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Author	Topic: Old Stories Never Die (slightly autobiographical metafiction w/ OCs)
lazykbys Registered: Oct '04	Date Posted: 2/3/05 4:02am Subject: Old Stories Never Die (slightly autobiographical metafiction w/ OCs) - Date Edited: 2/4/05 6:01am (1 edits total) Edited By: lazykbys
	Title: Old Stories Never Die Author: lazykbys Timeframe: not that it matters, but largely BftS-ish Characters: OCs: pseudo-Mary Sue, proto-Gary Stu, self-insertion, etc. Genre: metafiction Summary: lazykbys enlists the aid of a Mary Sue to stop the greatest threat to his fanfics: his childhood alter ego Notes: Many thanks to red_rose_knight, who beta'd this story for me. Edit: Which means, of course, that any mistakes you find are completely and utterly my fault. Old Stories Never Die I woke up and immediately decided that I had to be dreaming. Not because I wasn't in my futon or even my house, but because there was an old man standing close by. He was roughly four foot tall and wore a reddish robe. What caught my eye was that he had pointed ears and a bald dome of a head with long white hair. I knew this man. Or dwarf, or troll, or whatever species he was. After all, I'd watched him on TV every Saturday morning for half a year, way back when I was just a kid. "DungeonMaster?" I breathed. "Not quite," he replied. "However, I am based on that character." I took a closer look at him. He had white hair around his ears and the back of his head. He had a kind, grandfatherly face that was set in a semi-permanent smile. The lines on his face suggested he had seen more than his share of hardships and tragedies. I frowned. It had to be the DungeonMaster. If he wasn't, then he was a walking copyright infringement. He took out a large book from the folds of his robe. When he opened its covers, the book's pages began to shimmer with an unearthly glow. I knew that book. That is to say, I knew what that book-like object was and what it was capable of. And this was because I was the one who had written it into existence over a decade ago. "That's the Book of the Ways," I said, stunned. "And that means you're . . . the StoryMaster!" The old man winced when I said his name. So did I. I always meant to come up with a better name for him, one that didn't sound like a total rip-off. But I never had the time for what I thought was a minor detail, and after a while I couldn't think of him as anything but the StoryMaster. And then I must have become wrapped up in another story and forgotten about him completely. Until now, that is. "What are you doing here?" I asked, waving my hand at the - non-room, I guess I would have to call it. It reminded me of the scene from The Matrix where there's only a white blank where the walls and the floor should be. "No offense, but you're an ancient figment of my imagination. I don't remember anything that would have triggered my memory like this, subconscious or otherwise." The StoryMaster sighed. "I wish I didn't have to involve you like this, but unfortunately I have no other choice. You know what I do." "Sure, it's all coming back to me. You maintain -" another wince "- StorySpace." StorySpace was a minor plot gimmick I came up with when I was about sixteen. The underlying premise was that the human mind could influence the space-time continuum directly through the imagination. Put simply, this meant that stories and the characters in them actually came into existence in a very distant parallel universe when someone thought them up. The main reason I came up with StorySpace was because I wanted to do a crossover between two separate worlds I was writing at the time. If I remembered correctly, it didn't work out like I'd hoped, although I kept StorySpace around for a few short stories about abandoned storylines and forgotten characters. Aha, I thought. This must be why I'm dreaming about the StoryMaster. There's an unfinished fic I've forgotten and this is my hindbrain's way of reminding me. Nice work, brain. "Okay," I said. "So who do you want me to Frankenstein?" The StoryMaster took a moment to figure out what I meant. Then he shook his head. "No. I'm afraid I'm not here to ask you to resurrect a character but to kill him." "Kill? Who?" Various names flashed through my head, those of characters in stories I was working on right now. None of them seemed to warrant death. Besides, I had created the StoryMaster as a peaceful being who sought to keep characters from fading away into oblivion. Which, I realized, could only mean that whomever the StoryMaster wanted dead was endangering the lives of others in a serious way. The old man fiddled with the hem of his robe for a while, obviously unhappy about sentencing someone to death, then finally said, "Ryylo Kauley." "Ryylo?" For a moment I couldn't place the name. Then I remembered, and wished I hadn't. Ryylo Kauley was a character I made up when I was all of eight years old, to do the things I could never do in places I could never go. To be totally honest, he wasn't a proper character but a fantasy self-projection. He could fix or invent anything, pilot any vehicle, shoot at targets and never miss, run for hours without tiring, fight against five