Tuesday and A Meme
Dec. 10th, 2013 11:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nightdog_barksSo it is still just about freezing. The high temp today is supposed to be 36 (2.2 Celsius), so maybe some of this ridiculous ice will start to/keep melting. I will now pause while my Canadian friends LAUGH AND LAUGH AT ME for thinking 2.2 C is "cold." :D
I'm still writing, both on Alaska II and on a Christmas Eve story.
The meme, which I saw on Tumblr:
Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in a comment. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the character’s heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.
If anyone would like to give it a try, go for it and I'll do my best. *g*
I'm still writing, both on Alaska II and on a Christmas Eve story.
The meme, which I saw on Tumblr:
Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in a comment. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the character’s heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.
If anyone would like to give it a try, go for it and I'll do my best. *g*
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Date: 2013-12-10 06:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-10 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-10 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-11 01:27 am (UTC)They'd been arguing for three days.
"Because if we don't use my real name it won't be legal."
"Since when are you concerned about anything legal?" Wilson turned away and ran a hand through his hair. His hand stopped on the back of his neck and rested there. "We could have done this in New Jersey," he said more quietly. "If you'd wanted to do this, we could've done it in New Jersey."
"And they would have arrested me in New Jersey," House said. He took a step forward, leaned closer. "Look around, Wilson," he said. "What do you see?"
Wilson looked. The Iowa countryside stretched away on all sides, gently rolling hills, red-painted barns, black-and-white cows placidly ruminating in the fields. It was the closest thing to a living Norman Rockwell painting Wilson had ever seen.
"They're not looking for me here," House said.
"They're not looking for you anywhere," Wilson replied. "But they will be if you use your real name!"
"You're still not getting it," House said. "This is the middle of nowhere. See?" He fumbled for his cellphone, held it up and flipped it open. NO SIGNAL, the screen informed them curtly. "They probably don't even get ESPN here!"
"House, there are these things called satellite dishes ... "
House rolled his eyes. "Will you calm down? It's been over a month. Hell, it's been almost two months. You know how long the average American's attention span is? I can assure you, it's not much longer than a gnat's." He put his cellphone away. "No one, and I repeat no one is going to connect Greg House-me with the Doctor Greg House who died tragically in that warehouse fire in Jersey."
"Tragic is stretching it a bit."
"See? You're already getting into the spirit of things."
"House ... "
House ignored him and lowered his helmet onto his head. He buckled the strap and kicked his bike into gear.
"Come on, Wilson," he said. "Let's go get hitched."
Also, something I'm curious about - how much of what you write for a fic usually ends up on the cutting room floor?
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Date: 2013-12-11 04:44 am (UTC)Felis, you can ask for as many DVD cuts as you want. As long as people want to read, I'll write 'em.
... how much of what you write for a fic usually ends up on the cutting room floor?
Honestly? Hardly anything. I'll change a word or a phrase, or rewrite a paragraph (or two) if one of my writing partners says I should (and if I agree), but scenes and chapters -- hardly ever. If I'm writing and I hit a rock, I usually just walk away from whatever it is because it's clear the story's not ready to be told. The bad thing about this is the UNTOLD NUMBER OF WIPs I have out there. Sometimes I think about just letting them all fly free. *g*
Okay, so. To Have and To Hold, yay! Here we go ...
They'd been arguing for three days.
"Because if we don't use my real name it won't be legal."
"Everybody Dies" had just aired (on May 21st), and ... I had to fix things. It was so obvious (in my mind) that House and Wilson would be going cross-country on their road trip, and if they were going cross-country, they could stop in Iowa and get married. IT WAS SO OBVIOUS. *g* And of course House would want to use his real name, because he really did want it to be legal. So this was the first of my two fix-it fics (the other was A River Out of Eden).
"Since when are you concerned about anything legal?" Wilson turned away and ran a hand through his hair. His hand stopped on the back of his neck and rested there. "We could have done this in New Jersey," he said more quietly. "If you'd wanted to do this, we could've done it in New Jersey."
I'm really pleased with the repetition there, the basic thought of "we could have done this in New Jersey, if you'd really wanted to." Wilson is wary here, not sure that House is serious, and while he won't say it out loud, there's the unspoken implication that gee, House, you think maybe we could've done this while you were theoretically alive?
"And they would have arrested me in New Jersey," House said. He took a step forward, leaned closer. "Look around, Wilson," he said. "What do you see?"
