Attack of the Asgard (and Fanfic Writers)

This week began with a bang – literally. A faithful reader of this blog, Zacharias, is apparently friendly with the beings of the TV show “Stargate” (which I have never seen), and while online chatting with ol’ Zack a number of strange things happened.

As I was unfamiliar with the workings of the Asgard, an alien race in Stargate, Zack explained some of their technology to me. Unfortunately, Vader happened to be looking over my shoulder and making some comments about how well a Stargate and a few Zats (super-powerful blaster) could serve the Empire…

And he was gone. Just like that. One flash of light, and he’d just up and vanished.

Then he was back – dizzy, exhausted, and with no memory of anything remotely connected to Stargate.

Zack explained that Thor, one of the Asgard, had beamed Vader up to his ship and taken the liberty of wiping his memory of all information regarding their technology. Normally I don’t approve of brainwashing, but in this case… phew. I could really see the Empire abusing the power of something like the Stargate…

But then Zack told me about two other things the Asgard were good at – personality alteration and cloning. And he made an incredible offer – not only could his alien friends tweak the Sith Lords’ personalities and make Palps less of a sadistic twerp and Vader less of a cantankerous hothead, but they could transfer Vader’s consciousness into a cloned, fully healed body. Having no love for the Emperor’s current personality and wanting to do Vader a favor, I agreed, and Zack arranged for the beaming to commence…

Unfortunately, both of us learned the hard way that you can’t force a Sith to do something he doesn’t want to do. Oh, it worked for awhile, the both of them mellowed considerably, but less than twenty-four hours later they were back to their old selves – and in Vader’s case, back in his old cyborg body. Zack’s guess is that the Emperor wised up as to what had happened, figured out the alien’s technology, and reverted everything back to the way it was before. Oh well, we tried.

If this confused a bunch of people, don’t worry. Who said life was supposed to make sense? (You’re also free to contact Zack about this if you’d like, he’ll most likely leave a comment here…)

Anyhoo…

Technically, the writing contest doesn’t end until midnight tonight, but I’m still letting the judges’ panel review fics anyhow. We have quite the collection here, and it may take a few days to decide on a clear-cut winner.

Papers are spread all over the kitchen table as the judges – Vader, Luke, Fett, Piett, Grievous, the Emperor, and myself of course – study the entries. Eleven in all, written in a great variety of styles and ranging from angst to crossover to vignette to downright humor. Seven featuring Vader, two Palpatine, one Fett, and one both Palpatine and Vader. And crossovers with such other fandoms as Quantum Leap, the Transformers, Tremors, and even My Little Pony.

“That one automatically comes in last,” Vader declares, holding the Star Wars/My Little Pony entry over the trash can.

“Put it down,” orders the Emperor. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”

“I say these people are obviously brown-nosing,” snarls Grievous. “Look at how many wrote about Vader.”

“I doubt it was brown-nosing,” Luke points out. “They just like Vader’s character.”

“No matter who wins, you risk the losers accusing you of favoritism,” Piett warns me.

“Ah, they’ve been pretty good about it so far,” I tell him. “I doubt they’re going to come here and pound me for not choosing their entry.”

“Offer them consolation prizes,” suggests Fett. “Several have been bugging you for nexus.”

“You do the hunting, pal, and I’ll give them nexus,” I tell him, picking up another entry – and unfortunately taking a swig out of my cup at the same time. Within seconds the entire story is showered in apple juice as I do a spit-take on it.

“Oh ugh!” complains His Royal Ugliness. “Disgusting!”

“You’d better hope we’ve all read that thing,” Grievous tells me.

I can’t reply – I’m dying of laughter. “This one’s a definite winner, man!”

Vader grabs it from my hands and skims it. Then he promptly crumples it into a tight ball and lobs it across the kitchen. Shmendrick pounces on it and begins shredding it, growling playfully.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Luke protests.

“That story is insulting,” he snarls.

“You’re not the only one on the panel, Vader,” the Emperor tells him. “We have some say as well.”

“Everyone chill, I’ll just go print another copy.” I stand and go to the computer.

Yeah, thank you all for your entries. You’re talented writers. Now comes the hard part – choosing winners. This is going to be tricky…

And yes, I WILL post the winners. And I will also contact you if you won. Stay tuned.