people twice his size and win - He was the sort of guy you wouldn't hesitate to call Gary Stu, except Ryylo didn't have the depth of character. "Right," I said. "Ryylo. I remember now. But tell me, why do you want him dead?" The StoryMaster's eyes flared with anger. "He is taking others' StoryLines and twisting them to feed his own." StoryLines, obviously another of my creations, were like ley lines. That is to say, they were flows of energy that ran through StorySpace connecting important scenes. It was the source of power for all stories, fueled by the writer's imagination. Of course, once a story was forgotten its StoryLines would thin out and eventually it would die. This was what the StoryMaster tried to prevent. I had never pictured StoryLines as something the characters could actually manipulate. But then again, Ryylo knew no limits when it came to inventing black-box widgets that worked without knowing how. It was an essential part of his character. "All right. I think I see your problem. But why come to me?" I fished around in my head for original action/adventure characters. "I mean, couldn't you have asked Gyarrd or Noram? They're much better suited for this sort of work, I would think." "I did. They were not successful," the StoryMaster said darkly. "It seems they were too similar to Kauley. They were assimilated, their roles usurped. He . . . became them." "Ah." It made sense. Both were supermen with superpowers, made by an adolescent who sought perfection in heroes. Of course they would be sucked in. And then it struck me that I was going to have to go up against Ryylo the Indestructible. I, the out-of-shape thirty-year-old, who got out of breath riding a bicycle uphill. Visions of being beaten to a pulp flashed before my eyes, followed by the sickening feeling that next time it might be my life flashing by instead. No. No bloody way was I going to stick my neck out for a bunch of fictional characters who lurked in the depths of my memory. Even if this was just a dream. "Sorry, but you'll have to find someone else. Besides, what do I care if a story I don't even remember gets whacked?" The StoryMaster's frown turned into a malicious smile. "Oh, you will care. When Kauley has found his way into the stories you are writing right now, you will find yourself caring a great deal." "Hold on, how can he do that?. I mean, I'm the writer here, remember? I decide what goes on paper." I paused, then said, "Well, it's more the text file these days, but you know what I mean." "Have you not heard the words mind over matter?" "Yes. Frankly, I think it's a load of swamp gas." "And have you not wondered where plot bunnies come from?" My jaw went slack. "No. You can't mean -" "Yes. Unless you take care of this threat, sooner or later you will find yourself plagued with ideas for stories featuring your two-dimensional superhero. There will be nothing you can do but write them, no matter how repetitive or puerile they may be. And those ideas will not go away." "Stop it!" I cried, clapping my hands over my ears. But it was too late; titles like Ryylo Kauley and the Star Leviathan, Ryylo Kauley and the Black Hole Pirates, and Ryylo Kauley and the Ghod Thing had already sprung to my mind. It would take me forever to exorcise these plot bunnies, and even if I did, Kauley wood keep sending me more, and more, and more . . . "Stop, please," I moaned. "I'll do it. I'll do what you want me to." The StoryMaster spread his hands in acquiescence. He didn't seem too happy to have met his goals. It was probably because I didn't make him the sort who liked to badger someone even if it was for his own good. Hah, I thought. Serves you right for giving me the creeps. I took out my notebook and started making notes. My satisfaction at seeing the StoryMaster uncomfortable disappeared quickly as I began to plan my - hah! - character assassination. The first thing I did was to make a list of Ryylo's weaknesses. There were none I could remember - which was the whole point of his existence, really. Next I made a list of his strengths, hoping to see a way to turn at least one of them into a weakness with a little narrative judo. Again, there was nothing I could see. "What was I thinking?" I asked out loud. "He's bloody invincible! What good's an Achilles without his heel? Or Superman without Kryptonite? Why did I make the guy so bloody boring to write?" I wrote down a couple lines in my notebook, then crossed them out. Then I did it again. And again. I tore out several pages and started folding origami cranes because it at least gave me the illusion of getting something done. The main problem was that I had no idea how to fight someone with no weaknesses. The only plan that might work involved making another invincible character and throwing him against Ryylo, but I feared it wouldn't work. Even if Ryylo was killed, my new hero would simply fill up his niche and I'd be back to square one again. "What I need," I muttered, "is someone who'll die killing him." I wrote that down, simply for the sake of writing something, and then my pen stopped in mid-scrawl as I realized I knew someone who could do it - someone who, in fact, was famous for being killed while saving the day. It