Wilson looked. The Iowa countryside stretched away on all sides, gently rolling hills, red-painted barns, black-and-white cows placidly ruminating in the fields. It was the closest thing to a living Norman Rockwell painting Wilson had ever seen.
I've been to Iowa. It really does look like an all-American, Norman Rockwell painting. Also it smells. There are a lot of cows in Iowa. And pigs. And poop.
"They're not looking for me here," House said.
"They're not looking for you anywhere," Wilson replied. "But they will be if you use your real name!"
"You're still not getting it," House said. "This is the middle of nowhere. See?" He fumbled for his cellphone, held it up and flipped it open. NO SIGNAL, the screen informed them curtly. "They probably don't even get ESPN here!"
Trust House to gauge civilization by whether or not he can watch ESPN. It was also fun to lend a bit of animation to an inanimate device (the phone doesn't just say "no signal," it does so curtly. :D
"House, there are these things called satellite dishes ... "
House rolled his eyes. "Will you calm down? It's been over a month. Hell, it's been almost two months. You know how long the average American's attention span is? I can assure you, it's not much longer than a gnat's." He put his cellphone away. "No one, and I repeat no one is going to connect Greg House-me with the Doctor Greg House who died tragically in that warehouse fire in Jersey."
I am pretty much convinced House is correct here -- as Andy Warhol said, everybody gets fifteen minutes of fame and then it's on to something else. Realistically speaking? Unless they run into another doctor, nobody is going to recognize House. The warehouse fire would've been in the national news for a couple of days, tops, and only in increments of about eight minutes (if that). Then it would be on to the Kardashians. Or some disaster. Or another politician caught doing something he or she shouldn't be doing.
"Tragic is stretching it a bit."
YAY WILSON. :D
"See? You're already getting into the spirit of things."
"House ... "
House ignored him and lowered his helmet onto his head. He buckled the strap and kicked his bike into gear.
"Come on, Wilson," he said. "Let's go get hitched."
So this is obviously a bit of a callback to the last scene of the actual episode. House is determined to do this and apparently believes that determination is enough. Which if you think about, is actually kind of a leap of faith for him. There are so many things that could go wrong. What if Caroline the court clerk had checked House's Social Security card against the Social Security Death Index (a very real thing)? What if she'd checked his driver's license? What if they get stopped for speeding, or some other infraction? But House wants it to happen, wants it enough to put himself in danger again of going back to prison, and that's enough.
:-)
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Date: 2013-12-11 03:00 pm (UTC)As for To Have and To Hold, it's one of my favourite post-finale fics, and one of the interesting things is Wilson's reluctance vs. House's absolute determination, which is set up in the opening already (and it's a really cool stage-setting opening scene), so I was curious what your thoughts were. Interesting to read about Wilson's wariness; together with what you and Mare said about Damascus over on LJ, also a question of trust again. And for House, in this case, a question of freedom? But then, he already had the rings, which, together with the answer "both" to his motives for that, is one of my favourite things in this fic.
I've been to Iowa. It really does look like an all-American, Norman Rockwell painting. Also it smells.
Heh. The first thing that comes to my mind upon hearing Iowa is still Radar O'Reilly. ;)
And I love Wilson's Tragic line, too. <3
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Date: 2013-12-11 03:52 am (UTC)(rubs hands) It's hard to pick just one of your wonderful stories but here goes:
"Do you know where he is?"
"No," Wilson says. "And I don't want to know."
"But if you did know, you'd tell the cops, right?"
Wilson sighs and puts down his pen. Taub doesn't move from his position by the open door.
"We've been through this before," Wilson says.
"You know ... some of his stuff disappeared. From his office."
"Yes," Wilson says. "I heard." House's office is, of course, empty these days. Every day. Word has it Foreman will be occupying it soon.
"His ball," Taub says. "His spare cane. His -- "
"And you're telling me this because ... "
"No reason," Taub says. He shrugs, a quick up-and-down followed by a smile. "I'll just be ... getting back now."
Wilson waits a long time before he slides open his own top desk drawer. A chicken feather, lipstick-red, drifts free. Wilson watches it settle to the floor.
Six months go by. A year.
Wilson gets an engraved card in the mail, a simple announcement hidden beneath a square of tissue paper. On the back a handwritten note --
There are Jews in Minneapolis!
Wilson sets the card aside and goes online to order a wedding present. For the happy couple, he types. Best wishes, Dr. James Wilson. He gazes at the glowing screen for a long moment, then presses Submit.