No Reward Is Worth This

What a week. Sorry for not updating sooner. I’ve been very busy. Suffice it to say that two exciting things have happened to me – I submitted a story to a major fantasy/science fiction magazine (won’t hear back for eight weeks, which is nerve-wracking), and I have a table reserved in the Artist’s Alley at this year’s Fandemonium to sell some of my fantasy statues.

Anyhow…

It’s going to be a weird evening. I can tell already. The minute I get out of my car, a fan accosts me and demands I do something about General Grievous.

“Why, what’s he up to?” I ask.

“He trashed our camper!” he snaps. “Claims he was chasing a stray cat…”

“What on earth does Grievous want with a cat?”

“Beats me.”

Grievous emerges from the barn, holding an irritated cat by the tail. “Caught the blasted thing!”

“Grievous, drop the cat.”

“It relieved itself on my best cloak!”

”May I ask what you were doing leaving your best cloak out where the wildlife could get at it?”

“It did it while he was wearing it,” pipes up a weirdo in a trench coat and a stormtrooper helmet.

“I repeat, drop the cat,” I order.

He releases the creature, still snarling. “This place is driving me insane.”

“Then find something to do,” I suggest. “Take up a hobby or help Vader and Fett out with the truck or something.”

“A hobby? Like what?”

“I dunno, salsa dancing or something.”

He growls a little and stalks off.

Fett looks up from the pickup. “Salsa dancing?” he repeats incredulously.

“Hey, it was the best I could do at the spur of the moment,” I retort. I glance over the pickup. “She’s looking good.”

“Thank you.” He returns to welding a gun turret to the passenger-side fender.

“Where’s your partner in crime?”

“Inside, talking to his Master.”

When I enter the kitchen, I see Vader and the Emperor deep in discussion. The Emperor has a smug look on his face, while Vader seems a bit frustrated. Before I can catch any of the conversation, however, Vader convulses, and a weird noise explodes in the kitchen, half-mechanical and half-beastly.

“What the devil was that?” demands the Emperor.

“Geshundeit, Darth,” I tell him.

“Argh,” he snarls. “All over the inside of the mask…”

“Go clean up,” the Emperor tells him. “I’ll continue our discussion with Kenya.”

“Good luck,” he tells me before retreating to the bathroom. Sure hope nobody else has to go for a while – Vader takes forever in there. He seals the door and pumps the room full of oxygen in order to make adjustments to his armor or see to his needs, and that keeps the place tied up for at least half an hour at a time…

“I had no idea he could sneeze in the mask,” I note.

“He can, and he does,” the Emperor replies. He gives me an unsettling grin. “Sit down, my lady. There is something we must discuss.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing at all, Miss Starflight.” He has a seat. “Remember that I promised to make this entire peace conference fiasco worth your while?”

“Yeah.”

“The conference is drawing to a close. The time has come to put a price upon your contributions.”

Why does that sound ominous? “So why were you discussing this with Vader?”

His smile widens. “You have a relationship with Lord Vader, do you not?”

I groan. No wonder Vader was upset earlier. “Look, like I keep telling people, there is NOTHING romantic between us. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. And if you think hooking me up with your apprentice is my idea of a reward, think again.”

“Maul had told me something along those lines,” the Emperor admits. “But as he has proved less than trustworthy in the past, I wanted to hear it from you.”

“You heard it, so decide on something else.”

“Well, what would you consider fair payment?”

“I dunno, get me a publishing contract?”

He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “My influence on this planet is limited. The most I could guarantee you is a contract with a holobook company on Corusant.”

“Not what I had in mind. Besides, it was a joke.”

“I see. So what else would you consider fair payment?”

A thought occurs to me. The Emperor has been my guest for a good long while now. His apprentice has been crashing here even longer. What better payment could there be than a little repayment in kind? A little sweet revenge, if you will?

“How about a guided tour of the Star Wars galaxy?”

His eyebrows raise questioningly.

“I don’t mean hit every corner of the galaxy. Maybe just the major planets. Or I could choose the worlds ahead of time and you could map out the route. Something like that.”