was practically part of the job description. I wrote down a name in my notebook and circled it. Thank the gods I've been playing around with this idea. "Hey, StoryMaster," I said. "I think I got it. The perfect guy - no, gal for the job." The old man looked relieved. "I knew I could count on you. Which story should I open a doorway to?" "I don't have a title yet, but it's in the Star Wars universe. The one with the menpath." "Star Wars? Menpath?" His brows furrowed as he realized which story I was talking about. "Are you sure?" "Positive. Oh, and by the way, first we need to lift a prop from another story. No, better makes that two props." ----- At first glance the opponents seemed evenly matched. The Jedi's blue-white blade clashed again and again with the Sith's red-white blade, each time coming to a hair's breadth of delivering a lethal blow. However, beads of sweat were forming on Maari Zeus's unblemished skin. For while it was usually her gift that she could feel as others did, right now it was a curse as well. She could feel, almost first-hand, the rage and hatred that roiled within the Sith warrior's heart. And although she tried to maintain inner peace, with each blow she could feel the dark side clawing at her soul. Concentrate, Maari, she told herself. You can't fail now. There's too much at stake. The other Jedi had fallen prey to whatever poison or virus the Sith warrior had used. Maari had been lucky to be out of the Temple when he struck, but in her haste to come to the Jedi's aid she must have inhaled the contaminant before it had dissipated. Now her lungs burned whenever she breathed. Ignoring the pain, she became one with the Force. The dark side still called to her, but now it was reduced to an echo. She saw her enemy as a collage of possible futures, of lethal moves and countermoves that coalesced as the future merged into the present. She let the Force guide her lightsaber, knowing that with each block and parry she moved one step closer to death. Such was her concentration that she did not see the third member of this deadly dance until he was within arm's reach. It was a short human male wearing strange rimmed lenses on his face and holding a thick rod. One look at his stance was enough to tell Maari he was not an experienced fighter. And while it was clear he was trying to sneak up on the Sith warrior, the man clearly had no skills in that area, either. She saw the moment of hesitation in the Sith's eyes as he noticed his would-be ambusher. With a sneer he delivered a high kick to Maari's chest that froze her momentarily in exquisite pain. Then he spun to face the intruder, his lightsaber on a course to cut off both the rod and his head with a single stroke. It was obvious he intended to continue the spin so that he would be facing Maari again by the time she recovered. However, on contact with the rod the ruby blade flickered out of existence, leaving the Sith unarmed. He still managed to block the rod with one arm and used the other to knock the intruder to the floor, but in that moment of distraction had left himself open to attack. It's now or never. Maari lunged forward, her lightsaber held out horizontally. He knees almost gave out as she swung the blade across the Sith's back. The blade cut cleanly through his vertebrae, ending both his life and the strenuous battle with a single stroke. "Nice work," the stranger said from the floor. He picked himself up, glanced at the Sith warrior's headless body, and threw up. "Sorry," he said after a minute of vomiting. "I thought getting the cortosis rod was all the preparation I needed." Maari managed a small smile. She couldn't remember seeing him anywhere around the Jedi Temple, and she prided herself on having a head for faces. She wondered if he was some sort of special intelligence agent, but that didn't explain his queasiness or complete lack of combat experience. "Are you all right? Can you breathe?" he asked. Maari nodded, although the pain in her lungs was becoming intolerable. It was only after she brought her pain to acceptable levels that she realized why neither she nor the Sith had felt the man coming: he had no presence in the Force. ----- It took me a few hours before I could tell her who I was and why I was here. First we had to get everyone treated with bacta mist. Then I had to clean up the mess I had made on the floor. Actually, I didn't have to, but I needed the time to figure out what I was going to say. I've never felt comfortable talking with people, especially when I was afraid my words would put me in a straitjacket, or whatever they used to restrain the mentally unstable in this galaxy far, far away. It turned out I didn't have to worry that much. After I explained that I had no midi-chlorians and gave her a sample of my blood for testing, she accepted that I was not of this galaxy. I didn't tell her that I was her creator right away, of course. No matter how bright you are there are some truths that you have to work your way up to. The most difficult thing was not persuading her to come along. Mary Sues are helpful by their very nature, after all. The hard part was doing my best not to fall in love with her. She reminded me of a girl I knew in