He wonders if he'll ever find out what happened to House. If one day he'll receive another card in the mail, a picture postcard from somewhere far away, with no name or message, but only Wilson's address, scrawled in that familiar right hand.
Of course he won't.
That shit only happens in the movies.
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Date: 2013-12-11 06:25 am (UTC)Okay, so we're off ...
"Do you know where he is?"
"No," Wilson says. "And I don't want to know."
This story was written at a really sad time -- right after the season finale of S6, "Moving On," where House crashed his car into Cuddy's home and incidentally broke Wilson's wrist. I was trying to capture how Wilson might feel in those days immediately following, when things had calmed down but everyone was still walking on eggshells, so to speak. Personally I think my writing style here reminds me of another fic of mine, Kissing the Unicorn -- spare and direct, lots of description of what's actually happening in the narrative.
"But if you did know, you'd tell the cops, right?"
Wilson sighs and puts down his pen. Taub doesn't move from his position by the open door.
"We've been through this before," Wilson says.
And you know they have. All of them have probably been interviewed, by the police, by PPTH Human Resources, maybe even by reporters. And for sure they've all talked to each other.
"You know ... some of his stuff disappeared. From his office."
"Yes," Wilson says. "I heard." House's office is, of course, empty these days. Every day. Word has it Foreman will be occupying it soon.
A guess on my part about Foreman, but seriously, who else could they give it to? Unless TPTB brought in someone new.
"His ball," Taub says. "His spare cane. His -- "
"And you're telling me this because ... "
"No reason," Taub says. He shrugs, a quick up-and-down followed by a smile. "I'll just be ... getting back now."
I think Taub feels the need to connect here. He suspects Wilson knows more than he's telling, and he wants to talk, but obviously it's very difficult.
Wilson waits a long time before he slides open his own top desk drawer. A chicken feather, lipstick-red, drifts free. Wilson watches it settle to the floor.
A callback to the episode where House and Wilson were competing at hiding live chickens in the hospital. Also, in a (very) small way, a callback to my old story A Button, A Feather, A Grain of Sand. ;-D
Six months go by. A year.
Wilson gets an engraved card in the mail, a simple announcement hidden beneath a square of tissue paper. On the back a handwritten note --
There are Jews in Minneapolis!
Heh. I know nobody got this, but this a tiny tip of the hat to an old Northern Exposure episode, where Joel basically thinks of himself as the only Jew in Alaska, and when he hears about some other Jews, one of whom is named Trevor (or Nigel, I can't remember which), exclaims "There are no Jews named Trevor!" Therefore Wilson's line to Cuddy earlier in the fic, when he says "There are no Jews in Minneapolis," and Cuddy triumphantly replies there are. SO. A really long way to go for an explanation, I know, but there it is. Northern Exposure. :D
Wilson sets the card aside and goes online to order a wedding present. For the happy couple, he types. Best wishes, Dr. James Wilson. He gazes at the glowing screen for a long moment, then presses Submit.
I think it's a mark of Wilson's lingering sadness here that he writes something so generic and impersonal. :-(
He wonders if he'll ever find out what happened to House. If one day he'll receive another card in the mail, a picture postcard from somewhere far away, with no name or message, but only Wilson's address, scrawled in that familiar right hand.
Obvious reference to The Shawshank Redemption, when Tim Robbins sends the blank postcard to Morgan Freeman -- the front of the card shows the ocean and beach at Zihuatanajo, Mexico, so Freeman will know where to find him.
Of course he won't.
That shit only happens in the movies.
As I said above. *g* This isn't a movie for Wilson, and all too often life doesn't have happy endings. At the time I wrote this, nobody knew they'd ride off into the sunset together at the end of the series. There are still a lot of stories to be told about this period -- how House and Wilson lived without each other. :-)
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Date: 2013-12-11 03:37 pm (UTC)I think it's a mark of Wilson's lingering sadness here that he writes something so generic and impersonal. :-(
Yep, this. The whole fic has these little touches, conveying sadness directly or indirectly, and the feather is one of them, too, the idea of lifeless remnants of the past.
And oh, I did not recognize the Shawshank reference at the time. That's great, because obviously Moving On had it from the other side of the picture, and it doesn't happen like the movie for House either, who goes back and to prison afterwards. (Which you didn't really know when writing this? In any case, that's a meta level of connection that I like in retrospect.)
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Date: 2013-12-12 03:53 am (UTC)Wilson is very sad. I wish the show had shown that SOMETHING happened with him during that lost year, rather than pretend he doesn't exist unless House is there.