Self-quote meme
Aug. 27th, 2003 11:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321The self-quote meme thing that everything was doing last week. Here are my quotes:
My favourite quotes from my own fics
In reverse order to their dates of writing. (I've just noticed that I've got no fic more recent here than Jan. 2003. I wonder if that is because I am too close to the more recent ones to have a favourite quote yet or whether my writing has simply gone down the trough.)
The Orc's Tongue
Then one of the others had trampled by and smashed the little creature's head against the door jamb until its brains spilled out in a grey, viscous flume. They had gobbled up the grey mass together, and the killing had gone on.
Tasting the Halfling had reminded the Orc of that tiny mewling creature. The Orc tightened his hold on his small burden's arms. Not much of a burden. The Halfling weighed no more than a loaf of *Cram*. Maybe, once they got to wherever they were going and once the powers that be had finished with the Halfling, they'd let him keep it. Maybe the Halfling could be his baby and he could lick it all day long.
I treasure this because it's the furthest I've pushed myself to cruelty. Violence and evil play a minimal role in rps so this was this orc fps was the first opportunity I got to explore evil. I loved probing the ambivalence of the main Orc-character in this story, and it was wonderfully gratifying when some people in fb said that they had actually felt sorry for the Orc at the end.
Rover and Dom
And finally, one Thursday night, when it's so hot that the windows have to stay open to let in the hope of a breeze and the heavy perfume of jacaranda blossom, when fitful clouds obscure the moon, when banshees howl on the mountain tops and werewolves dig through the garbage cans of Wellington -- one Thursday night in February, Dominic lifts the elastic waistband of his pyjama trousers and pushes Rover down between his legs.
I was so pleased when this paragraph came to me and suddenly turned what had been a quirky, rather matter-of-fact fic up to then into something darker and slightly supernatural. I like the audacityof the banshees and the werewolves: not used as similes or metaphors but as if they were real beings in the specific real place of Wellington. And then the way it veers back to Dominic in his bed -- I just like the rhythm of this whole one-sentence paragraph.
Different Tastes
This one is full of passages I'm proud of. It's difficult to choose one that sums up the tone of this fic for me: matter-of-fact, dry, no-nonsense dialogue but underneath it all always this wonderful mounting tenderness. Perhaps this:
"Shut up." Karl spread another layer of chilli paste over Dom's dick. He took a breath and dove in for the kill. He moved up and down Dom's dick. He licked the underside of the tip of Dom's shaft. Tears spouted from his eyes and punctuated his swipes. He swore in 'mmphs' but he didn't take Dom's dick out once.
Dom's belly contracted. Dom's thighs shook under Karl's fingers. Dom moaned, a loud moan, and another one, so loud that Karl put his hand across Dom's mouth. Dom bit the hand. He clamped his thighs around Karl's head.
Karl got up and sat down in Dom's lap again. He pulled something out from his back pocket. Dom said nothing, just smiled blissfully.
"Give me your mouth," Karl said.
"Oh... shit, no!"
Karl held Dom's head by the ears so that Dom couldn't twist away out of the chilli kiss.
"You're a sadistic bastard, you know," Karl mumbled.
"That wasn't too bad," panted Dom, puffing a little.
"Yeah, that was nothing. The fire's already gone out."
Dom giggled. "Is my spunk a kind of fire extinguisher?"
"Mm. Lift your legs."
"I don't want to fuck."
"Yes, you do. Go on."
Dom tiredly lifted his legs but after only a few thrusts of Karl, he was moaning again and clutching Karl's neck.
"I love you," gasped Karl.
"Oh, don't start," panted Dom in between moans.
"Think of old guys, if you like," gasped Karl. "If that makes it better for you."
"Shut up," panted Dom.
"Oh, fuck," sighed Karl and came.
The Other Trailer
"Look, just leave me to suffer in peace. And I don't take painkillers. I'll have some echinacea in the morning." If I remembered to pack any. And those herbal lozenges I got in Wellington. And yes, I guess I am wheezing. In fact, I feel like shit, come to think of it. There's fire in my throat. There's porridge in my eyeballs. My sinuses are wobbling about like udders. My ears are popping and my head's stuffed full of snot.