junior high who had the same lovely red hair and green eyes. She also looked exactly like the Japanese girl from college that I could never work up the nerve to ask out on a date. This was possible because Mary Sues were like Discworld elves. That is to say, they projected glamor and dazzled people's minds. And this particular Mary Sue had been made with a pseudo-scientific explanation of that phenomenon. "You're a menpath," I explained. "You can use the brain waves of others to boost your own thinking and sharpen or even gain others' skills. Which is why you can beat almost anyone and do things nearly perfectly on your first attempt, you see." I didn't expect her to take the news too well. After all, it's one thing to be supernaturally talented. Being told you're some sort of mental vampire is quite another. "I don't believe you," she said plainly. "If I could do something like that with the Force, don't you think someone would notice?" "But it's not Force-related," I told her. "It's a form of non-verbal telepathy that goes straight to the back door of the mind. Anyway, if you need proof, think about how strong you are in the Force and compare that ability with your midi-chlorian count." I checked the notebook in my hands and made a tick next to the words Force strength vs midi-chlorians. On the page was a list of all the arguments I had thought of beforehand. My memory was bad enough as is without sharing my neurons with a menpath. When I returned my gaze to her face, I saw that I had struck a nerve. Her mediocre midi-chlorian count was one of the few things she was insecure about. It had started out as a gimmick to explain why she pushed her limits. I had never thought I would be using it as a lever. "Look - you don't have to feel bad about it. Being a menpath doesn't make you any less a Jedi than having low midi-chlorians. It's not what you've got but what you do with it, right?" She shrugged. "I guess so." "And right now I need your help. You and nobody else, because being strong in the Force probably won't help." "What do you mean?" It was now my turn to feel uncomfortable. To make her understand, I had to go back twenty-plus years to the year 1983. The year Return of the Jedi came out. First, I have to explain that I was born in Japan in December of 1974, then moved to America in 1982. I did not speak a word of English at the time, nor had I even heard of Star Wars then. Do the math, and you will find that I was probably eight years old when Return of the Jedi came out, with perhaps a year's worth of English in my head. Even still, my parents took me to see that movie. And while I was blown away by the action and special effects, I couldn't figure out for the life of me what a Jedi was or how the Force worked. Of course, that did not keep me from making a lightsaber from cardboard and colored paper and making those vummm sounds. Ryylo Kauley came to being when I was happily swashbuckling in a galaxy far, far away. But since I had no knowledge of the Force, Ryylo wound up being able to deflect blaster shots by virtue of his superior eyesight and reflexes. He could lift things in the air, but that was simple telekinesis and nothing else. He never worried about the dark side because I didn't understand it until much later. And when I did, I rationalized that you didn't have to be strong in the Force to do the things Luke did, so long as you were strong in other things. And boy, was Ryylo strong in other things. I watched her expression change from polite incomprehension to open doubt as I explained all this to Maari. By the time I was finished, she was looking at me like I was a lunatic or something. "Let me get this straight," she said. "You made him an uber-Jedi with no weaknesses. You can't use ysalamiri to block him from the Force. And you want my help in getting rid of him?" "Well, yes." "I'm not saying I believe you, but let's just say for sake of the argument that I do. In that case - how come you can't unmake him, then?" "Um . . . I'm a creator, not a destroyer?" "What?" I sighed. It had been a mistake to explain Ryylo's origins. I should have just stuck to StorySpace. "All right, fine. Forget the part about my making him, okay? The fact remains that he's out there and he's a menace to those around him. And if someone doesn't stop him, he'll go on hurting innocent people. Please, Maari. You're my only hope." She probably still thought I was a complete nutcase. But she was a menpath, and that meant that even without the Force, she could get a hint of my thoughts and emotions. I'm not sure what she saw but whatever it was, it must have convinced her. "All right," she said. "I'll go with you. I'm not saying I believe your story, but if he's that dangerous, then I don't really have a choice, do I?" "Thank you," I said. I did not add, And thank the gods I made you that way. ----- After a few false starts, we managed to maneuver Ryylo into the Mos Eisley Cantina scene in A New Hope. I sat in a corner booth, nursing a cup of something or the other and keeping my eye on Ryylo. He looked a lot like I did when I was sixteen. That is to say, gawky and skinny and wanting a better haircut. It was pretty obvious whose role he had usurped. Except