Dollhouse vs. Lucky Me.

If there’s one thing I love, it’s seeing two different approaches to the same idea.

As it turns out, Lucky Me and Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse (I write this as I’m watching Episode Two) have some similarities. They both follow a main character who’s female, has had her mind erased, and imprinted with a certain level of knowledge and expertise. Joss Whedon took the concept far further than I did, and I’d say in a much more expert fashion – creating different elements to play off of the characters, inside vs. outside conflicts, et cetera.

But where do they differ? I chose the military, and allowing the character to start to live a life of her own after a wipe. Joss re-wipes them, show after show after show (and what would the show be if they didn’t?), but hints that memories may seep through.

Also, naming schemes. Each one of the US-8 is based loosely off of a number. And yes, in the case of Tre and Seven, I allowed them to keep their numerical identities. In one sense, it would’ve made more sense to give them false identities, but really, I’m more about streamlining things, and not getting everything too tangled. In Dollhouse, the Actives are all given theirs from the military alphabet, which I thought was fantastic. And the fact that both of us refer to the “tabula rasa” concept – very cool – but we use them in different ways.

What does this really say in the larger scheme of things? Not much. It’s kind of a coincidence – but then again, it also shows that I’m thinking along the same lines as people who write for a living.

Just…differently, that’s all.

-Brian

Lucky Me, Great Weekend!

So, here is the latest Lucky Me story, Caduceus : Part Two. Enjoy.

On a side note, I’m very much looking forward to this weekend. I’ve got a couple of comics and things I’m bringing to get signed, I’m anticipating some great panels, and bringing a camera to catch the madness. Oh, and the spiffy new business cards – they’re coming with.

It should be a fantastic time.  Hope yours is just as good.
-Brian

A New Way of Looking at Things.

Lucky Me : Caduceus, pt. 1, is up over at Nomesquefiction.wordpress.com. Go check it out!

Also, I have a surprise for you. A little something I cooked up, and will be doing monthly in the future:

So go home, check those out, and practice your fake digeridoos.

-Brian

Lucky Me, 4 and 5.

Part 4 has been up on Nomesque Fiction for a week now, but since I didn’t link to it previously, you can find it here, and part 5 here, respectively.

You may notice something different, in the way of new evocative imagery; that was a collaborative effort between Naomi and myself to give you a little idea of what Seven’s much-ballyhooed tattoo looks like.

I am being completely honest when I say that, should I ever be interested in becoming a piece of walking art, this would be something very cool to have – It is only slightly different from what I imagined, and I would like to think it’s for the better.

(Especially the colors, which are a very cool touch.)

Please, e-mail her and tell her what a wonderful job she’s done, and is continuing to do in hosting my stories. I think she’ll appreciate it.

-Brian

P.S. If I were to ever get a tattoo, however, this would have to be the second.

The first is one I’ve had in mind for a while now; an Irish flag, with the traditional skull-and-crossbones design from pirate ships, possibly with a “viking” helmet.

I think it would manage to be historically accurate and infinitely more interesting than, say, barbed wire, tribal designs, or an oversized cross.

(Incidentally, when I am able to finance my own house, I will declare it a soverign state, and fly that flag proudly on Lynchianian soil.)

A challenge to myself.

This will be posted in three parts. I told you more was coming!

I don’t have a title for it yet, but this was a fun little way for me to work on writing from a female perspective, something I haven’t done before. No J. Edgar Hoover-esque shenanigans ensued ; so sorry to disappoint.

———-

June 13th

Today’s Friday.

I don’t want to thank God. Or anybody else. I got through another week, that’s it. Plain and simple.

Plain and simple, like me. I watch life. That’s what I do.

Have done, even. It feels like years since Sam died, but it’s been months and I’m still here. Still here, still alive, still watching everybody else’s lives because they’re in motion, passing me by.

I still have the necklace he got me. It’s a little box. He called it his Little Sammy treasure chest; he was always a little funny like that.