He nods. “That can be arranged. That can very well be arranged.”

“Then it’s settled.” I stand. “Well, I’ve got to go make dinner. Will you be eating here, or on your ship?”

“I will not impose…”

Mom comes into the kitchen at that moment, shaking her head. “I think General Grievous has just blown a gasket.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He and some girl in a Jedi costume are out there doing some kind of Latin moves in the driveway to a Marc Antony beat.”

Oh great. I didn’t know Grievous was going to take me literally. But I guess it could have been worse – I could have suggested opera or break dancing…

Just To Clear Things Up a Little…

A few things…

First of all, when I said in the last post that I was laying off the fanfic for awhile, I may have freaked a few people out. Don’t worry – since then I’ve changed my mind. I’ll still write fanfic, but rather than my previous practice of writing two fics at once, I’ll only maintain one fic at a time. Basically, I’ll write a chapter of the fic, then a chapter of my novel (or a short story to send to a magazine, or whatever), then another chapter of the fic, and so on. This way I’ll at least get SOME “real” writing done.

Second, my mom and I were discussing the contest the other day, and something interesting came to my attention – mainly, that the first prize for the contest is some original art from one of my fics. The reason that’s interesting is simple: I’m not that much of an artist. Really. The only things I draw decently are dragons and any Star Wars character that wears a mask. Anything else is tricky, and people are downright impossible (I stick to what I call “highly evolved stick people”).

So, needless to say, the prizes for the contest are changing (thanks for the suggestion, Mom). Prizes are as follows:

The GRAND PRIZE winner receives their choice of an original piece of artwork from my fanfics OR a totally original fanfic (is that an oxymoron or what?) starring the one and only them.

FIRST RUNNER-UP will be written into my next fanfic project, “Walk Like Men,” as a side character.

SECOND RUNNER-UP will be written into an upcoming fanfic project, “Space Alien Ray Gun Invasion,” in a cameo role.

THIRD RUNNER-UP will have the opportunity to name a character of their choice in an upcoming story.

HONORABLE MENTIONS get first dibs on what characters they would like to play host to once I get the peace conference kicked out of my house.

Sorry for the change.

And in case someone DID want that original artwork… well, here’s a sample of it.



In case you’re wondering, this is a little doodle that goes with the upcoming Chapter 26 of my fanfic “Heir to the Ring.”

Good luck all writers, and I hope to see more submissions.

Not-So-Breaking News Updates

CONTEST UPDATE: Six entries and counting… not to mention twenty days until the deadline. Sorry if this puts pressure on a few people. We’ve had quite the variety of entries so far – drabble, crossovers, comedy, and angst, to name a few. You’re all great writers!

TRUCK UPDATE: It would seem that, having made some modifications to the engine, Vader and Fett decided to take this beastie of theirs on a test drive before going any farther on their project. They made it a grand total of twenty feet before their maiden voyage came to an abrupt end as they backed into my mom’s car. When Mom bolted outside to investigate the cause of the noise, she proceeded to dispel, once and for all, the rumors that there was a romantic relationship between herself and Vader by verbally dressing him down in front of a thousand-plus fans, Imperials, and Rebels. Needless to say, the Emperor found this hilarious and Vader has been sulking ever since.

DRAGON UPDATE: In an effort to make amends for the low-speed collision, the Emperor offered to let his apprentice check the vital fluids in Mom’s car, which she readily agreed to. For some odd reason, Shmendrick insisted on being present to poke around in the car’s innards. Did you know that dragons could ingest petroleum products with no ill effects? Neither did I until he finished off two quarts of motor oil before Vader could stop him. Shmendrick is now being kept in hiding for his own protection.

FIC UPDATES: “Relatively Speaking” is finally done, and “Heir to the Ring” is winding to a close. I have two more projects in the thinking stages as well as some more chapters for “Star City, USA,” and then I will be taking a hiatus from fanfic for a while, or at least cut back on it. I’ll keep the blog going, but for now I think I need to concentrate on my original fiction. (No, my father’s jab has nothing to do with this decision, I determined it on my own.)

