself. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Laura shook her head; her lips mouthed silent syllables for a long time before words finally came forth. “I-I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“And what are you feeling, exactly?”

“Like I’m on the edge of something...“

“Too vague, dear. Try to be more precise.” The woman would not let Laura go easily, oh no.

“Like I’m on the edge of some…chasm…“

“Better.” Another stream of grey smoke shot out and then dissipated over Laura’s still-prone body.

“…a yawning chasm…“

“ ‘Yawning chasm’? That’s much more poetic, yes. ‘Yawning chasm.’ The right words make all the difference, don’t they?” The woman exchanged her cigarette from left hand to right as she settled herself on the mattress next to Laura, supporting herself on her left elbow. “But, we’re going off the page again, aren’t we? Please, do continue.”

Laura looked at her companion. This strange, demanding woman lying next to her felt warm, radiant, and yet a thousand miles away all at once. As though she were keeping herself in check, while asking Laura to reveal everything. Was this woman safe, should she send her away? “I don’t know...“ Laura hedged a little.

“ ‘Yawning chasm’, remember?”

No point not to go on. Nothing else to do. “It feels like I’m frozen there, on that edge – stuck – I can’t back away, but I can’t jump in either.”

There followed the first sustained moment of silence since the other woman had arrived there. “You do know that you still haven’t answered my question, dear girl. She brought her lips very close to Laura’s ear, curled and pink like a conch shell. “What do you want, Laura Brown? What do you want?”

“I – I – “ Tears rolled down her cheeks; it occurred to Laura that her eyes were becoming puffy, that her make-up would be streaked, that she must look rather ridiculous. Couldn’t they just be quiet for a while, couldn’t they just lie there and wait for the cold?

“I shan’t leave you until you do say it.” She sat up again, took Laura’s hand in her own, and kissed it tenderly. Laura was surprised by the depth of affection she felt in this woman – and for this woman. “You know what you want, Laura; you need only name it. That’s why the words are so important. But it takes great courage, naming our destinies, giving voice to our desires.”

“I…it...it’s too frightening.” Laura felt the tide begin to rush upon her in an ice-cold stab. Here it was, finally – she welcomed it, she struggled against it – couldn’t the other woman feel it too? She became aware of the soft hand still wrapped around her own, that gave a little velvet squeeze, and she focused on that. Focused on two hands, together. “How do I keep from drowning?”

“You don’t.” Any hint of mockery was gone from that low voice. Laura’s companion looked down at her with an expression that was almost maternal. Really loving, the way Laura herself had tried to look for her children. Were they ever really fooled? “We all must die at one time or another. We spend our entire lives rushing towards death, from the very instant we are born. So then, we might as well live in whatever time we’re given, yes?” A gentle, wizened smile curled the woman’s lips; she seemed very ancient, indeed. “Live fully, Laura. It will be so much better than this shadowy half-life that you’ve condemned yourself to. I promise you.”

“Virginia –“ She didn’t know how she suddenly knew her companion’s name, whispered it as if she’d always known it. She didn’t know how. She didn’t care.

Virginia laid herself down fully on the mattress next to Laura – the springs made no sound when she moved. She brushed the book off Laura’s belly and let it fall between them; her long fingers reached for the fastenings of Laura’s dress. “Believe me.” She paused, head cocked a little, and Laura understood she was waiting for permission to procede.

“I want to live. Truly.” She breathed out the words, then gulped them back in again like the drowing take in water. What was this feeling washing over her? Laura didn’t know what to name it. She only knew that tears continue to stream down her cheeks. And, that sure hands were parting the front of her dress, loosening her girdle.

“Silly contraptions” a voice laughed lightly – and Laura could breathe. She could breathe.

She impulsively turned on her side and intertwined her fingers into Virginia’s hair, already somewhat messy, and ran her hands down to unlock the bun found at the nape of the neck.

Virginia smiled, but Laura thought she saw – what, exactly, did she see in those hooded, darting eyes? So hard to tell – a thousand shades of meaning seemed to reside in them, shades Laura had no name for. She wanted to know every one of those shades. She wanted to abide in those eyes for a long, long time.

“I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Virginia’s low, velvet laughter wrapped itself around Laura’s shoulders. “What else is there to want?”

Laura remained there for – for how many hours, she did not count, although she knew from the light that fell on the walls through drawn shades that the sun set, and the sun rose again. She abided there, lovingly traced her fingers down the spine of Mrs. Dalloway. She believed her. And she embraced life.