for the lightsaber clipped to his side, he wore exactly what Han Solo did in the movies. Once upon a time, I must have thought it looked cool. Now, all I could think of was how much it made him look like a wannabe. I watched him handle Greedo with less patience than Han had. That is to say, Ryylo shot the Rodian before he could speak his second line. What a trigger-happy paranoid lout, I thought. It wasn't without irony that I noted, Not even Lucas could make it look like he shot first. For the nth time I wondered if Maari was up to the task. Because, although I had done my best in making her, she wasn't a Mary Sue due to her reverse-engineered nature. She was simply an original character with a lot of Mary Sue characteristics. Whereas Ryylo was a full-blooded Gary Stu, made even more so because I had never intended his stories - which, to be honest, were nothing more than kill the villain hack jobs - to be made public. I didn't make him lovable or even likable. He didn't care about hurting other people's feelings or getting a black mark on his reputation. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself Maari was going to get killed before she could get her lightsaber ignited. And when that happened, I doubted I was going to be able to go back and edit the scene. And I would have been responsible for her death. It took me a full minute to realize that I had already written this scene before, in A Long Time Ago In a Galaxy Far, Far Away. In that self-insertion story, I - that is to say, the narrator - realized that although the Lars' were fictional, they were also real enough to make "me" feel guilty for abandoning them. In writing that passage, I had felt, however momentarily, the feelings of guilt, denial, and eventual resolve. Re-experiencing those feelings made me remember that this was just a dream. Which meant that the only consequences of getting killed was waking up in a cold sweat. Unless, of course, it wasn't . . . Ignoring the voices of prudence, self-preservation, and utter cowardice, I made my way to Ryylo's booth. "Hi," I said with a cheerfulness I didn't quite feel. "Ryylo Kauley, right?" He squinted at me with undisguised suspicion. "Might be. Who're you?" "Oh, just a writer of stories." I paused to take a deep breath. I was ad-libbing now, wildly going beyond the scenario I had planned out with Maari. "In fact, I'm writing your saga right now. The Adventures of Ryylo Kauley. How does it sound?" He made a noncommittal grunt. I took it as encouragement. "Anyway, there's a few questions I'd like to ask you. You know, about your childhood and such." Although it was possible he didn't have a childhood. He might have popped into existence at age sixteen. And he might have continued being sixteen all these years. I babbled on for a while about this and that, wondering if I was out of my mind. Then I really decided to throw caution to the winds by asking, "How would you like a great death scene?" I saw the boredom in his eyes disappear in a moment to be replaced by the cold killer instinct that was second nature to him. I barely saw him draw the blaster, although I definitely felt the bolt burn a hole in the blast-proof vest I wore under my jacket. As I fell to the floor in pain, I made a grab for his lightsaber because I knew that Maari had to be close by and that she wouldn't miss this opportunity. She was a Mary Sue, after all. Then I heard the familiar snap-hiss behind me, and saw the bright blade pass over my head. I thought I heard a scream. It was probably Ryylo's, though I wouldn't bet my life on it. ----- When I opened my eyes, I knew I still wasn't back where I should be because the StoryMaster was standing there in the middle of the whiteness, shaking his head. It occurred to me that the reason everything was so . . . not there was because there had never been any descriptions of the space in between stories that was the StoryMaster's domain. "What were you thinking, trying a stunt like that?" he scolded. "Saving my character," I told him. "But the point of the plan was to kill Ryylo. Which Maari did, by the way." "Not his character. Mine. The one you're talking to right now." "What?" I grinned what I knew had to be an evil grin. I'm going to enjoy this, oh yes. "I'm not the guy who goes by the username lazykbys on TheForce-dot-Net's fan fiction boards. I'm the narrator of the short piece A Long Time Ago In a Galaxy Far, Far Away, aren't I. Because that's the only way you could have brought me here. Your powers don't extend into real life." To his credit, the StoryMaster didn't try to deny anything. He merely raised his eyebrows in a way that said, Good for you, young one. I couldn't wait to see his reaction to my next revelation. "And you're not the real StoryMaster who guards all of StorySpace, but only a character with that name and premise." "What!?" "Think about it. No matter what you may know about StorySpace, it doesn't change the fact that we're all figments of his imagination. We only exist because he thought us up, and when he stops thinking about us, we go into some sort of narrative limbo." "Our StoryLines dry up," the old man said softly. "Yes. However, there's a way to get out of his head, which is