sv_communityfic

gothphyle and spike21 have each contributed sections to the community fic, and it's remarkable. The language! Oh God! I want to pour syrup all over my body and roll around in it until all these great words stick.

And it's a smart story. God, it's smart. In fact, I'm a babbling mass of incoherence trying to describe how, so I'll post more samplings below.

From gothphyle: "Maybe pneumonic devices would help? The old tried-and-true standby, best friends of a disinterested youth squandering his days and his potential in the hallowed halls of Excelsior. C. Easy one. C was for Clark. And R? Running. Clark running away. Leaving him here. Alone. That takes care of A. Z. Z was harder. No need for a Zebra in this place, the pink elephants dancing on the ceiling after each 'treatment' took care of the zoological component of his hallucinations quite nicely. Skip over Z, then, and move to Y. Yourself. The only person you could rely on. Young. The excuse for so many indiscretions, so many poor decisions and disastrous choices.

Clark's excuse."

From spike21: "In the whiteout buzz of grand mal he wades deep into the bitstream of the universe. Brushes the mind of every human on the planet. Tastes their thoughts, bitter and sweet. Broadbosom loves her cats. Entropy, his aging mother. Others whose names he doesn't want to know share details of every triumph and defeat. It should be overwhelming but all it feels is *right* -- eavesdropping on the voice of God while God is spilling all of His secrets -- his birthright: this world, this universe, this everything

Everything but Clark. The one dark focus in his grid. Convergence of nothingness, non-existence. The asymptotic nexus, the place where all the lines never meet. It fills him with a despair as blinding as the whiteness. "

Please go read if you haven't yet.

And we definitely have room for more voices. In fact, I notice The Spike has left a nice opening for the next writer.

So jump right in. The water's... electric.

(no subject)

I'm new to moderating a community, so I have a question: Does anyone know how to make comments that aren't new additions to the story post with just their subject lines, so you don't see the text unless you click that particular comment? I want the story parts to still show. Um. I hope this question makes sense.

sv_communityfic

And a beatiful fic it is. *sigh*

The next writer to step up to the gurney? burnitbackwards, whose lj name I envy. Wish I'd though it up first, but of course I never would have. Great name. Great addition. And following The Spike's lead in, she brings us a great character. I've always "liked" Helen, in an "okay, so she's not Clark-in-Lex's-bed, but can you have too many villains in the DC-verse?" way. (Don't look too closely at that sentence. In fact, run from it.) With Helen we get all kinds of interesting plot opportunities, and I can't help but wonder if the next fic-voice is out there RIGHT NOW making something happen that we'll soon get to read. *rubs hands together like Dr. Evil* Thank you so much, burnitbackwards, for continuing the trend of smart writing and cool plotting.

Here's an excerpt from burnitbackwards:
"She starts to circle him, heels tapping on the floor, and it crosses Lex's mind that this is probably the exact same sound a vulture's claws would make if its next meal happened to be splayed on linoleum tile.

She stops at the opposite side of the gurney and places a hand lightly at Lex's elbow, and he's still too weak or shocked or totally out of his mind to even think about moving it. He tries to speak again, managing a hoarse noise, nothing like an actual word, but Helen seems to understand anyway and nods her head slowly, her face screwing up into mock-sympathy.

'Yes, Lex, I know, honey. I know you've had your people trying to find me for the past four months, but by the time they caught up with me, you'd already begun having your little psychotic tantrums,' she laughs, rolling her eyes. 'Really, Lex. You couldn't expect them to stay loyal to you while you were here, could you? Not while you're locked up like some sort of lunatic.'"

*whistles "Don't Fear the Reaper"*

As to moderating, even when given excellent suggestions and simple directions to follow, apparently my style when faced with making decisions is to behave very much like Homer Simpson at the console of the nuclear plant. Any donuts left? What alarms? I don't hear any alarms. Mmmmmmmm. Food. And beer. Want beer. Will make decisions and take necessary action later. After donuts and beer.