He said, “Kaye, keep that treasure chest safe. It’s got something very important to me in there, and if pirate marauders were to swing in and take you away, they’d be stealing my heart…” he paused, and grinned. “and then they’d plunder your booty.”

I think about that day and a little smile cracks my face, as my fingers dance on the treasure chest. I don’t smile much anymore. Don’t have a reason to.

I give this one to the mirror, because it’s the only person I can give it to without feeling like a mannequin.

The necklace only comes off when I shower. For fifteen minutes a day, it lays there.

I turn the faucets off, and step out of the shower. My curly hair is a wet clump on my head, and it clings to my body. I used to have a little pouch down there, right below my stomach. My body is lean now – not from exercise or from starving – but just is.

My body just doesn’t feel whole anymore. It’s like he took the jiggle of my butt with him.

What does make me feel a little better, though, is watching. My neighbors, for one. They don’t know they’re my neighbors, but they’re across the street, they leave their shades open a lot, and I can see what’s going on most of the time. I watch how they joke and play with each other. I see them have fights, and I see them make up. It reminds me of the way things used to be, and I feel a little warmer.

And then, there’s work. I walk down the street and serve people coffee at a place called Mabel’s. I give them a little warmth to drink, they give me cold bills and change. Once in a while, one of the guys buys a latte and thinks that comes with a side order of Kaye’s number. Some of them, you just wish they’d go away, and go after some other barista. But none of them come close to Sam.

Well, maybe one. His name’s Paul. He’s a sweetheart, and comes in every Friday. Same time, same silly order. The first time he came in, he ordered a venti blueberry smoothie, and when he got flustered, it was really cute. He was a little out of it, and thought Mabel’s was the Tango Juice around the corner.

Every week since, he comes in and orders it, pretends to get mortified, and settles for my recommendation – which is a cup of Earl Grey. Then he asks me about my week. The usual, I tell him.

I think, aside from that, the thing that makes me happiest is the time right before bed, when I can’t think straight and I don’t feel empty inside.

Teeth.

This story was based off of the first nightmare I’ve had in a long time.

Teeth

by Brian A. Lynch

——————————

The old woman stares, her gaze coming not towards me – but through me – and recalling an unearthly origin in my eyes.

I shudder.

Her mouth opens wide, and in an instant, it is not a mouth.

It is something, an abyss of swirling teeth and deadly intent, and I fear it is only purposeful to one end.

The end.

That end, in particular, is not one I would like to meet; and so, I run through the night.

My heart beats quicker with every hastened step. The hag gives chase, but seems to float above the ground, her feet hardly used.

Her dress, once harmless and oversized, takes on a sinister aesthetic as it flaps and billows in the wind.

The voice calls, twisting in the air.

“Come.
To.
Me.”

I choose to save breaths. A scream is a fool’s move.

I run, still. My heart drums impatiently.

I look back. She – it – gains.

It does not shriek as it beckons me; it only growls.

The sound carries and swings through the air, bringing fear with it and bouncing off the trees. It is alone and legion, all at once.

Through the grass and over the road, I run, but my chest frightens and tears stream down my face. I do not need to look behind to see those swirling teeth, for they are in my mind’s eye, pushing me forward out of fear.

I know I cannot run forever. But I am either a dead man now, or five minutes hence.

I have always appreciated the value of time.

—————————–

All commentary, ‘colades, crass or constructive criticism, and creative correspondence is considered and commendable.

-Brian

On Bigger Problems

I have a problem.

That problem is, unfortunately, balancing projects and ideas.

I have, at the moment, the following projects under way:

• A novel of semiautobiographical nature [currently on hiatus]
• A short story entry for the Writer’s Digest’s contest, and therefore, profit [currently in progress]
• A song about self-absorbed guitar guys at open mic nights [not in progress]
• A short story for fun [not profit, on hiatus]
• Two comic book series ideas [for relief during novel]
• Readings and Writings for Graduate School [currently in progress, less enjoyable than writing for pleasure, but far more enjoyable than root canal]

Unfortunately, I need to give highest priority to that last stuff. I will be happy beyond words when my Strat Comm class is over; the readings are dense, and self-involved to an unhealthy point.