PEACE SUMMIT UPDATE: Nothing’s getting done, surprise, surprise. The two factions seem to spend most of their time arguing and/or insulting each other. I have a sneaking suspicion that things will be falling apart or blowing up very soon. Roseprincess, where’s the gestalts?

FANATIC UPDATE: Yes, they’re still camped out in the pasture. Yes, they’ve been driving the summit attendees bonkers. Yes, they’ve also been entering the contest, but I haven’t counted their entries as most of them seem to be involving slash and/or other inappropriate material. (On a related note – I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I was forced to disqualify your own entry due to high violence content. I commend your originality, but a fic in which Darth Vader beats the living snot out of Yoda wasn’t what I had in mind when I started this contest.)

FAMILY UPDATE: I get the feeling that the roles at my house have reversed. Here I am, at home on a Saturday night, typing fanfic and reading a “Calvin and Hobbes” book at the same time while my mom’s off partying at a church dance for singles thirty and older. I’ve never been a party girl, and I don’t begrudge my mom the time off at all (after three years of nursing school, she deserves a few breaks), but it’s still a little unusual. Especially when you try explaining it to your co-workers. Oh, and Brandon says hi to everyone.

WORK UPDATE: What can I say? Unlimited access to free books and the chance to recommend my faves to the patrons. (To blog readers – if you haven’t already, go read Life of Pi by Yann Martel and East by Edith Pattou. They are awesome!!)

MISCELLANEOUS UPDATE: Thanks for sending the Weird Al “Saga Begins” video, Zacharias. Everyone here enjoyed it immensely. Vader did think the various aliens in the background weird, and I thought Weird Al looked strange with short hair, but other than that, we had a blast watching and singing along. The Emperor was tickled with his impersonator at the piano, though it means we haven’t got a moment’s peace since then, as he insists on trying to master the instrument himself and keeping us up late…

I think that about covers the past few days…

Discussion with a (Different) Sith

REMINDER: The contest! Deadline is the end of this month! Three entries and counting…

Cold. Gray. Windy. Damp. Not chilly enough to bundle up, but not warm enough to go jacketless. No snow, but not much green either. Fans outside hunch miserably against the stiff breeze, and stormtroopers slouch at their posts, looking strangely useless and pathetic. The goats bleat incessantly, convinced that the lousy weather is somehow the humans’ fault and wanting us to do something about it. The chickens don’t even bother leaving the warmth of their coop, and I don’t blame them. Cat refuses to move from his comfy spot on the back of the couch. Even Shmendrick is subdued, curled up in his makeshift den behind the TV and emerging only to drag his meal back with him.

March in Deadend, Idaho is the pits.

I’m inside, thankfully, washing dishes with Darth Maul drying, and looking out the kitchen window at Darth Vader and Boba Fett, who are busy cleaning junk and wildlife out of the pickup. Geez, how many stray cats and hibernating bull snakes can you fit under the hood of a truck?

“I have to admit, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing how the pickup’s going to turn out,” I tell Maul, handing him a few plates.

“You’re a brave soul,” Maul replies, drying the plates and stacking them on the table. “The fans think you’re insane to let him overhaul the truck.”

“At least it’s getting done. My brother-in-law promised to fix it ages ago.” I scrub viciously at a pot, which has sat overnight without being rinsed off and is now crusted with spaghetti sauce.

Maul turns to me with a wry smile. “What is the nature of the relationship between you and Lord Vader, anyhow?”

“I used to think of it as Dark Lord and victim,” I admit. “Especially after he tackled me the one day. But now I think we’ve sort of reached an understanding.”

“Friends, then.”

“Yes, friends.”

His smile doesn’t go away. “Have you considered letting this relationship progress? Have you thought of going a level beyond friends?”

I glare. “Don’t get started, pal. Besides, I didn’t think the Sith were big on romance.”

There’s a howl of indignant pain from outside. I glance up to see that Fett somehow managed to slam his hand in the hood of the pickup. Vader doesn’t seem interested in helping him out – on the contrary, he’s flat on the ground, dying of laughter.

“You confuse us with the Jedi Order. No, the Sith have nothing against the expression and indulgence of emotion. We so rarely marry only because most women find us repulsive.”

“Not here.” I give up on the pot and let it soak while I reach for the silverware. “You and Vader practically have your own private armies of lovesick fangirls on this planet.”

