nightdog_barks (
nightdog_barks) wrote2013-12-10 11:58 am
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Tuesday and A Meme
So 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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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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(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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