I'm proud of this passage because I managed to conjure up what it feels like to have a cold. I tried to remember all the worst colds I've ever had and revive those sensations for Viggo in this first-person pov. And I liked the 'udders'.
Boyfriends
Two passages from this fic:
He cracks it open and watches the crystals abseil down an invisible rope into his hot and strong and black and long coffee.
I just like the image of the abseiling sugar.
Dom has his hand on Orli's shoulder. Dom's hand squeezes Orli's shoulder. Dom's thumb ring brushes Orli's neck. The metal touch makes Orli's skin shudder. Orli's got his hand on Dom's waist. Sugar sachets fall, one by one, into Orli's lap. Orli's cup goes clink, his hip bumps the table. His brain flies round and round, along with the streamers above his head. His thoughts are still bright but they can't blind him because his eyes are closed. Orli's lashes twitch against his own cheek. His lashes can't keep still because his eyes are flying around behind their lids. His eyes are flying around along with his thoughts, round and round, on a wild merry-go-round through space.
What I did in this fic was to recreate the setting of the café in my mind visually and then I sort of clicked on items in that setting as I needed them to convey a specific mood within the main characters. So it was an externalising of their emotions, using props like the pink streamers. It had a poetic effect (which I tried out for the first time in "A Perfect Day". I also like repetitions here.
When We Are Human
Let us be a moth.
I think this first line of the story sums up the entire fic for me. I think it's one of the best things I've written but not repeatable which tormented me for a time. But when this line came to me (in the fifth part of what turned out to be a mini-series of Arthropods), something went 'ping' in my head. I veered into experimental territory and kept up this first person plural pov throughout the fic, making "us" be a moth, a spider and other critters. Oh, and for the heck of it, another snippet:
Oh, to land on that epidermis. To sink our proboscis into that outer layer of skin, to penetrate into the dermis, past follicles and sebaceous glands, into the delicious boiling rivulets just below the surface, and then to slurp ourselves full of the stuff, to suck, to swallow, nothing like it in the entire world...
What I like is the way this mixes scientific words (and I loved looking up all those juicy syllables - this was a real wordjoy-fic!) with slashy sexy sensuality: because 'suck' has such different connotations in fanfic as does 'swallow', and I like the way these sexual verbs are made to work for a blood-sucking mosquito. And the way the mosquito becomes a metaphor for the two boys' desire of each other.
Past Imperfect
They didn't move. They just sat there.
Dave put his head on Marton's shoulder.
"I think I might cry now," said Marton.
"Why?" said Dave, not moving. Not moving his head, not moving his wrist out of Marton's grasp.
"Not really," said Marton. "It's all just a bit... you know."
"Yes," said Dave. "I know."
This is one of the best endings I've written. It came to me and there it was, and the whole fic lurched to an aesthetically wonderfully gratifying end. There are lots of problems with this fic (at least I see problems with it) but I am very happy with this ending because it is soft and tender and inconclusive.
Up Shit Creek
This is one of my own favourites. There are many lines I like in this fic, ones that sum up the overall tone. Because one of the things I am most pleased with in this story is the way it has quite a consistent tone -- and I find that difficult to achieve in a longish story. But the passage I'd go for is probably this one:
"Oh," moaned Billy. And because Karl wasn't doing anything with his thumb, Billy did things to Karl with his own thumb. And the things Billy was doing to Karl with his thumb seemed to drive Karl into an absolute frenzy. Karl was grunting. Karl was biting into Billy's shoulder. Karl was moving up and down against Billy.
"Oh God," moaned Billy.
