Fannish year in review
Jan. 2nd, 2011 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eve11I wrote 3 stories this year, which actually is 2 more than I'd thought, and none of them took me more than 2 days to write, so I guess they're a bit rough:
Nonparametrics: a kind of weird experimental-alien-POV Tenth Doctor story from a first-line prompt "They capture him in the middle of the eighteenth quadrant."
Home Field Advantage a Five and Turlough story which was my entry to the Short Trips audiobook contest (it didn't get picked), and probably suffered a bit from taking too long in the first 2000 words and trying to tell too much in the last 500. Next time (if there is a next time), I will try to do better.
Limited in Time and Space which was dashed off after The Pandorica Opens, sort of a speculative and angsty fic of the kind I (abashedly) wish people would write more of because I'm a sucker for it.
I also built a snow Dalek and made a Vampire girl dress, which were both a lot of fun, although not writing.
WIPs: There are several things I started but probably won't have time to finish soon or that don't have much more to them beyond a few snippets:
the Fires of Pompeii post-ep, prompt was 'mirror'
===============
It is two days and four thousand years after Pompeii, but Pompeii is catching up.
Donna wants to go somewhere colorful, somewhere alive, so the Doctor takes her to a textile market on the eighth moon of Sarekat. It's famous across the other seven moons and beyond for the Katrian aura weavers, who have added a whole new dimension to the idea of bespoke.
"They have the best third eyes in the business," the Doctor explains. "They already know what you really want."
The atmosphere on Sarekat is close and tactile under a blanket of orange clouds. Amid the richly patterned tents, surrounded by streamers of gold, azure, purple, rust orange and deep metallic green, an aura weaver tests the air around Donna with its feelers. It clacks its ring segments at her appraisingly, reading her psychic impression before setting to its loom. That afternoon, Donna sips a strong aromatic tea in a cafe tent and drinks in the melee of brilliant colors around her. She wonders which ones she reflected to the aura weaver.
At the end of the day, the fabric it hands her is ash gray, streaked through with tiny strands of black.
"Oh," she says.
As the silky fabric slips through her fingers, pooling softly on the ground, it seems to unravel something inside of Donna as well. Something had curled itself so tightly in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't really noticed it was there. But now it is coming out, and to her surprise, she is simply coming undone.
===============
the one with the phosphorescent planet
===============
A stray gust of wind picked up the rain and hurled it against the unsheltered side of the street. This brought a burst of illumination across walkways, buildings and people--who all ignored it, save one. An unusually tall person paused at the gale, shrugging herself closer into an unusually hooded coat, and hurried faster through the crowd toward the dry dark. Her strangely heeled shoes clacked on the pavement, but she navigated with the surety of someone who had a good deal of practice not stepping on tails, even though she didn't have one.
She reached her destination--a blank facade in the shadow of a towering colloquium house. She peered closely at a single glowing sign--the building's only outward light source--and after some time determined that it said "Giilve Anthoraat: Structural Equations and Time Talents."
With a sigh of relief, she gave a sharp knock at the door before catching herself with a muttered curse. Gingerly, she placed a hand on the white teletap sphere embedded in the vine-metal doorframe, and braced herself.
DROP-INS ARE HONORED TWOBELL TO FIVE boomed its way between her temples, making her teeth vibrate.
LIKE HELL THEY ARE she thought back before she could stop herself. She took mild satisfaction in the psychic wince she felt from the other side. The amplifier she used to make these things work at all was a two-way street. She couldn't help but shout and be shouted at, and rather than listen to yet another flipping rude comment from yet another flipping secretary with no patience for "mindblinds", she just continued shouting.
NUURIK SENT ME I'M HERE ABOUT THE DOCTOR
By the time the door opened to admit her, she had already shrugged out of her glowing coat, turned it in on itself and draped it over an arm, effectively vanishing from any prying eyes.
There was a saying on Pshiir: rain soaks what wants to be seen. By now, Donna Noble knew Kaavashthe was defined as much by its shadows as anything.
===============
the one for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
livii, which I am actively working on
==============
"In this era, even quantum physics has been reduced to determinism, but people--decisions, actions, motivations and reactions--have not. And If you want to predict the future of sentient events with any surety of success, you must include the right kind of random variation." He tapped the door before them. "Which makes what's behind this door one of the most precious commodities the universe has ever known."
Mel looked at the door. It had a dull steel lever for a handle and a bolted metal frame. Could it be a prison of some kind? "Some kind of medium?" she asked. "An industrial strength fortune teller?"
"No, of course not!" the Doctor said with a huff. He composed himself and held up a hand, professorial again. "In fact, exactly the opposite," he said slyly.
"And what's the opposite of something that tells you your future?" Mel asked.
"Something that tells you nothing at all. Pure, unpredictable, white noise."
==============
There is also the one where I shamelessly beat up on Eleven, but even less of that one out of my head than the ones above.