Originally posted on LiveJournal http://red-satin-doll.livejournal.com/11729.html

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Love for the Big Damn Love Fest

Mon, 25 Feb 2013 22:19:42 GMT

A handful of March sign-up dates for the Big Damn Love Fest are still available; April is currently "free for all" and wide open.

Big Damn Fest is a month-long multimedia celebration of all things Jossverse. All characters and pairings, gen, het and slash, are welcome. When you sign up, you claim a day when you want to post, and then an episode that you want to post about on that day. Your contribution can be can be fic, graphics, icons, vids, essays, or pretty much anything as long as it has been created specifically for this fest (so no rec-lists, or reposting old fanworks) and related to the claimed episode. As a result, we will (hopefully) have 31 days of Jossverse goodness.

http://big-damn-fest.dreamwidth.org/

( Read more... )

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Potential fic prompt (don't call it a "plot bunny" or Anya will freak, 'kay?)

Wed, 06 Feb 2013 17:52:38 GMT

Has anyone ever written a Buffyverse fic in which Giles, not Willow, becomes the Big Bad? The idea occurred to me not long after reading 2maggie2 's episode notes for WTTH.

In the Bronze, Buffy sees Giles up on the balcony, and he calls her attention to the others out there dancing -- she’s separate from them, with a duty to protect them. (The scene gets called back in season six in Dead Things when Spike adds another layer to Buffy’s fundamental separation from others – but it starts here in the very first episode).

( It's not a plot bunny it's a plot puppy - with very sharp teeth )

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Meta, much? Belated gratitude and more awardage stuff

Tue, 29 Jan 2013 20:55:24 GMT

A couple of weeks ago when I mentioned that my meta (*self-pimpage alert!*) "Dopplegangers" has been nominated for Best Meta in the No Rest for the Wicked Awards, I didn't properly say "thank you". I had a nice long paragraph of appreciation all typed out on LJ - and that was the week LJ decided to give me shit, and wouldn't let me post more than a couple of sentences. *shakes fist at LJ*

So, thank you very much to the mystery person - and I honestly have no idea who it might have been, but it's appreciated all the same. I don't think what I've written is even in the same league with some of the other meta that have been nominated, but it's a huge compliment just to be in the same category with the other writers there. And it's especially gratifying because meta, not fanfic, is what got me into this part of fandom on LJ and what really pulled me into Buffyverse fandom for the first time last year; it was the thoughtful essays and discussions that demonstrated to me that what I'd heard - that there was a TV show with academic journals and conferences devoted to it - was no joke.

NRFTW is perhaps the first fan awards I've run into that specifically include a category for meta writing. There are also categories for vids, manips, banners and icons, as well as fics in a variety of fandoms. The nomination period ends the 31st, so stop over there and spread the love for your favorite fan works. (It's probably worth mentioning that the nomination periods for the Absence of Light and the Willowy Goodness Awards will also be ending soon. I think all of them still have slots that can be filled in various categories.)

I know fan fiction dominates fandom creativity, in this as in other fandoms, but I think it's a shame not to give meta essays some love and recognition as well, particularly given the fact that Buffyverse fandom is the most academic fandom and intellectual fandom of any tv show. And while I read TONS of fanfic now, meta is still where my heart is, particularly when the writer combines heart and head, intellectual and emotional responses. There's Slayage of course, but those papers are addressed to a very specific audience, one that I never became a part of and whose language I cannot access.

I am speaking from a place of my own inadequacy, of course (health monetary problems forced me to drop out of a masters degree program many years ago, and I never achieved the level of education I imagined I would), but there's a need in me to talk and write about the show, to peel back it's many layers, to hear different viewpoints, without feeling like someone is talking over my head. Which is ironic, given that the refrain I heard time and again from classmates and even my mom growing up was, "Why do you have to use such long words? Can't you speak English?"

Karma is indeed a bitch, my friends.

So I never got to reside for very long in that vaunted ivory tower, which isn't so very exalted in reality - I have more friends than I can count who are doing better than I am, perhaps, but still just getting by cobbling together a variety of adjunct teaching positions. But watching BtVS awoke something in me that needed more intellectual stimulation, and meta on LJ, DW and various blogs fulfill that quite nicely.

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Happy birthday local_max! And, rahirah has very smart things to say about fandom, per usual

Fri, 28 Dec 2012 20:14:35 GMT

(And first off, apologies that my formatting here is all over the map. And I thought LJ was a bitch. Now on the the happy...)