The beige shoreline was still there, the small sandy beach was still visible, but it was all growing somewhat blurry. Something was going wrong with Billy's vision; he really must go and see an optometrist about that. And yes, the birds were still calling, but their calls were strangely fuzzy and far-way, and maybe Billy should see an ear specialist as well. And now the boat seemed to be swaying in a most alarming way, maybe the boat was going to capsize, maybe they were both going to topple into the water and drown, but Billy didn't fucking care because Karl was pumping him like nobody's business, doing it all wrong but Billy's brain had gone on holiday to Cambodia, and Billy's dick didn't seem to care if Karl was doing it all wrong. And sooner or later this ridiculous situation was going to come to an end, that was for sure, sooner or later, well, more like sooner... oh, more like very soon... more like... oh... like now. Like. Now.
For several seconds, the boat vanished, the sky vanished, Karl vanished, and Billy was in an Alpine meadow full of little white daisies. The grass was green, there was a brown cow in the distance, it was like a fucking ad for Swiss chocolate. Except it wasn't an ad, it was an orgasm.
How peculiar.
How peculiar to be transported to an Alpine meadow when you were actually on a New Zealand river.
This has got the beige setting that I like in this fic. It has the repetitions (and this story was the first time I used repetitions, such as Billy moaning 'Oh' and then 'Oh God', and the repetition of 'Karl was...' in the first paragraph). It has the belligerent tone of Billy's pov that is the red thread of this plot and that was so much fun to write. And I like the Alpine meadow because it is so funny and conjures up a whole Suchard ad in my head. And I do like Billy's brain going on holiday to Cambodia (although I'm not sure anyone ever got the allusion to the Dead Kennedys' song here, *g*). For a while there, I experimented with describing orgasms in different visually evocative ways, and this is still my favourite. More than with most fics, I remember the writing of this one: the way I waited for words to come to me and how I struggled with bits of it and the joy when I found a solution to plot problems.
Olives in Brine and Artichoke Hearts
"Sorry, John." Reluctantly, Karl extruded the lemon from his mouth, not without taking one last bite of the rind. Interestingly, the rind was quite bitter. "What I was going to say, er, was that doing several takes can actually make your performance better."
"Exactly!" cried Bernard. "Thank *you*, Karl! Finally someone who understands screen acting!"
"Oh, bloody marvellous," guffawed John. "Now I've got a Pom and a Kiwi ganging up on me, and both of them total prostitutes to the land of the great white telly! I mean, honest to goodness, Karl, you're not going to tell me that some cheesy gladiator rip-off proves how filming in lots of takes can make your performance better?"
What I find hard to do is dialogue between more than two people. In fact, until I went back to find quotes for this meme thing, I hadn't thought that I could do threeways-dialogue at all but then I discovered that "Olives in Brine" is a threeway fic. So I've chosen this snippet because it has all the three voices, and I think I've managed to keep them quite distinct throughout. Karl says 'er', Bern says 'ah' (not in this quote but elsewhere) and John is summed up very nicely with his 'oh, bloody marvellous'.
A Perfect Day
Birds screamed by. Cars hummed past. Dominic stretched his arms up above his head. He was in New Zealand, on the other side of the world. Everything was upside down. He felt as if he were suspended from the heavens by the crown of his head.
It might surprise those of you who've read this fic that I'm choosing this short bit from the beginning of the story. It is true that there are many passages I love in this fic but this was a stylistic breakthrough fic for me, and it was this paragraph which was the first one I (possibly ever) wrote that went beyond strict descriptive realism. I remember thinking, 'god, wow, but can I do this? Am I allowed?', and the wonderful free flying sensation of just going ahead and realising that anything's allowed in writing. It was the birds 'screaming' and Dominic being suspended by the crown of his head. It may not even seem that radical now but it felt heady at the time and inaugurated what I think of as my true writing 'career' (for want of a better word). It was very liberating to write like this (and later I developed this poetic kind of prose further). To me, it seems as if I have two modes of writing in: the 'poetic' (or whatever you want to call it), as in "Perfect Day", and the humourous, as in "Up Shit Creek".
My favourite quotes from my own fics
In reverse order to their dates of writing. (I've just noticed that I've got no fic more recent here than Jan. 2003. I wonder if that is because I am too close to the more recent ones to have a favourite quote yet or whether my writing has simply gone down the trough.)
