Anaross--- Unlife Inc.

Interested in upping your plotting?

anaross — Sat, 04 May 2019 15:04:30 GMT

Is anyone interested in taking a comprehensive plotting story course? I've been working on it forever, and it's finally ready for unveiling. I guide writers through the whole system of plotting, from figuring out the story type and question, to building the super-structure of the 3 acts, then framing in the 9 turning points, and then deepening everything by exploring the character's journey, goal, and strength. It's not designed especially for fanfic, but much of what I learned about corraling a big plot I learned from writing three big Spike novels. So the course is definitely informed by that. And I respect and understand the specific issues that come with plotting and writing fanfic based on existing characters.

So if you're looking to jump up to the next level in your fic plotting, or you want to try turning a fic into "original," this is a good opportunity. The interaction will be between you and the lessons, and also with me (there are 4 coaching calls included), and with other students only as much as you want.

And no, I don't teach like Spike. I couldn't get away with it! :)

Here's the link if you're interested! Plot Blueprint Course
https://plot-blueprint-course.teachable.com/p/plot-blueprint/

Let me know if you have any questions- you can email at plotblueprint@gmail.com
Anaross
(you can also sign up for my free writing email list-- Get a free plotting article!

Congratulations to Archive of Our Own

anaross — Wed, 10 Apr 2019 03:26:53 GMT

Congratulations to Archive of Our Own!

...for the Hugo Best Related Works nomination. No one deserves it better than that hard-working inspirational crew that created it, and the many fan-artists who keep it stocked with art and fiction.

https://slate.com/technology/2019/04/archive-of-our-own-fan-fiction-2019-hugo-nomination.html

I was on a podcast about fanfic: Sunnydale Fanfic

anaross — Mon, 11 Feb 2019 22:48:54 GMT

Podcast about my fanfic and My Life Closed Twice-
https://t.co/E5VqNfSA8m

Thanks to JforJenny & QuinciWho, who interviewed me on their fascinating podcast!

Taking down My Life Closed Twice

anaross — Mon, 04 Jan 2016 01:24:41 GMT

I just want to give notice that I'll be taking down the My Life novel hoping to make something "original" out of it. (50 Shades of Spike! <G>)
I'm going to do it in a week, so if you want to save it, you can still download it till then.

The reason is I don't want all those vendor bots finding the story online and thinking I've plagiarized this person named Ana Ross!

So far in my revisions, I've changed some names:
Spike= Jake
Buffy = Sunny
Angel= Murph

miladyfelicia has been helping me conceptualize a new backstory and all that! Thanks to her! We'll have to see how this works. But if anyone else is trying to make your fanfic fic, message me, and let's discuss.

In My LIfe

anaross — Sat, 02 Jan 2016 06:33:58 GMT

In "Stay" (the total angst short story), someone sings this song for Spike and Buffy, and here at the start of the new year, I'm thinking of the past year, and my dad (who died last year on the 5th anniversary of my mother's death)-- anyway, lovely song, lovely version. Happy new year, glad there's always a new one:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeuxV_PzR_s#action=share

Help Anaross with original fic?

anaross — Sat, 19 Dec 2015 06:18:52 GMT

Hi, everyone! I've been really busy with this book, AND I'm thinking of making an original fic out of My Life Closed Twice. (Okay, hard not to notice that 50 Shades was fanfic and made MILLIONS.)

But first-- Could you all do me a quick favor?
I have just finished a new novel, and I’m trying something new, the Kindle Scout program. And I hope you’ll help me!
Would you nominate my book? All it takes is following this link for my Regency-set mystery novel, set after the war with Napoleon, and clicking the Nominate button (right under the description of the book). https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/3VWUZJI12YWD8
This is a new venture for me, and I would be grateful for your help! Thanks! If they choose my book for publication, nominators get a free e-copy. And if you could share with friends, and they clicked that link and nominated me, I would really appreciate it!

Anaross/alicia
Sign up for my email newsletter for new Regency releases and get a free novella! http://books.noisetrade.com/aliciarasley/the-wilder-heart

Sign up for my email newsletter for new craft-of-writing books and get a free plotting article! http://books.noisetrade.com/aliciarasley/outline-your-novel-in-30-minutes

Award nomination

anaross — Sun, 05 May 2013 17:39:43 GMT

The nominees are sort of impressive, so I don't think victory is in the future. But it's great!

