Monthly Archives: February 2013
So, my work is having a talent search thingy for their annual Shareholders meeting coming up. Now, I decided what the hell, why not do it? So after several tries and I mean several tries! I got a video that I liked enough to send out. One that could possibly make it to voting that might even make it to actually winning that trip!
Now, I can’t tell you exactly why I want to win a trip to Arkansas – I don’t exactly know myself. It could be fun just to go somewhere on company money. Or it could be that I am dying of curiosity as to what it is like to attend the Shareholder’s meeting. Or it could be something entirely different! I honestly don’t know. I just wanna go. And I hope that you can help me get there!
Now, there is nothing to do right now. I have already submitted my video and I am waiting to see if I make it into the next round. If I do, then I will need your help! The next step is voting, which is open to everyone, not just employees. I am not a hundred percent sure how it works, but if I get into that step – I will explain then. I will need you and everyone that I know to help me win that trip. I would be most grateful.
Until then, please enjoy my submission:
I loved Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. Of course, it had it’s issues but overall it was a great story told by great actors. It produced some of my favorite moments. This is one of them:
So, good & fanfic is always an oxymoron. At least to me that is. So many crappy stories exist that you could fill a thousand blogs with them alone. Hell, if I cared enough, that’s would provably be the next blog I would make. Luckily, I just don’t care enough to do it. However, every-so-often I find a few morsels that are worth mentioning. That are actually good pieces of writing! Sure, they ain’t perfect and they are their writer’s fantasies on the page, but all fiction is like that. And this is decent fiction.
So, I’ll shut up now and let you read for yourself.
A Welcome Ache
A day never passed that Martha didn’t think of her husband. As the years wore on, the minutes spent pining for Jonathan grew fewer, and the ache grew less sharp, but still, he was never far from her mind. The littlest thing would bring his memory rushing back, the sight of his jacket still hanging on the hook by the door, the aroma of a fresh pot of coffee in the morning, the autumn sun rising over the fields, and she’d come to welcome the little reminders of him, with all the bittersweet longing they brought with them.
On the day she stood in the office of Smallville’s Justice of the Peace with Clark and Lois, Jason’s little hand tucked into hers as the JP recited the simple ceremony the happy couple had chosen, her head swam with memories of her years with Jonathan. Their first kiss, their wedding day, long days spent working the farm, holidays spent tucked in together in front of the warm fire while Clark played outside, their last day spent together before he’d died. He’d been the best husband a man could ever hope to be and a woman could ever hope to have, had always made her feel loved, wanted, and needed, and she’d never regretted a minute she spent with him.
Wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye with a tissue she’d brought specifically anticipating the need, Martha watched her son take Lois’s hand in his and gently place the simple platinum band on her ring finger, his vows falling from his lips in a soft litany of utter devotion. She knew then without a shadow of a doubt that he would be just as wonderful a husband to his wife as Jonathan had been to her.
And at that thought, the tears began to spill freely down her cheeks, her heart swelling with love and joy.
Red Tights: My Superman Fantasy
By Esther Huffleclaw
When I was a girl, I learned that when I grew up I could be a writer. Writers can change the world, and women can be writers. Although I read many stories by women writers, there were few stories about women writers. There was a story about a girl whose teacher loved her writing, but criticized her many italics, and there were others whose stories were written as diaries. I learned that women are the best writers.
When I was a teenager, I read the story of Lois Lane, the woman who won the love of Superman. I remembered the comics I had read as a child in my uncle’s house in northern BC; I remembered how much I had loved the story of how Lois Lane pursued the Man of Steel, at first only looking for an interview, then later seeking and winning his heart. I had once wanted to be a nurse, but then I read about the writer, Lois Lane. I would have to grow up a writer and I would have to find a Superman.
The first time I saw him, I would think he was a bird. He would be so far away, so high. Then I would realize that he was not a bird, and I would think him to be an airplane. He would swoop low and I would realize he was a man, a man flying without wings. I would be a young journalist the day I saw my Superman fly away into the clouds. The critics would accuse me of repetition and no imagination, but I would write about only him. I would beg him for a meeting, for an interview. Every time he appeared, I would be there with a camera and a notepad. We would settle into a comfortable routine of cat and mouse.
Even when I got used to the game, I would want even more to meet him. I would not care how long he dodged me; I would not give up. Suddenly, one day, another writer-a man-would catch my Superman and interview him. A rivalry would be birthed.
My Superman, now exposed by my rival’s article, would come to me one day and carry me away.
The earth fell away beneath us, and I gasped and gripped his shoulders tighter. I had been on an airplane before, but this was nothing like that; here, the distance from the ground and the movement were so much more immediate.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said to me.
“I’m not afraid,” I said out of pride.
(“But it’s so high,” I would have said in real life, mad at story heroines for lying so much. “I’m terrified. Do you have to fly so high? So fast?”)
“We’re almost there,” Superman said. “Relax.”
We landed on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean with salt spray crashing on the shore. Superman steadied me on the wet, slippery rocks and helped me to sit down on a drier one. We sat for a moment in silence, gazing at the sea.
“I’m sorry,” Superman said. “I’m sorry I gave your interview to Clark.”
“It’s okay,” I lied. In fact, this was the meeting I had dreamed of for so long-the interview was secondary. Being with him was better than writing a story about him. But I still resented his openness with another, with my rival, a man.
After a few more minutes of silence, he took me home. The flight back was not as terrifying-maybe I was getting used to this. We landed on my balcony.
“Thank-you,” I said, glad to be out of the sky.
“Good-night,” he said. Then he flew away.
I watched him become a dark slash against the sky, then a dot, then a speck, then disappear altogether.
He came often after that, appearing at my window to take me on an adventure through the night. As I lost my fear of flying, our flights became exhilarating escapes and I eagerly looked forward to them. Sometimes, he would let me glide alone for short distances, always catching me long before I began to fall.
At this same time, my feelings towards my rival were changing. Although we still competed for the best stories, we became friends. Sometimes we would even collaborate on a story, sharing the work and sharing the credit. Slowly, our friendship deepened and one day I realized I loved him. This surprised me, for I always thought I loved my Superman and no other. After much thought, I decided that Superman was not for me; he was an exciting dream, but I needed someone real. So, when Clark asked me to marry him, I said yes.
When Superman arrived at my window that night, I had a speech planned for him. I was going to tell him that I loved him, but it could never lead to anything. I was going to tell him that I had found someone else. I was going to ask him to stop coming to my window. I never said any of those things. Superman spoke first.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” he said. “I live two lives: one as Superman, and one as a regular human being. You know me in both lives; I am Clark Kent.”
I was stunned and angry. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked.
“I wanted you to love me for me, not because I am Superman,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I forgave him because I loved him. At least now I knew how Clark had gotten the interview. After we married, I was so happy. Superman no longer came to my window, but we still went on late-night flights-now we jumped out of our own window together.
My real life used to be so disappointing. For years, I watched as my friends found love and success and I wondered what I was doing wrong.
But then one day I realized that the mild-mannered young man who had become my best friend and confidant was also the super man I had been looking for. I asked him to marry me and we have lived happily ever after.