The Orc's Tongue
Then one of the others had trampled by and smashed the little creature's head against the door jamb until its brains spilled out in a grey, viscous flume. They had gobbled up the grey mass together, and the killing had gone on.
Tasting the Halfling had reminded the Orc of that tiny mewling creature. The Orc tightened his hold on his small burden's arms. Not much of a burden. The Halfling weighed no more than a loaf of *Cram*. Maybe, once they got to wherever they were going and once the powers that be had finished with the Halfling, they'd let him keep it. Maybe the Halfling could be his baby and he could lick it all day long.
I treasure this because it's the furthest I've pushed myself to cruelty. Violence and evil play a minimal role in rps so this was this orc fps was the first opportunity I got to explore evil. I loved probing the ambivalence of the main Orc-character in this story, and it was wonderfully gratifying when some people in fb said that they had actually felt sorry for the Orc at the end.
Rover and Dom
And finally, one Thursday night, when it's so hot that the windows have to stay open to let in the hope of a breeze and the heavy perfume of jacaranda blossom, when fitful clouds obscure the moon, when banshees howl on the mountain tops and werewolves dig through the garbage cans of Wellington -- one Thursday night in February, Dominic lifts the elastic waistband of his pyjama trousers and pushes Rover down between his legs.
I was so pleased when this paragraph came to me and suddenly turned what had been a quirky, rather matter-of-fact fic up to then into something darker and slightly supernatural. I like the audacityof the banshees and the werewolves: not used as similes or metaphors but as if they were real beings in the specific real place of Wellington. And then the way it veers back to Dominic in his bed -- I just like the rhythm of this whole one-sentence paragraph.
Different Tastes
This one is full of passages I'm proud of. It's difficult to choose one that sums up the tone of this fic for me: matter-of-fact, dry, no-nonsense dialogue but underneath it all always this wonderful mounting tenderness. Perhaps this:
"Shut up." Karl spread another layer of chilli paste over Dom's dick. He took a breath and dove in for the kill. He moved up and down Dom's dick. He licked the underside of the tip of Dom's shaft. Tears spouted from his eyes and punctuated his swipes. He swore in 'mmphs' but he didn't take Dom's dick out once.
Dom's belly contracted. Dom's thighs shook under Karl's fingers. Dom moaned, a loud moan, and another one, so loud that Karl put his hand across Dom's mouth. Dom bit the hand. He clamped his thighs around Karl's head.
Karl got up and sat down in Dom's lap again. He pulled something out from his back pocket. Dom said nothing, just smiled blissfully.
"Give me your mouth," Karl said.
"Oh... shit, no!"
Karl held Dom's head by the ears so that Dom couldn't twist away out of the chilli kiss.
"You're a sadistic bastard, you know," Karl mumbled.
"That wasn't too bad," panted Dom, puffing a little.
"Yeah, that was nothing. The fire's already gone out."
Dom giggled. "Is my spunk a kind of fire extinguisher?"
"Mm. Lift your legs."
"I don't want to fuck."
"Yes, you do. Go on."
Dom tiredly lifted his legs but after only a few thrusts of Karl, he was moaning again and clutching Karl's neck.
"I love you," gasped Karl.
"Oh, don't start," panted Dom in between moans.
"Think of old guys, if you like," gasped Karl. "If that makes it better for you."
"Shut up," panted Dom.
"Oh, fuck," sighed Karl and came.
The Other Trailer
"Look, just leave me to suffer in peace. And I don't take painkillers. I'll have some echinacea in the morning." If I remembered to pack any. And those herbal lozenges I got in Wellington. And yes, I guess I am wheezing. In fact, I feel like shit, come to think of it. There's fire in my throat. There's porridge in my eyeballs. My sinuses are wobbling about like udders. My ears are popping and my head's stuffed full of snot.
I'm proud of this passage because I managed to conjure up what it feels like to have a cold. I tried to remember all the worst colds I've ever had and revive those sensations for Viggo in this first-person pov. And I liked the 'udders'.
