Apr. 17th, 2008 08:05 pm
kiralamouse: (Default)
[personal profile] kiralamouse
Go on, give it a shot, you know you want to. And if any details seem suspiciously familiar - you probably have grounds for your suspicion.

1. Time and Relative Dimension in Story

I woke up, bleary-eyed, to discover that it was 8:57 and my alarm had been trying to wake me for the past hour or so without success. Swearing under my breath, I yanked a brush through my hair, threw on some clothes, grabbed my bag and started running for my 9:00 class. My professor was not going to be happy, and I didn't think it would be wise to tell him I'd been staying up late doing vitally important research. He would probably find nothing particularly vital about knowing the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow or how to medically examine a weary knight. Truth be told, at one time I would have found nothing important about it either. Just one of the many changes to my life, this sort of self-training. If I ran fast enough, I could probably skid into class only a few minutes late. Of course, I found my path blocked by a large blue box, a retro telephone-booth thing with the helpful sign "Police Public Call Box". Oh, please no, I thought. If I ran a bit faster, perhaps...

"Mary Rose! Run!"

There was no help for it; the devilishly handsome man (Time Lord, I corrected myself) was headed in my direction at full pelt. Doubtless something nasty and earth-shattering was immediately behind. I resigned myself to Mary Rose (Mary Rose this time? Oh dear -) and stepped into the #(*$&% TARDIS. Again.

I had been doing the wrong research. Last time Discworld was followed by the Castle Anthrax. This time I was stuck with the - well, at least it was the lovely Tennant-Ten Doctor, it could have been a Dalek, but still, couldn't the TARDIS have waited until I'd gotten around to catching up Series 3? That does it, I decided. This time I'm seeing if we can go back in time in MY world and stop my idiot mother naming me Mary Sue.

The first time it happened, I was sixteen, and I admit I was starry-eyed and in love with my first fandom: Star Wars. I read the EU voraciously, saw the movies (this was back in the old days, when Episode I had only just come out and there was still hope that the prequels might turn out okay) and daydreamed myself into the world of Luke, Leia and Han on a regular basis. It was hard making a place for myself in that world, the characters being pretty well settled in, but I liked Mara Jade and the name Amidala and good old Leia and I thought I saw an opening as Luke and Mara's daughter, Ameia Luskychi (the latter being an assumed name to protect from the Yuuzhan Vong's desperate search for the Skywalker children).

Look, I was sixteen, okay?

Anyway, when I woke up one morning to my older brother Ben telling me we had to save our parents and Aunt Leia and Uncle Han, I thought I was just having an especially vivid dream. Not a particularly sensible one, either. I mean, sure, it was cool using the Force, daringly piloting X-wings almost as good as Jaina (but having a defter touch on the sneaking through ducts part). Cool advising Jacen on our diplomatic possibilities. And utter awesomeness convincing the Anakins (Skywalker and Solo) and Obi-Wan to come back as ghosts to give advice. Fun mediating Aunt Leia's tearful reunion with her father. You know. It really was cool. But come on. What kind of a universe involves being the perfect little godling who can perfectly overcome any obstacle? And was it logical that I should be such a prodigy, absolutely gorgeous and admired by all? At the celebration at the Rebel base (it seems the Vong had assumed the position of the Empire, and the Rebellion was back to the status quo), I felt like I was going to go into a diabetic coma just from the treacly ending. I remember trying to tell them I wasn't Ameia, I was Maria Suzanne Reiser, but the words wouldn't come out because they didn't fit the script.

And just as I'd finished smiling proudly on my father's arm...

...I found myself back in my bedroom. But now it was broad daylight, the bed was made, the room lovingly put into place, and my mother crying downstairs because I'd been missing two days.

It didn't take me long to destroy that story in my notebook, along with every other such fic in my possession. That helped. But it wasn't two weeks later that I found myself on board Titanic, helping a smoldering Jack forget that tramp Rose. Luckily, that one lasted only a few minutes; my friend hadn't really written much yet. See, that's the thing: I tend to end up in the fics I'm surrounded by. Other friends, other problems - we eventually figured out that I needed to stay at least fifty feet away from stories to guarantee I wouldn't be sucked in. And if my friends started reading the story, they could pull me out. No problems, right? Once I figured out that I needed to trash certain EU novels (Barbara Hambly, I'm looking at you), certain other novels, most fan fiction... it wasn't until one of my friends joined a creative writing class that we figured out the common thread.

And I still don't know whether to blame my mother for naming me Maria Suzanne, or blame myself for preferring to go by Mary or Mary Sue, or blame the uncreative for writing wish-fulfillment stories.

Then I went to college.

College, you see, has amazing internet access. Practically anywhere on campus, I'm within fifty feet of, say,

I didn't stand a chance. My friends and I are still trying to figure out what stories I'm landing in - we're up to suspecting that is creating its own universe which just sort of accepts Mary Sues into one big mush. I never know what story I'm going to land in - any fandom is up for grabs. And more and more, I'm having to move on my own, define my own character. It's hard work. I'm still not sure whether it was my best or worst moment, finding myself in House Sparklypoo (oh, but it was funny though!)

My prof, who is incidentally for creative writing, would be appalled at all this dry exposition. So let us return to the moment when the Doctor slammed us into the TARDIS and began throwing switches.

"That's why I love you, Mary Rose," he said. "Always ready to move! And of course there's that lovely Rose in your name..."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to be Mary Rose (previously, I believe I had been Romarisuzanna, Mary Jane, and Spocka; I didn't bother keeping track because it was never the same). I was, however, sure that Mary Rose would be sick of the Doctor blathering about Rose all the time.

"And Mary sounds like Martha, is that it?"

He looked surprised. "Martha? Oh, no, she's gone. Got sick of hearing about Rose all the time."

"Smart girl. You know, Rose IS gone. We could get used to the idea." If this is a universe where the Doctor gets sappy, it's probably one where I have the power to make things happen. Right?

"Ah, forget Rose. You're right, she was a waste of my time. I have you here, my Mary Rose, and I'm not letting you go without a good snog." And that lovely manic David Tennant face came right at me.

Okay, this life isn't ALL bad.


I do hope to write some more about the Adventures of Mary Sue - I like the concept. Anyone care to help? I'm thinking she should someday run into a guy with a similar curse - Martin Stewart (Marty Stu to us). Thoughts?
(deleted comment)

Date: 2008-04-18 04:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I eated them. Sowwy.

*hangs his head*
(deleted comment)

Date: 2008-04-18 05:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
They were alright -- if you want a good meal, though, you should find someone's broken dreams. Nothing tastes so sweet as the despair of broken dreams.


kiralamouse: (Default)

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