“I discovered that on the fourteenth of February,” Maul sighs, rolling his eyes.

“You got a lucky someone among the admirers yet?” I tease.

There’s a traitorous pause before he answers that. “We’re getting off the subject. What about you? Does Vader interest you?”

“Like I keep telling people, he’s twice my age!”

“Age is not always a deterrent when it comes to romance.”

“I concede that point. But I just don’t consider him a prospect, okay? Yes, he’s my favorite character. Yes, I like him. Yes, there’s a certain attraction there. No, I have never seriously considered pursuing a romantic relationship with him.”

“You said ‘seriously,’” he points out. “So you have fantasized…”

“Shut up.” I throw the dishrag at him.

Something bangs outside. Vader and Fett have jacked up the pickup and seem to be doing their best to yank the transmission.

“So why do you not consider Vader a romantic prospect?”

“Because of my religion, mostly. We believe in eternal marriage, which means getting married in one of our temples. But only worthy members of the church can enter the temple… and Vader doesn’t really qualify.”

“Suppose your religion were not an issue,” Maul suggests. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that somewhere down the road Vader decides to convert.”

I snort with laughter. “That’ll be the day.”

“The minute he steps into the baptismal font, he’d electrocute himself and whoever was doing the baptizing,” Brandon pipes up from the living room. I’d forgotten he was in there.

“If getting drenched at the water park last summer didn’t electrocute him, I doubt two minutes in a font would,” I retort. “But still, I just can’t see Darth Vader becoming a Mormon.”

“Then let me try a different tactic – what if you were not a Mormon? What if religious differences were not a factor in your relationship? Would you pursue him in a romantic sense, then?”

I have to think about that. Maul watches me intently. Outside, someone swears as the transmission comes out in pieces – the consequence of taking a crowbar to it.

“No,” I reply at last. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

I shake my head. “Maybe there’s a reason you didn’t talk much in the films, bucko.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Because Vader already has a romantic interest.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Her name was Padme. She’s been dead for some time, but I know he still loves her. Love that strong doesn’t die and can’t be replaced. And considering he played a role in her death… I can’t see him getting involved after that. As a friend pointed out to me, I don’t think he’d want to risk hurting someone else like that. Or himself, for that matter. He’s been through a lot of Hell in his life, and I don’t think he wants to set himself up for more pain.”

Maul nodded. “I have not seen the prequels. I was not aware that his previous relationship was that tragic.”

I pull the plug and let the now-greasy wash water slurp down the drain. “Why are you so interested in this anyhow? What makes you so interested in what’s going on between me and Vader?”

“To be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less,” Maul replies. “It’s Palpatine who wants to know what’s going on between the two of you. As Vader is unforthcoming with that information, it fell on him to get it from you.”

“Well, tell the Emperor that we’re just friends, there’s no romance, and next time he has a question for me, come see me in person and don’t send a stooge.”

He nods. “I will inform him of that.”

“And while you’re out there, tell Vader to be careful with Mom’s drill. I can’t afford to replace it…”

The drill buzzes noisily as Vader and Fett begin disassembling the truck piece by piece, sorting the parts into two piles – presumably “usable” and “trash.” This is going to be interesting. Especially if those “parts from Tatooine” he mentioned the other day are what I’m thinking they’re going to be…

Monster Garage in My Backyard

NOTE TO DARTH: Update my blog without my permission again and it’s the goat pen for you. And for the record, I’m NOT jealous of my mom. I don’t like you in THAT way, got it?

Um… yeah, so y’all met my dear old dad via the blog, huh? Thanks for all your supporting comments, by the way. Glad to hear that most of you have pretty decent fathers and don’t have to go through this kind of stuff.

I seem to be the only real Star Wars fan currently employed by the library, so to everyone else working there, today’s a fairly slow day. They’re the lucky ones – they don’t have a busload of interstellar peace conference attendees following them to work. Okay, not quite a busload, but enough of them to make things interesting. In the course of fifteen minutes they manage to scare a little kid into wetting his pants, knock an entire shelf of sci-fi novels onto the floor, completely disrupt morning storytime, and fratz out a computer trying to access the Galactic Holonet. Don’t ask me how an R2 unit managed to hook into a CPU, but it happened, and Artoo’s still upset that I told him off for it.