Boyfriends
Two passages from this fic:
He cracks it open and watches the crystals abseil down an invisible rope into his hot and strong and black and long coffee.
I just like the image of the abseiling sugar.
Dom has his hand on Orli's shoulder. Dom's hand squeezes Orli's shoulder. Dom's thumb ring brushes Orli's neck. The metal touch makes Orli's skin shudder. Orli's got his hand on Dom's waist. Sugar sachets fall, one by one, into Orli's lap. Orli's cup goes clink, his hip bumps the table. His brain flies round and round, along with the streamers above his head. His thoughts are still bright but they can't blind him because his eyes are closed. Orli's lashes twitch against his own cheek. His lashes can't keep still because his eyes are flying around behind their lids. His eyes are flying around along with his thoughts, round and round, on a wild merry-go-round through space.
What I did in this fic was to recreate the setting of the café in my mind visually and then I sort of clicked on items in that setting as I needed them to convey a specific mood within the main characters. So it was an externalising of their emotions, using props like the pink streamers. It had a poetic effect (which I tried out for the first time in "A Perfect Day". I also like repetitions here.
When We Are Human
Let us be a moth.
I think this first line of the story sums up the entire fic for me. I think it's one of the best things I've written but not repeatable which tormented me for a time. But when this line came to me (in the fifth part of what turned out to be a mini-series of Arthropods), something went 'ping' in my head. I veered into experimental territory and kept up this first person plural pov throughout the fic, making "us" be a moth, a spider and other critters. Oh, and for the heck of it, another snippet:
Oh, to land on that epidermis. To sink our proboscis into that outer layer of skin, to penetrate into the dermis, past follicles and sebaceous glands, into the delicious boiling rivulets just below the surface, and then to slurp ourselves full of the stuff, to suck, to swallow, nothing like it in the entire world...
What I like is the way this mixes scientific words (and I loved looking up all those juicy syllables - this was a real wordjoy-fic!) with slashy sexy sensuality: because 'suck' has such different connotations in fanfic as does 'swallow', and I like the way these sexual verbs are made to work for a blood-sucking mosquito. And the way the mosquito becomes a metaphor for the two boys' desire of each other.
Past Imperfect
They didn't move. They just sat there.
Dave put his head on Marton's shoulder.
"I think I might cry now," said Marton.
"Why?" said Dave, not moving. Not moving his head, not moving his wrist out of Marton's grasp.
"Not really," said Marton. "It's all just a bit... you know."
"Yes," said Dave. "I know."
This is one of the best endings I've written. It came to me and there it was, and the whole fic lurched to an aesthetically wonderfully gratifying end. There are lots of problems with this fic (at least I see problems with it) but I am very happy with this ending because it is soft and tender and inconclusive.
Up Shit Creek
This is one of my own favourites. There are many lines I like in this fic, ones that sum up the overall tone. Because one of the things I am most pleased with in this story is the way it has quite a consistent tone -- and I find that difficult to achieve in a longish story. But the passage I'd go for is probably this one:
"Oh," moaned Billy. And because Karl wasn't doing anything with his thumb, Billy did things to Karl with his own thumb. And the things Billy was doing to Karl with his thumb seemed to drive Karl into an absolute frenzy. Karl was grunting. Karl was biting into Billy's shoulder. Karl was moving up and down against Billy.
"Oh God," moaned Billy.
The beige shoreline was still there, the small sandy beach was still visible, but it was all growing somewhat blurry. Something was going wrong with Billy's vision; he really must go and see an optometrist about that. And yes, the birds were still calling, but their calls were strangely fuzzy and far-way, and maybe Billy should see an ear specialist as well. And now the boat seemed to be swaying in a most alarming way, maybe the boat was going to capsize, maybe they were both going to topple into the water and drown, but Billy didn't fucking care because Karl was pumping him like nobody's business, doing it all wrong but Billy's brain had gone on holiday to Cambodia, and Billy's dick didn't seem to care if Karl was doing it all wrong. And sooner or later this ridiculous situation was going to come to an end, that was for sure, sooner or later, well, more like sooner... oh, more like very soon... more like... oh... like now. Like. Now.