Luminosity

anaross — Tue, 22 May 2012 01:06:27 GMT

I'm trying to find that old Luminosity vid, Spuffy, The Other Side. Anyone have a link? The old link is dead. :(

Free book-- download if you get a chance?

anaross — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 22:41:09 GMT

I'm trying to get some reviews for my books on Amazon, so I'm doing
freebies one at a time. Anyway, if you get a chance, could you all
download this? It's a sweet story, nothing too angsty.

Free! A warrior returns to wife who waits. Tender love story, happy
ending. Allegra's Song. Free! http://amzn.to/HhbqEx

Anaross

Slash recs please!

anaross — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 04:01:34 GMT

Me again! More recs please? I'd like slash involving Spike. Any pairing as long as Spike's in the mix. What's your fave?

Going to Comic Con?

anaross — Mon, 23 May 2011 23:41:37 GMT

Anyone going to Comic Con and need a great room near the Convention Center (the Hilton) at a cut rate? The rooms are $400 a night that week, but...

Well, guess who bought non-refundable hotel reservations before getting tickets for Comic Con (which I couldn't get, it turns out)? Talk about cart before horse thinking. Anyway, I'm stuck with two nights at the Hilton which can't be moved or refunded. But they said I could change the name on the reservation, so I'm looking to sell the reservation for half-price (2 nights for $400). Has to be someone reputable that won't trash the room, of course, but I'm sure you all are nice. :)

Okay, I was REALLY dumb. I admit it.

Best Buffy Fics Evuh! Please contribute!

anaross — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 20:05:58 GMT

I want recs for the best Buffy fics ever. Any pairing or none at all. Of course, I'm Spike!Forever, but enjoy other character stories too. I just want to know what I've missed, and really need to immerse myself in good reading this next week!

So... If you were going to list your 4-5 favorite Buffy fics ever, what would you say?

Synopsis class

anaross — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 04:11:57 GMT

Alicia's March Workshop -- Synopsis Writing

Do you have to write a synopsis? Do you dread it?

Are your queries and proposals being form-rejected, and you know you’re writing well?

Is your synopsis too long and you can’t figure out how to cut it?

Well, this class is for you. In two weeks, we’re going to work on creating a sensational synopsis of any length, from the one paragraph version for a query or pitch, a one-pager, or a longer one to go with the proposal. You choose!

The trick is to leave the plot behind. Too many writers get bogged down in events, and end up with a boring chronicle of “this happened, then this happened.” I can tell you from having to evaluate many proposals that this sort of synopsis will bore the editor– yes, no matter how good your story is. Instead, we’ll concentrate on writing a synopsis that reflects your entire story, not just the plot. I call it the SCORE method:

Situation

Character

Organization

Revelation

Epiphany

By focusing your presentation on that, you can weave in plot events but never lose the coherence and intensity of the story. In this interactive workshop, you’ll work on presenting your own story in your own voice, so that the editor will want to read the book.

If you’re facing the difficult job of writing a synopsis, here’s your chance to get expert guidance and feedback. This two-week class will be conducted entirely in an email list, with a limited number of students. SCORE with Your Synopsis will start March 1, and costs $50. To sign up and pay for the class, go to www.edittorrent.blogspot.com and click the Buy Now button in the sidebar, or email edittorrent@gmail.com.

anaross — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 21:04:23 GMT

Help! I'm trying to track down a probably apocryphal but very affecting story. A teacher supposedly wrote it. She was having trouble with a class (7th grade?) one day, and on impulse she made everyone write their names on a paper and pass it around, and all the students were supposed to write only what they really liked about that kid. And so every student ended up with a sheet of paper with nice things about him/her.

Anyway, years later, one of the students died, and she went to the funeral, and the mother came up to her and showed her that page with the boy's name on it, all folded and wrinkled. She said he'd always kept it and looked at it when he was blue. And then other kids from the class who had come to the funeral approached her and pulled wrinkled sheets from their purses and wallets-- they'd all kept them too.

Anyone have a link to this story? I don't care if it's not completely factual. It's TRUE even if it never happened!

Gimme Shelter Ch. 3.

anaross — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 21:16:10 GMT

Gimme Shelter Ch. 3.

