Largely Composed of Hay

I am having a Week and need distraction, so here we go again. For those who weren't around last round (it's been a while), it is just like Iron Author, except I reserve the right to flake.

Give me three words and an optional non-sadistic form and I will write you a poem or song lyrics.

Give me a setting, main character, or single line of dialogue and I will write you a snippet of original fiction.

Give me a character or a pairing and a situation and I will write you fanfic for BTVS/ATS, Firefly, first 2 seasons of Torchwood, The Vorkosiganverse, Good Omens. (Other fandoms by negotiation but keep in mind i basically haven't watched TV in years.)

Got a prompt that doesn't fit the above? Throw it at the wall and see if it sticks.

I'm not really here (don't have my repaired lap top back yet and don't have time to read LJ from work) but... The title of this blog post kept sounding like a poem to me, so finally I wrote it:

We will measure our loss

( Read more... )

I wrote this poem in Seanan's journal comments ages ago and somehow forgot to put it here where I could find it. She'd actually asked for a 6 word autobiography, and got a six word per line autobiographical poem instead. It needs a title. And there's a couple places where I have the original version stuck in my head but it doesn't clump in sixes, and I'm not sure which is more important.

She still keeps the sea shells
that she used to live in
though she can't fit in them
no more. They think she's hoarding
and she can't explain that she's
only her own girl next door.

She loves comfort food, and her
comfortable bed, with the comforter
so thick and white. Comfortable books
soothe the voice in her head
Until she turns out the light.

But she's not a comfortable girl
Though she moves at comfortable speed
Hugging the comfortable, rolling curved hips
That take her wherever she needs.

She never thought she was immortal
She never thought kisses could heal
She never thought what she needed
Made a difference to what's real.

She knows that wishes are horses
she can ride to a land
hers alone. But she'd rather remain
where the faces aren't all hers
peaking out through masks of bone
Even if it takes all of her comforts
to make it feel almost like home.

She knows it's time to move on.
But it's so hard to find
an apartment with room for the
sea shells that's she's left behind.

So busy and yet
I find I miss my writing.
You want a haiku?

 Using imagery from manmade objects and urban environments.

Old engines leak oil
dead leaves and greasy rainbows
choke up the storm drain

In subway tunnels
rats who never see daylight
dream trains with cats' eyes

Up twenty stories
A clapboard house and garden
Perch on the rooftop

Four basements' basements
Lurk below this thing called ground
Consensus fiction

Anyone else want to play?

It's a lot like Iron Author, except I might flake. :)

I need to get writing again, and it's way past time I gave something back to LJ, so I'm gonna try writing to order again. But I am still stressed from work and don't want to add to it, so this time round I won't promise I'll be able to deliver on every request.

( Details behind the cut )

I wish for you not more happiness than you can compass
but a serviceable content spreading like sunlight,
like buttery white wine. I wish you ripe pears in hanging baskets,
an orderly kitchen, open shelves stacked high with clean crockery,
ironed sheets. ( Read more... )