“Darth, can you PLEASE keep these guys in line for me?” I plead.

“I will assume full responsibility for the Imperials,” he informs me. “The Rebels are beyond my jurisdiction. Talk to Princess Leia about that.”

Thank goodness Mothma’s not here – I’m not the biggest Leia fan, but I’ll take her over Miss Goat-phobic any day. I take a detour while shelving the non-fiction, finding Leia thumbing her way through a copy of The Da Vinci Code.

“Leia, can you please make sure the Rebellion remains on good behavior in the library?” I ask. “My job probably depends on it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” she assures me. “Go back to work. It’s under control.”

I thank her and go back to shelving. I happen to pass Luke and Han on my way to the audiobooks – they’ve picked up a copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and are laughing hysterically. I just shrug. Not my type of humor, but to each his own…

Get the last of the audiobooks on the shelf, help Admiral Piett track down a Dean Koontz novel, remove “Due Date” stickers from books before sorting them onto the appropriate carts for shelving, pick up after the kids (who seem to gain more delight from simply yanking the books off the shelves and leaving them on the floor than from reading), kick Artoo Detoo off the computer before he breaks another one, inform Wedge and Chewie that checking out DVDs and taking them outside to use as Frisbees is NOT appropriate, break up a nasty argument between a spike-haired teenager and General Grievous in the graphic novel section…

It’s not until after I take my lunch break that I realize I haven’t seen Vader in awhile. That bears investigation. As the T-shirt says, “If you can’t hear me, you’d better find me.”

At first I relax. Vader and Fett are seated at a table near the reference section, perusing a few books. I should leave them be and get back to work, but curiosity gets the better of me. I sneak up behind Vader and have a peek over his shoulder. Automotive books, a copy of Episode I Cross-Sections, a welding book, cryptic-looking diagrams and sketches…

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“This is a private discussion,” Fett snaps.

“Fett, we can inform her,” Vader tells him. “We are discussing plans for overhauling the pickup truck.”

“Oh.” The old white pickup sitting on our property hasn’t run in almost three years and needs serious work – the rear windshield is smashed, the entire ignition needs replaced, the gears are most likely stripped, three of the four tires are completely flat, wasps and feral cats have set up residence inside, rust is eating it alive… My brother-in-law promised to fix it up for Kevin to drive once he gets home, but so far he hasn’t touched it. Mom must have finally gotten fed up and turned the project over to Vader.

“It’ll be good to finally have another usable vehicle on the property,” I say cautiously, hoping to feel out more information. “In case my Taurus or Mom’s Acura break down.”

“Uh-huh,” Fett mutters, not hearing. “Are we still shooting for anti-grav, Vader?”

“That remains to be seen.” He taps an image in the Cross-Section book – his old podracer. “I have parts coming in from Tatooine that should benefit our project.”

I have a crazy mental image of the old pickup, minus wheels and being hauled by two huge engines, speeding through Beggar’s Canyon on the Boonta Eve racetrack. Mom, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you asked these yahoos to fix the truck.

“Remember, this thing has to be fit to travel our roads,” I tell them. “I’m pretty sure anti-grav and external engines would be violating some motor vehicle safety regulation.” Not to mention the speed limit, I want to add, but arguing speed limits with Vader and Fett is pretty much useless.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t add a few special touches,” Fett counters, a hint of glee in his voice.

“An enhanced navigational system,” Vader offers. “Autopilot capabilities. Greater fuel efficiency.”

“Onboard weaponry systems,” Fett adds.

“Just don’t go too hog-wild, Mechanic Frankenstein,” I warn Vader. “It’s a pickup, not the Millennium Falcon. We want it to get from Point A to Point B, not take on an enemy starfleet.”

Vader looks up at me. “Do you honestly think your mother would have entrusted me with this if she did not think I would do a decent job?”

“Depends on whether you mind-tricked her into giving you the job.”

“Ha ha,” he mutters sarcastically. “For your information, you have a ‘Due Date’ sticker on your forehead.”

I slap my hand over the offending object. How long has THAT been there?