For several seconds, the boat vanished, the sky vanished, Karl vanished, and Billy was in an Alpine meadow full of little white daisies. The grass was green, there was a brown cow in the distance, it was like a fucking ad for Swiss chocolate. Except it wasn't an ad, it was an orgasm.
How peculiar.
How peculiar to be transported to an Alpine meadow when you were actually on a New Zealand river.
This has got the beige setting that I like in this fic. It has the repetitions (and this story was the first time I used repetitions, such as Billy moaning 'Oh' and then 'Oh God', and the repetition of 'Karl was...' in the first paragraph). It has the belligerent tone of Billy's pov that is the red thread of this plot and that was so much fun to write. And I like the Alpine meadow because it is so funny and conjures up a whole Suchard ad in my head. And I do like Billy's brain going on holiday to Cambodia (although I'm not sure anyone ever got the allusion to the Dead Kennedys' song here, *g*). For a while there, I experimented with describing orgasms in different visually evocative ways, and this is still my favourite. More than with most fics, I remember the writing of this one: the way I waited for words to come to me and how I struggled with bits of it and the joy when I found a solution to plot problems.
Olives in Brine and Artichoke Hearts
"Sorry, John." Reluctantly, Karl extruded the lemon from his mouth, not without taking one last bite of the rind. Interestingly, the rind was quite bitter. "What I was going to say, er, was that doing several takes can actually make your performance better."
"Exactly!" cried Bernard. "Thank *you*, Karl! Finally someone who understands screen acting!"
"Oh, bloody marvellous," guffawed John. "Now I've got a Pom and a Kiwi ganging up on me, and both of them total prostitutes to the land of the great white telly! I mean, honest to goodness, Karl, you're not going to tell me that some cheesy gladiator rip-off proves how filming in lots of takes can make your performance better?"
What I find hard to do is dialogue between more than two people. In fact, until I went back to find quotes for this meme thing, I hadn't thought that I could do threeways-dialogue at all but then I discovered that "Olives in Brine" is a threeway fic. So I've chosen this snippet because it has all the three voices, and I think I've managed to keep them quite distinct throughout. Karl says 'er', Bern says 'ah' (not in this quote but elsewhere) and John is summed up very nicely with his 'oh, bloody marvellous'.
A Perfect Day
Birds screamed by. Cars hummed past. Dominic stretched his arms up above his head. He was in New Zealand, on the other side of the world. Everything was upside down. He felt as if he were suspended from the heavens by the crown of his head.
It might surprise those of you who've read this fic that I'm choosing this short bit from the beginning of the story. It is true that there are many passages I love in this fic but this was a stylistic breakthrough fic for me, and it was this paragraph which was the first one I (possibly ever) wrote that went beyond strict descriptive realism. I remember thinking, 'god, wow, but can I do this? Am I allowed?', and the wonderful free flying sensation of just going ahead and realising that anything's allowed in writing. It was the birds 'screaming' and Dominic being suspended by the crown of his head. It may not even seem that radical now but it felt heady at the time and inaugurated what I think of as my true writing 'career' (for want of a better word). It was very liberating to write like this (and later I developed this poetic kind of prose further). To me, it seems as if I have two modes of writing in: the 'poetic' (or whatever you want to call it), as in "Perfect Day", and the humourous, as in "Up Shit Creek".
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-27 05:06 pm (UTC)I must now go read Up Shit Creek again. It's been too long.
*smooches*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-28 08:07 am (UTC)*smooches back*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-27 09:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-28 08:16 am (UTC)I'm sure you'll be perfectly fine!
But feel free join the pounding.
*hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-28 04:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-28 08:24 am (UTC)Eep.
When can we expect more from Robbo? (That is the royal we.)
(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-03 07:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-03 01:27 pm (UTC)And thank you for kind comments on fic. Glad you are back!!!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-04 01:59 am (UTC)