Earlier Gimme Shelter Chapters

She was crazy to see him. Crazy. The need clawed through her and grabbed at her throat, and she couldn't even say it. I need to see him, she would say if she could speak. But Faith was holding her again, and Rona too, the two of them hard and hot around her, and she couldn't see past them, or over the broad back of the psephlic in front of her. I need to see him. Spike. I need to—

But Faith was yelling in her ear. Rona says—

Rona says—

And Rona was yelling too. He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember anything. Giles says—

Giles, Buffy croaked out. Giles would know. Giles knew. Giles knew and didn't--

Giles is leaving, Rona yelled, and Buffy saw him now at the side of the crowd, stalking out through the kitchen door like he owned the place and was going in there to fire the chef.

"Giles knew," she said clearly, and Rona gathered her in for a fierce hug, and Faith, well, in the two minutes since Giles had said that name—that name—Faith had somehow gotten every bit of intel and was leaning close to share it.

"He's back. He's okay. But he doesn't remember Sunnydale, Giles says," Faith said, though she couldn’t have exchanced word one with Giles. She must have heard all this from Rona in that crazy moment when Buffy couldn't think of anything but how she wanted to see him. "He doesn't know and Giles says it's best that way."

I still want to see him, she whispered into Rona's hot neck. "Let me go," she ordered, and Rona let her go—releasing one arm and then the other, and then backing off a step, backing up right into the psephlic demon, who said, "Hey, now, little lady."

There was such a crowd, jostling and solid, and those damn dampers had slowed her Slayer skills, and she couldn't get more than a few steps.

"Come on," Faith said, and took her arm.

Then she heard him. That voice. That rich, amused voice. Of Spike.

"Need some ladies. Some slayers. Got a song for you!"

And the crowd parted, and slayers rushed forward—girls she knew from Sunnydale, girls she'd met since, and a couple she didn't recognize. "Come on!" Faith cried, her face filling with excitement now.

And so she followed them all to the front, where they parted to let Faith and her—the Chosen Ones—clamber first up the stage steps.

He was there. It was him. She knew it. She felt it. She raised her head and looked straight at him, and he grinned and made a courtly bow, and held out his hands, one for each of them. And he smiled—first at her, and then, more fully, at Faith. His hand was cool and firm over hers. She remembered that feeling.

He didn't.

"Ah," he said, over the whining of the rhythm guitar. "The real thing, are you."

And Faith tossed her head, and said, "Takes one to know one," and he laughed like that was the wittiest riposte ever.

He didn't know her. It was true. He knew she – and Faith—were special. He could tell that much. But that was all he knew. He didn't know Buffy and he didn't know their past and he didn't know—he didn't know he loved her.

He still did. She knew it, even if he didn't.

He looked the same. Oh, not the same. Longer hair, darker now. No. That was the only difference. That and that easy politeness in his eyes as he looked at her.

For a second. And a second more. Then he turned again to Faith, and gave her another type of look.

Buffy knew that look. It was HER look. She was about to grab him and tell him to quit looking at anyone else that way, even – especially—Faith, but the band had lurched into an opening riff, and the slayerettes were massing behind them, and Spike had grabbed the microphone. "Sure," he said, "the Stones have Jagger. But even Jagger doesn't have…" he gestured around him—"The Slayer Chorus!"

Then he grabbed the mike and leaned forward and sang, very soft, "Oh, the storm is threatening…"

Buffy felt it again, that weird disconnect. This wasn't her life, was it. She didn't know what to do. He was there and he was the only thing in her life that had ever made any sense—and he didn't know her. And that made no sense.

The other slayers were swaying behind them, and so she swayed too, and they were singing "ooh-ooh," so she did too, low, because she didn't like her singing voice. And then one slayer belted out, "It's just—" and stepped forward. Rona, with that powerful booming voice of her, stepped forward to the mike and sang with Spike. And he knew she'd do that. She'd done it before. She knew. Giles knew. And no one told her—

But the song was going on and she couldn't stop everything just to cry or grab Rona's braids and yank or grab Spike and—

"War, slayers, it's just a shot away. War, demons, it's just a shot away."

He sang that, and the demons and slayers all sang along, old warriors, new warriors, but warriors without much of a war. Just the song—

Everyone was dancing. But Faith—somehow Faith was dancing not in the line with the rest of them, not even with Rona up by the microphone. She was dancing with Spike, as Rona's voice dropped to a whisper, "Tell you, sister, it's just a kiss away. It's just a kiss away. Kiss away. Kiss away."

Faith and Spike, and Buffy couldn't stand it. She strode forward and shoved Faith out of the way and took her place, growling, "Mine," and looking up into Spike's glowing gold-blue eyes.