simply to be read. And that only happens when he posts it somewhere, for example the fan fiction forums. And that will only happen when the idea becomes so compelling that he has to write it, and he finds it good enough for public display. "That's what I've done. With that crazy stunt of mine, I turned this story, the very one we're in, from a simple if convoluted metafictional self-insertion fic into a - well, a simple if convoluted metafictional self-insertion fic with a twist. But the twist is something he's never done before, and he'll never be able to resist posting it." I grinned my evil grin again. "What's even better is that he knows I'm the one who made the twist possible. He knows that without me and my crazy stunt, this would have been a weaker story. And because of that, he'll have a hard time forgetting I ever existed." "I . . . think I see." "Well, good for you, then." "But tell me, does this mean more stories in the future with - ah - us in them?" "Probably not, unless we can come up with some heavy-duty plot bunnies." "Ah. A pity." "Yeah, I know. And I'm all geared up to write that death scene I promised Ryylo, too." I sighed. So did the StoryMaster. Then a strange glint came to his eyes as he said, "You know, that sounds like a plot bunny to me . . ." -----signature----- I would greatly appreciate any constructive criticism you can give me. Please feel free to PM me with your comments. . by the same author (click and scroll dowwwn): http://boards.theforce.net/m/b1/17609715/r17736763
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maychorian Registered: Jan '05	Date Posted: 2/3/05 2:17pm Subject: RE: Old Stories Never Die (slightly autobiographical metafiction w/ OCs)
	I like this! It's really weird, but I like it. It's the sort of thing I would write, if I got bored enough. (I have a bad habit of taking characters from my own stories and other universes--like Star Wars--and placing them in a kind of gray mist and watching them talk. It's very interesting. And that's where the story in my signature came from. But anyway.) You have talent. Definitely a well-defined style and a grasp of the writing craft. Good humor, and nice inside jokes. Wonder what else you've done? -----signature----- Kynstar's former Padawan The Unchosen: http://boards.theforce.net/Before_the_Saga/b10475/20049795/p1/ updated 2/16 When the darkness falls early, and the light hits the ground, there's a moment to be captured . . .
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VaderLVR64 Title: Fan Fic Manager in Combat Boots Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 2/3/05 3:34pm Subject: RE: Old Stories Never Die (slightly autobiographical metafiction w/ OCs)
	Very nice! I know you'll always write something interesting. This piece was good, very good! -----signature----- If you have to choose between tears and laughter, remember that laughter burns more calories. Proud New Army Mom - off to bootcamp!
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lazykbys Registered: Oct '04	Date Posted: 2/4/05 5:58am Subject: RE: Old Stories Never Die (slightly autobiographical metafiction w/ OCs)
	maychorian: I have a bad habit of taking characters from my own stories and other universes--like Star Wars--and placing them in a kind of gray mist and watching them talk. It's very interesting. I think it's also a very good way of getting a feel for the characters. I should try it out some time. Thank you for reading! [plug]And if you're interested, the links to my Star Wars fics are in my bio.[/plug] VaderLVR64: I know you'll always write something interesting. Thank you! I hope I can keep meeting your expectations. -----signature----- I would greatly appreciate any constructive criticism you can give me. Please feel free to PM me with your comments. . by the same author (click and scroll dowwwn): http://boards.theforce.net/m/b1/17609715/r17736763
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CodyMonKenobi Registered: Jan '01	Date Posted: 2/4/05 8:17am Subject: RE: Old Stories Never Die (slightly autobiographical metafiction w/ OCs)
	That was different, it was good, but different. So do you plan on writing moore with this? -----signature----- We rednecks like to stay with-in the four main food groups. Steak, potatoes, gravy, and beer, with hard liquor in moderation. U.S. Army Field Artillery The Blood of Patriots http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/24316253/p
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lazykbys Registered: Oct '04	Date Posted: 2/5/05 5:40am Subject: RE: Old Stories Never Die (slightly autobiographical metafiction w/ OCs)
	CodyMonKenobi: So do you plan on writing more with this? Well, I have the Maari Zeus fic mostly mapped out in my head and I have a couple of ideas for how I can use Ryylo. As for the other characters, probably not. Unless they conspire to plague me with plot bunnies, of course Thanks for reading! -----signature----- I would greatly appreciate any constructive criticism you can give me. Please feel free to PM me with your comments. . by the same author (click and scroll dowwwn): http://boards.theforce.net/m/b1/17609715/r17736763
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