And yes, I have actually also been making good progress in real-world things like dissertations and the like, so that is good :D
Nonparametrics: a kind of weird experimental-alien-POV Tenth Doctor story from a first-line prompt "They capture him in the middle of the eighteenth quadrant."
Home Field Advantage a Five and Turlough story which was my entry to the Short Trips audiobook contest (it didn't get picked), and probably suffered a bit from taking too long in the first 2000 words and trying to tell too much in the last 500. Next time (if there is a next time), I will try to do better.
Limited in Time and Space which was dashed off after The Pandorica Opens, sort of a speculative and angsty fic of the kind I (abashedly) wish people would write more of because I'm a sucker for it.
I also built a snow Dalek and made a Vampire girl dress, which were both a lot of fun, although not writing.
WIPs: There are several things I started but probably won't have time to finish soon or that don't have much more to them beyond a few snippets:
the Fires of Pompeii post-ep, prompt was 'mirror'
===============
It is two days and four thousand years after Pompeii, but Pompeii is catching up.
Donna wants to go somewhere colorful, somewhere alive, so the Doctor takes her to a textile market on the eighth moon of Sarekat. It's famous across the other seven moons and beyond for the Katrian aura weavers, who have added a whole new dimension to the idea of bespoke.
"They have the best third eyes in the business," the Doctor explains. "They already know what you really want."
The atmosphere on Sarekat is close and tactile under a blanket of orange clouds. Amid the richly patterned tents, surrounded by streamers of gold, azure, purple, rust orange and deep metallic green, an aura weaver tests the air around Donna with its feelers. It clacks its ring segments at her appraisingly, reading her psychic impression before setting to its loom. That afternoon, Donna sips a strong aromatic tea in a cafe tent and drinks in the melee of brilliant colors around her. She wonders which ones she reflected to the aura weaver.
At the end of the day, the fabric it hands her is ash gray, streaked through with tiny strands of black.
"Oh," she says.
As the silky fabric slips through her fingers, pooling softly on the ground, it seems to unravel something inside of Donna as well. Something had curled itself so tightly in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't really noticed it was there. But now it is coming out, and to her surprise, she is simply coming undone.
===============
the one with the phosphorescent planet
===============
A stray gust of wind picked up the rain and hurled it against the unsheltered side of the street. This brought a burst of illumination across walkways, buildings and people--who all ignored it, save one. An unusually tall person paused at the gale, shrugging herself closer into an unusually hooded coat, and hurried faster through the crowd toward the dry dark. Her strangely heeled shoes clacked on the pavement, but she navigated with the surety of someone who had a good deal of practice not stepping on tails, even though she didn't have one.
She reached her destination--a blank facade in the shadow of a towering colloquium house. She peered closely at a single glowing sign--the building's only outward light source--and after some time determined that it said "Giilve Anthoraat: Structural Equations and Time Talents."
With a sigh of relief, she gave a sharp knock at the door before catching herself with a muttered curse. Gingerly, she placed a hand on the white teletap sphere embedded in the vine-metal doorframe, and braced herself.
DROP-INS ARE HONORED TWOBELL TO FIVE boomed its way between her temples, making her teeth vibrate.
LIKE HELL THEY ARE she thought back before she could stop herself. She took mild satisfaction in the psychic wince she felt from the other side. The amplifier she used to make these things work at all was a two-way street. She couldn't help but shout and be shouted at, and rather than listen to yet another flipping rude comment from yet another flipping secretary with no patience for "mindblinds", she just continued shouting.
NUURIK SENT ME I'M HERE ABOUT THE DOCTOR
By the time the door opened to admit her, she had already shrugged out of her glowing coat, turned it in on itself and draped it over an arm, effectively vanishing from any prying eyes.
There was a saying on Pshiir: rain soaks what wants to be seen. By now, Donna Noble knew Kaavashthe was defined as much by its shadows as anything.
===============
the one for
livii, which I am actively working on==============
"In this era, even quantum physics has been reduced to determinism, but people--decisions, actions, motivations and reactions--have not. And If you want to predict the future of sentient events with any surety of success, you must include the right kind of random variation." He tapped the door before them. "Which makes what's behind this door one of the most precious commodities the universe has ever known."
Mel looked at the door. It had a dull steel lever for a handle and a bolted metal frame. Could it be a prison of some kind? "Some kind of medium?" she asked. "An industrial strength fortune teller?"
"No, of course not!" the Doctor said with a huff. He composed himself and held up a hand, professorial again. "In fact, exactly the opposite," he said slyly.
"And what's the opposite of something that tells you your future?" Mel asked.
"Something that tells you nothing at all. Pure, unpredictable, white noise."
==============
There is also the one where I shamelessly beat up on Eleven, but even less of that one out of my head than the ones above.
And yes, I have actually also been making good progress in real-world things like dissertations and the like, so that is good :D