Faith just stood there, and then said, "Yeah. Okay. Yours," and stepped back into the chorus.

Spike was laughing too much to take the mike from Rona, and she had to sing the last refrain by herself. He was used to this. Used to women—slayers—fighting over him.

Well, no more. They were going to know, and he was going to know, that there was only one slayer for him. She pressed toward him, almost touching him, their bodies finding a rhythm. The rhythm. The Buffy-Spike rhythm, their bodies almost meeting at the halfway point, dancing as one, every thrust met, every move anticipated. It was scary and sexy. And he didn't remember this, but his body did.

Gimme Shelter-- Stones, Alas, not Spike

I don't know where this is going, but was reading about "other dimensions," and wanted to try it out

anaross — Thu, 06 May 2010 02:23:46 GMT

It's Spuffy. Another dimension. Looks just like this dimension, but no vampires, which might become important, but I don't know how.

The World Is Mine

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,

Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road,

A gateless garden, and an open path,

My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

His shirt collar scraped at the scar on his neck, and Spike remembered why he hated wearing a tie. Still, he wasn't undercover anymore, and had to dress like a proper detective. But here on the Underground platform, surrounded by suits and briefcases, no one would notice him. Well, okay, everyone noticed him. He was just different enough that they all noticed him, gave him wide berth, let him move to the front of the platform.

I don't kill humans in this dimension, he wanted to tell them. But as he thought the words, he decided they wouldn't actually sound that reassuring. So he just moved through the path opened for him, and went to the edge of the platform, and looked down the dark tube into the darkness. It was hot down here, and smelled of flesh, and he loosened his tie. He ran a couple fingers under his collar and thought of his flat in Southwark, which had airconditioning and a three-inch view of the river, and the Old George down the street, where Pepys got drunk, and Shakespeare probably too. (All the old pubs in Southwark claimed Shakespeare as a former customer, and they were probably right at that.)

(They had Shakespeare here. And Southwark, and the Underground. Why didn't they have vampires?)

The train came in a whoosh of hot air. It wasn't his train, but the Central Line, and he stepped back to let the passengers out. He'd been doing this for, oh, a century or more, since his father had taken him to see The Big Dig, back when the first lines were being laid, back when Victoria was queen and Britain ruled the world.

Only it wasn't this Underground, and it wasn't this London, and the Victoria that still ruled here wasn't the one he remembered. Not his world. Not his life.

The doors started to close, and that same mechanical voice uttered the same words as in his old world: Mind the gap. It was perhaps the wisest thing anyone had ever said to him, and he was considering each word—Mind. The. Gap—when he saw her just inside the door, her slender hand tight around the silver pole, her attitude sending out "back off" signals that everyone was heeding.

"Buffy," he whispered. She couldn't have heard him, not above the roar of an approaching train, but she must have heard him, for she looked straight at him.

No. It couldn't be her. Buffy was in the other world. Buffy was safe in the other world, going to school, or dating a dozen boys her own age, or looking for him. Well. No. Not that last. Anyway, this wasn't Buffy. Buffy was in the other world. This was just a blonde girl, her Buffy-mouth shaping the word "Oh."

Just his blasted good looks. That had been his downfall ever since—well, ever since Drusilla thought he was too pretty to live. Girls didn't like him all that much in his own world—he was either too dangerous, or worse, too safe—but here, they always –

Now her mouth was shaping another word, and he heard it—only a breath, one only a vampire could hear, a breath on the rush of wind and noise as the train left the platform.

Only a word. Only one word. "Spike."

He waited there on the platform. Hours and hours. He waited. He didn't know what else to do. He waited, as train after train pulled in, disgorged passengers, and pulled out. Finally, when he had given up (but couldn't bring himself to leave, for that would really be giving up, and he never, not in this world or the last, gave up), a Piccadilly car. It opened, and everyone spilled out, and there, pushing through, was her. Buffy. Buffy.

"Buffy," he whispered, and opened his arms, and she ran across the platform to him, laughing and crying at once.

"Spike. Spike. My Spike."

Buffy. Buffy. My Buffy.

The Shearing

anaross — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 02:13:21 GMT

Well, I wrote a few stories branching off that. I don't know. I found them recently and there were some lines I liked. So here-- don't think I've posted this.