1) A very happy birthday to local_max (William) today! I'm very much hoping (when life settles down and the stars align properly) that in the new year we'll be seeing more fics and metas from him, as well as the continuation of the episode reviews on 2maggie2's LJ, to which he adds fresh and provocative insights. His contribution begins with ep 1.05, "Never Kill A Boy on the First Date". He only has two short buffyverse fics at the moment, both told from Willow's POV: "Closure" is mournful and quietly devastating ("angst" doesn't seem the right word for what he does here), while "Hanakuh Present" is twisty and wicked "oh no you didn't!" fun.

(I don't want to cause you embarrassment, m'dear, but you deserve every word single word of praise.)

2) As a newbie fan to BtVS, I came to the show this year totally unaware of 'ships, 'shipper wars, Spike wars, factions and fractures, etc (and, holy sweet potatoes, the sheer volume of porn!) And am basically rather glad that I missed most of it, to be honest, even if I also missed the boat on the two most fertile periods of fan interaction and creativity so far: during the show's run; and the renewal of interest and activity after the 10th anniversary of WTTH's original airing, or about 2007-2010.

That said, rahirah's metas and commentary on Buffy fandom have been remarkably helpful to give me a brief, incisive run-down on this fandom's history, politics, and personalities. (And that's just the start of her extraordinary contributions to this fandom from "back in the day", including and especially the her epic Barbverse. ) I'm not sure how I missed her comments posted on 12/18 until yesterday, but I think they need to be read by everyone in the fandom, and probably everyone in any fandom. And then taped up to the side of my computer as a reminder to pause, hit delete, and step away from the keyboard when my "feelings" on any subject or especially a character 'verse start to get out of hand, and "Principals" begin to overwhelm my consideration of the people on the receiving end of my rants:

"It's a trifle ironic that a character whose best and noblest trait is her ability to forgive and love her friends, as flawed and fallible as those friends sometimes are, has a fandom that regularly eats its own." [excerpt, "In Which I Ramble On", 12/18/12]

Very much so.

The sentence above does two things for me personally: First, strikes to the heart of something I have observed in this fandom, that the amount of hatred and lack of forgiveness and understanding for all the characters in the Buffyverse is diametrically opposed to the spirit of the show; we often withhold from these characters the very things they most need, the compassion and tenderness that they long for and lack. There is more than a shade of difference between holding someone accountable for their own actions and holding it against them forever - an important theme throughout the show, played out in astonishing ways particularly in S7. Is this a reflection of our own lack of compassion for others in real life - or a loud and lusty cry for compassion from others, albeit one that is most like to keep that very thing out of reach?

Second, and I hope Barb will forgive me for this, her summation warms my Buffy-loving heart like a cup of hot cocoa (with extra marshmallows) because yes, as much as I can love or empathize with a fictional character I do love and admire Buffy Anne Summers, in all of her fierce and bitchy, self-absorbed and self-sacrificing glory. And I'm more interested in sharing who and what I love about the show or am interested in exploring further. Yes, I will and do seek out metas that express their love for her, for other characters of the show, for viewpoints I share and identify with. Comfort loves company as much as misery does. And yes I will continue to seek out meta analysis that challenges me to enlarge and redefine my own viewpoints. If I find meta or fic that rubs me the wrong way because their viewpoint is very far removed from my own, or I get involved in those toxic conversations that Barb describes, "I'm right and you're wrong and here's why!" I'll make a greater effort press the back button and go elsewhere.

Just, please, for the love of Buffy, keep me away from the fandom wars, the 'shipping wars, the whomever-or-whatever wars. If you love Riley, or ship Buffy/Angel, then follow your heart and do so to the "top of your bent". I'll be over here with my arms wrapped around S5-7 as tightly as I can, including Dead Things (especially Dead Things). I'll tell anyone in earshot that S4 is underrated (Cave!Buffy for the win!), rewatch S1-3 and - who knows? Maybe, someday, I'll even learn to like Angel. Stranger things have happened. (Just don't hold me to that last one, ok?)

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Again with the maintenance, people?

Sun, 23 Dec 2012 01:07:44 GMT

And LiveJournal is down for repairs for the SECOND time this week. *sigh* No wonder people are abandoning it.

(And what is this, now? Down twice in one evening?)

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Help on DW with posting images, pretty please?

Wed, 19 Dec 2012 14:32:25 GMT

Can anyone tell me how to post images to my DW posts? Or, add images to DW posts when I begin with LJ? When I posted on LJ about winning at the SunnyD fanfic awards on Monday, the text transferred to DW but the image/award didn't. (There is this icon for "image" on the rich text version and it wants a url. Most of the images I post don't have url's, and I don't see an option for simply downloading from my harddrive.)

I guess the overarching lesson here is - originate posts at DW first? ( "But Mommy, I like LJ. I'm used to it and it's pretty!" I never claimed to be logical.)

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