Speaking of that, I think academics truly need to get a grip on themselves; if I couldn’t make references to earlier papers I’d written in the course of writing a new paper, why should they be exempt from that rule?

I’d rather spend my time exploring my ideas, but as long as I stay on top of my work, I’ll be able to make time. I believe I can see a future for myself as a consultant while pursuing the dream; many things seem insurmountable, but as long as I keep perspective, it’s hardly that intimidating.

(Except for that whole organizing thing. I think it’s very frightening, and if I still had a stuffed animal, I would crawl under my sheets at night clutching it tightly, knowing that it served as both comfort and instant effigy if the need for escape presented itself.)

-Brian

Inspiration on Demand

So, before that New Blog Smell wears off, let’s get in post #2, shall we?

This is the one wherein I talk about that most crucial part of the writing process – finding inspiration. If you’re any kind of writer, amateur or professional, and have been writing creatively for a period longer than, say, six months, you should be stifling laughter right now.

(I am, and I’m writing this blog!)

Inspiration is notoriously fickle. Tapping into your muse is difficult, but here’s what works for me:

1) lots and lots of notebooks, easily accessible.
2) always having pens on me.
3) being prepared.

I’ve heard of musicians having guitars everywhere within their apartments or houses, so that they can get ideas out whenever they have them.

I view the writing process in the same way; when you’re searching for inspiration, you can get it anywhere, at any time, and notebooks are infinitely more portable than guitars.

I also try to do a few other things as well :

1) Associate it with something.
2) Slow things down.
3) Be descriptive.

Normally, ideas rush through the head, and in an instant, they’re gone. Try to make them last, or be more tangible.

• If you can Associate an idea with an image, a taste, a sensation, ANYTHING, you’ll be able to recall it easier later on.

Secondly, Slow Things Down. Sometimes ideas come fast, but you always want to get as much out of an idea as possible.

• If you can take the time to think an idea out, it will be better developed in your head.
  You may miss a couple small parts, but if you’ve still got the central idea, they may come back later.

Lastly, Be Descriptive.

• The more effort you put into your ideas – is the character tall? How does he dress?
  How would he sound in real life? – the more you can hold on to, the longer your idea will last.

Love that new blog smell.

Well, to be perfectly honest, you don’t know me in any sense of knowing me; but with a little bit of luck and a lot of hard work, you might one day be at a book signing of mine.

My name’s Brian, and I intend to write. Professionally.

(Yes, I have had my head checked, and unfortunately, it’s quite sound.)

This will, eventually, be folded into a larger home base of operations for me on the Web: a vast, cybernetic empire dwarfing the reaches of Rome, Constantinople, and the Hard Rock Cafe, offering access to old works, new works, exclusive drafts, witty thoughts on the day, and the mother of all inventions, merchandising.

But, for now, it stands as an unwritten page. More unwritten than I would like, but I am, like many others, a man of several hats.

The one I’m wearing right now is my writer cap (which looks oddly like one of these), but the one I wear most is my student’s cap.

(despite what you think about graduate school, everybody goes to class wearing a mortarboard. Honest.)

In the future, I will be doing my best to keep progress updated on the beginnings of my writing career, including:

- the status of works I’ve submitted to contests or magazines, and possibly a rejection / acceptance tally.

- original fiction created by yours truly, non-fiction, poetry, or songs at least once a week

- and, of course, tales and stories of the process itself, from brainstorming, writing groups, and query letters to meetings, negotiations, and, fate willing, book tours.

You’re getting in on the ground floor, Internet. More specifically, the basement.

…No, not the one with the fusebox, the furnace, or the creepy corners that hide horrors unknown. I’m talking about the basement with hidden treasures, like your old action figures or the teddy bear you lost when you were eight. (It’s okay, nobody has to know about that.

Assuming you don’t catch something nasty, I think you’ll like it here.

-Brian