The Shearing (there might be other chapters, I don't know... I kind of like how it ends)
PG-13 (non-explicit sex, couple bad words)
Spike/Buffy (mentions of Spike/Faith in the past

I suppose first you'll want to know how we ended up roommates, Spike and me. You know, considering that we started out as mortal enemies and then were, well, sex partners for awhile, and then something like friends, and then kind of nothing at all. Ex-enemies. Ex-friends. Ex-lovers. Then-nothings. And now roommates.

Where to start? Well, I was in Rome for awhile, and that was good. I had a new boyfriend, who was rich and immortal and widely admired and feared. But after several months, I got bored and called Giles. I told Giles I'd be the SoCal slayer, but he said Faith was covering that, and maybe I should just think about going back to school and majoring in something and starting a new life. I wasn't enthusiastic. I never thought I'd miss slaying, but there you have it. Just the mention of slaying, and I got all nostalgic for those late-night patrols of the Sunnydale cemeteries, the exciting encounters with vamps, the dumb discussions with Spike while we dragged demon bodies into the woods to decompose in private.

And the sex afterwards, okay, I admit it.

The Immortal was pretty good in bed, but he lacked, oh, passion. I knew he was just as good in bed with every other woman- after all, we never went out without some girl from his past coming by and marveling over him. I wasn't anything special to him, and he wasn't anything special with me. Sometimes I found myself remembering what it was like to be loved, really loved, desperately loved, passionately loved. The way Spike loved me.

I did like all the money, the cars, the minions doing my every bidding. But I just wasn't cut out to be a kept woman. Dawn kept reminding me what Mom would say if she knew. And there's nothing so likely to cut off a profitable romance than thinking of your mom. I'm not angry, Buffy, but I'm... well, disappointed. I expected more from you....

Mom was probably the only one who'd think Spike was better for me than the Immortal. Well, Mom and Dawn. As soon as Dawn found out Spike was alive, she'd located his email address and started up a daily correspondence with him, and the Immortal, who'd once impressed her, was relegated to ick-status. And her constant mentions of Spike's new business-- he was determined to make some money killing demons, which was his only real talent, except, well, you know-- and Spike's new apartment and Spike's old car couldn't help but remind me of Spike. And I guess I started feeling guilty that I'd just blown off the news that he was alive, or undead anyway. He probably deserved better from me than that. Even if I didn't want to be involved with him, and I didn't, I was pretty sure, I owed him a phone call or a visit.

So as soon as I got back to LA, I went to his office. It was in one of those old brick buildings you see in Bogart movies. Of course Spike would have to choose a Philip Marlowe type of office. Anyway, I walked in the front door and there he was, sitting shirtless in a leather chair, with Faith in his lap.

He was happy. She was happy. They were in love. I did the congratulations thing and backed out of the office and went to a nearby park and cried for awhile. That bitch. She'd wanted him all along. When she took over my body, one of the first things she did was come on to him. And when she returned to help out that last spring in Sunnydale, well, I couldn't help but notice how she'd unbutton another button whenever she thought she might be seeing him. She didn't care that he was insane or on his way from evil to good or in love with me. She just thought he was hot. He didn't want her then, or at least he turned her down, but I could just imagine how quick she was to go after him as soon as I was out of the picture.

But it was my fault, I guess, for being out of the picture. Spike had moved on. Well, not very far, just to another slayer. He always had a thing for strong women. Willow said Faith was just a substitute for me, but then Willow didn't see how they looked at each other. She loved him, plain and simple. And he loved her. I don't know why. Who knows why people love each other? But I liked to think it wasn't until he thought, I mean, knew, that he had no hope with me that he fell in love again. He loved me for a long time, pretty hopelessly, and that made me feel a little better.

Oh, yeah, and I was happy he was happy. Well, I wasn't happy exactly. I'm a slayer, not a saint. But we had a track record, and it was pretty bleak. I always ended up hurting him. Sometimes I meant to, and sometimes it was accidental. But if I made him happy, it was only long enough to set him up for worse pain. And I felt guilty about that. That's why I ended up with the Immortal, I think. I couldn't hurt him if I tried.

So I lost Spike to Faith.

She made him happy. Good for her.

I went back to Angel. I don't want to make it seem like this was just a rebound thing. Angel was my first and greatest love, right? And once all the apocalypses were done, and the Hellmouth closed, and the Immortal history, and Spike otherwise occupied, there wasn't really anything to keep us apart. Oh, there was that wolfgirl, but she didn't last. She got loose one full moon, and ripped up a couple of homeless guys, and she was so ashamed she refused to see Angel anymore.

