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Oct. 19th, 2007 11:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mayhapHello, Yuletide Author! How are you? Hopefully not exhausted from refreshing your email all night long waiting for your official, really real assignment email to arrive! (Not that anyone would do that, of course. Um.)
I am already convinced that you are awesome, based on your interest in and willingness to write about (check all that apply) minor Diana Wynne Jones novels, vintage P.G. Wodehouse, or figure skaters. In case you find it helpful, however, I have attempted to present some idea of the sorts of things I would like.
I love funny stories of all kinds. I love awkward, fumbling, tender moments between characters, shippy or platonic. I love explicit sex, a kiss and a fade to black, and everything in between, although I will admit to a particular fondness for needy desperate adolescent groping, if you go in for that sort of thing. I like a good sense of the period, the language (where appropriate), and the voice of the narrator.
As an American, I have been trying to understand cricket for over a decade now, but it's safe to say I don't fully grok it. Don't feel like you have to be an expert on cricket to incorporate it in your story, is all I'm saying here. I will be easily and cheerfully fooled.
For the RPS, since characterization is necessarily a little nebulous here, I'll say that what really interests me about the relationship between Evgeny Plushenko and Johnny Weir is a sort of underlying similarity where they both have tendencies towards exhibitionism and privacy and they both have really offbeat senses of humor. I just love the idea of them interacting.
Do not want: character death, desperately unhappy endings, AUs where everyone is a condiment or something. Sorry about that raging plotbunny you had where Johnny Weir is a jar of strawberry jelly and Evgeny Plushenko is a tin of caviar and they yearn after each other tragically, knowing that their love can never be because it would taste disgusting, until one day someone carelessly pushes Johnny off the counter and he shatters, his lifesblood oozing stickily onto the kitchen floor while Zhenya mourns him with salty, fishy tears.
I had better stop now before you promptly email the mods to default for reasons of insanity (mine).
I am already convinced that you are awesome, based on your interest in and willingness to write about (check all that apply) minor Diana Wynne Jones novels, vintage P.G. Wodehouse, or figure skaters. In case you find it helpful, however, I have attempted to present some idea of the sorts of things I would like.
I love funny stories of all kinds. I love awkward, fumbling, tender moments between characters, shippy or platonic. I love explicit sex, a kiss and a fade to black, and everything in between, although I will admit to a particular fondness for needy desperate adolescent groping, if you go in for that sort of thing. I like a good sense of the period, the language (where appropriate), and the voice of the narrator.
As an American, I have been trying to understand cricket for over a decade now, but it's safe to say I don't fully grok it. Don't feel like you have to be an expert on cricket to incorporate it in your story, is all I'm saying here. I will be easily and cheerfully fooled.
For the RPS, since characterization is necessarily a little nebulous here, I'll say that what really interests me about the relationship between Evgeny Plushenko and Johnny Weir is a sort of underlying similarity where they both have tendencies towards exhibitionism and privacy and they both have really offbeat senses of humor. I just love the idea of them interacting.
Do not want: character death, desperately unhappy endings, AUs where everyone is a condiment or something. Sorry about that raging plotbunny you had where Johnny Weir is a jar of strawberry jelly and Evgeny Plushenko is a tin of caviar and they yearn after each other tragically, knowing that their love can never be because it would taste disgusting, until one day someone carelessly pushes Johnny off the counter and he shatters, his lifesblood oozing stickily onto the kitchen floor while Zhenya mourns him with salty, fishy tears.
I had better stop now before you promptly email the mods to default for reasons of insanity (mine).
