syllic: ([words] star wars therapy)
--why there isn't better Twilight fic out there?

I mean, a lot of the time, flawed canons (with points of strange/you-wish-it-wouldn't/just plain old straightforward appeal) make the best transformative work-inspiring canons. And if there ever was a flawed canon (hoo boy) with just said points of appeal...

This is clearly a question that requires much thought. In the short term, however, fear not.

[livejournal.com profile] arlad and I have decided to answer the call for higher-quality transformative works in this arena, and I believe we have succeeded resoundingly.

Without further ado, we present

BABYLON TWILIGHT: A Short Novella

"I'll never fit in at this rainy school," though Justin Taylor to himself as he stumbled up the stairs, having to catch himself as he fell face-first towards the stone and making a small incision on both his palms, which he was used to from doing it many times before.

"Hey, you're Justinious Taylor, right?" asked a tall, friendly guy in a pink bedazzled shirt.

"Just Justin," said Justin, awkardly sticking out his bloody hand.

"Hi, Justin, I'm Emmett," said the guy in the bedazzled shirt. "Aren't you from like, Pittsburgh? Aren't people from Pittsburgh supposed to be like, tan?"

"No," said Justin.

Justin would never have moved here if his mother, Jennifer, weren't the taciturn town sheriff with a big heart.

SOME (DAZZLING) MONTHS LATER...

"JUSTIN!" screamed Brian.

"It's his spine," said Ethan sadly, shaking his wolfy, shaggy head.

As he watched, Brian pulled out a heaving, bloodied mass from Justin's ruined form. Ethan hated it. But no, wait. He loved it.

"Hello, Ethan," it said in a musical voice. "My name is Michael."


(c) [livejournal.com profile] arlad. PLS CREDIT & COMMENT IF YOU USE! BLANK MANIPS ARE NOT BASES!

(You can't see it, but that baby has eight toes on each foot.)

No need to thank us, people. None at all.
syllic: (facepalm)
I promise I am moving towards dealing with comments left on this journal.

Anon, good nurse, anxiety, shame--all of these things are coming into play here.

I'm trying to keep up with real life (result: a resounding FAIL) and, simultaneously, to be quick about finishing the seven pieces of fiction I appear to have on the go (result: less-resounding FAIL), and so I am being shit about replying to things (most resounding FAIL of all).

I just feel horribly, horribly, guilty about lagging behind on replying to my comments, especially as people have taken the time to leave them, which obviously gets in the way of their own attempts to keep up with real life and with their own seven pieces of fiction.

SO:

1. Apologies
2. Rectification of this oversight will occur as soon as humanly possible.

ETA:
3. I appreciate the irony of this comment-enabled posting gesture.

Epic Fail

Dec. 18th, 2008 04:23 am
syllic: (facepalm)
I am defeated by the soul-sucking energy drain of two airports, an indeterminate number of time zones, and a lack of sleep so profound that I have typed 'Merlini' not once or twice--or even thrice--but several times while editing.

I am certain that no-one is waiting with bated breath for this, but I nonetheless feel like an utter loser for saying I would finish today and then failing to do so.

So: I apologise, and (since if I do not finish this in the next 24 hours I will be forced to eat an entire sparklyface!Edward cake to deal with my frustration) please rest assured that I will post the second and final part of Three Tasks tomorrow, and I mean it this time:

Lilac robes or death!

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