So there we were, Angel and me, finally at the same point at the same time. I moved into the penthouse (the building had been reconstructed after that last battle), and I went back to school, just like Giles wanted, and Angel and I sat every evening on his couch, him with his big philosophy volumes and me with my crim justice textbooks. It was quiet and companionable, and when I told him I loved him, he never told me I didn't.

Then Faith was killed. It was a consortium of demons, aiming to pick off all the working slayers, and they started with her because I had retired. She died in Spike's arms one night when the fog was coming in from the ocean, and he wasn't ever the same after that. He was cold and relentless as we tracked down the killers before they could get the other slayers. He didn't want comfort or sympathy or companionship. He just wanted to kill the ones who killed Faith. And after we finished that, Giles and Andrew and Dawn took him away for awhile to London, where they were starting a new Slayers Academy. Dawn told me he was training the new slayers and drinking too much. "But he's okay, really," she said. "Just sad."

It was months later that Giles called, begging me-- well, Giles doesn't beg, but he sounded pretty desperate-- to take over the Hellmouth in Cleveland. "Faith was going to do it, but-- well, anyway. Kennedy's having some kind of breakdown, and no one else is experienced enough. I know you're settled there in LA, and it will cause you trouble--"

"Okay," I said, surprising myself. "Finals week is over, so I can leave right away."

"Oh," he answered. I could tell he was packaging up all the arguments he hadn't had to use. "Well. That's very good of you, Buffy. Considering that you will be leaving behind school and --"

He was too cautious to mention Angel. Or maybe he just never said that name if he could help it. But I said, "I hear they have colleges in Ohio too. And I need to get back to work. Kind of getting bored just writing papers about evildoers."

We worked out the details-- the stipend, the travel costs, the weaponry neededB and when all that was settled, I finally asked, "So how's Spike doing?"

I could almost hear Giles taking off his glasses and polishing them. In a surprisingly gentle voice, he said, "He's doing better. I think he understood he was unlikely to have Faith long. And so he says he was lucky they had a few happy months."

"Dawn says he's drinking too much."

"Dawn is Californian. Her definition of 'drinking too much' is perhaps a bit more stringent than here in London."

"So he's not drinking too much?""

"Well, he is, yes, but so am I. The national curse. He's all right. The young slayers keep him busy. They are--" a sigh-- "very new. Very untrained."

I wanted to ask if they were all falling for Spike. But maybe it wasn't too smart to remind Giles that he was employing a vampire who had killed two slayers and bedded two others.

Besides, I knew already. Of course they were all falling for him. He was tragic and beautiful and redeemed and drank too much. I'd fall for him myself, if I didn't know him already.

When I told Angel I'd be gone for awhile, he took it pretty well. The hazards of being a Slayer's boyfriend, he said with a sad smile, and told me he'd call every night. And in a couple weeks, I was settled in a cute Cape Cod on the outskirts of Cleveland, surrounded by lilac bushes and a quarter-acre of very green lawn. It was spring and I loved all the trees and the breeze off the lake and the garden that didn't need any watering, because it rained every couple days.

But there were a whole lot of demons. The vampire population was pretty quiet, but I hadn't seen this level of demon activity even in Sunnydale. It was too much for me by myself, so I called Giles and demanded he send me an assistant. He must have heard the worry in my voice, because a couple days later, there was Spike at my door.

I tried not to show it, but I was glad. No young slayer was going to be like Spike, who was as battle-hardened as they came. I had trusted him with my life a hundred times before, and I knew I'd trust him again.

He had a per diem-- Giles had seriously re-vamped the whole recompense thing at the Watchers' Council-- and after some discussion we decided that it would make more sense if he just rented my basement apartment so he'd be available whenever we needed to patrol. Since I was in school days, and he usually went out at night after patrol, we wouldn't be in each other's way.

The only problem was, of course, that we used to, you know, sort of have a relationship. But we could ignore that, right? He didn't mention it, and neither did I. We talked about the past as if all it included was demons and hell-gods and vampires-- a long series of fights between us and the evil element.

Well, there was another problem-- Angel. I somehow never got around to telling Angel that Spike was there. He probably knew-- he had his sources-- but I thought it was best not to push the subject. It wasn't like Spike and I were doing anything... not that I couldn't, if I wanted to, of course. Because of the, well, circumstances of my relationship with Angel, I'd always asserted my right to occasional outside... experiences. I hadn't exercised that right yet, so it hadn't become an issue, but as long as it didn't interfere with us, it was supposedly allowed.

Angel would probably think Spike would qualify as interference.

But it wasn't his call.

Not that it mattered. Spike wasn't interested, as far as I could tell. He was polite, well, polite for Spike, and he was the world's best demon-fighting partner, as always, and otherwise he kept to himself.

He was still in mourning. Dawn had mentioned that he was a real Victorian, that he was observing a full year's mourning period. I didn't know what that meant, really. He was wearing black, but then he always did. He was going out drinking just like always, having found a nearby tavern (which he insisted on calling the pub). But he never brought anyone home, that much I knew. And his mirror, the one that didn't reflect him, was covered with photos of Faith. It almost made me cry the first time I saw that. Poor Faith. So vivid and lively and dead so soon. Finally loved, and then lost.

One evening, when we'd skipped patrolling so I could study for a test, he disappeared and came back without my seeing him. I could hear him crashing around downstairs, and I was sitting in the living room with a history book on my lap when he emerged from the basement. It was a warm night, and he was wearing just a red t-shirt and blue jeans.

All his white-blonde hair was gone. In its place was an eighth-inch of stubble.

"You got your hair cut," I said inanely.

He ducked his head and jammed his hands into his jeans pocket. "Yeah." He was looking at the front door, not at me. "New year. New look."

I started to say the new year was six months away, but then I realized. Yesterday must have been the anniversary of Faith's death (and I didn't even remember, and never said anything to Spike). Today was the first day of the new year for him.

And he marked it by cutting off all that hair that had marked him as himself for so long.

I stared at him, and he lifted his head and stared defiantly back. Then he moved towards the door. "Going to the pub. See ya."

My mother's voice suddenly emerged from my mouth. "You're not going anywhere looking like that!"

He must have heard Joyce too, because he stopped with more obedience than I'd seen since she died, stopped and looked at me. And then he bit his lip and gazed down at the floor. "That bad, huh?"

Oh. Right. He couldn't see himself in a mirror. He had no idea.

All I had to say was, "Yeah. That bad." And for a second, he looked stunned, hurt, the way I'd look if someone told me I was as ugly as sin and my earrings didn't match. And so I had to say, "Uh, bad in a good way." Yeah. Bad in a young hoodlum way. Bad in a sexy, vulnerable, sweet-mouthed, dangerous way.

"What way?"

I couldn't lie to him. Not now. Not with him looking so beautiful and broken and minimal and hurt. "Bad in an all the girls with too much makeup are going to want to push you up against a wall and unzip you kind of way."

He glanced back to the door. He was trying not to smile. "And that's bad."

"Yeah." You know, I'd never really complimented him, never in all those years. I mean, sometimes I'd tell him that he'd killed that demon in a particularly efficient way, and sometimes I told him that he was a good fighter. That was it. I never called him handsome or sexy or anything like that. Of course, he wasn't my type. I mean, big and dark like Angel. Riley was kind of a medium Angel. And the Immortal was like that too, a big man who loomed over me and made me feel like a frail flower. A real trick when you're a slayer, feeling like a frail flower.

Spike wasn't my type. He was too lean and too light and too bright to be my type like Angel and Riley and the Immortal, even if he did last longer with me than any of those other guys did. And I guess I never told him he was good-looking or hot, even when I kind of thought it. Even though he was, I had to admit, much better in bed, more passionate, more giving, than any of the others.

But now he'd cut off all his hair, and he looked like trouble on two legs, and I wouldn't be his friend if I let him out alone. He looked young and thin and tough and frail. He looked different, and yet more like himself than ever. His eyes were blazingly blue, and his cheekbones were sharper and his cheeks hollow, and his mouth was soft. He looked dangerous and vulnerable and scared and scary.

I put down my book and rose. "I'm coming with you."

His protest was immediate. "Don't need protection, Slayer."

He never called me anything but Slayer anymore. Well, Buffy sometimes. But never pet, never love, never sweetheart. It was my name or my job, that was it. He wasn't cold or resistant. He just ... he just never reached out to me.

"I'm not talking about protection," I said. No, more like chaperoning. "I just want to see the show. What the girls say when they see you."

Well, they said what you'd expect. Oh, Spike. And wow. And how about we get out of this place and go be alone somewhere. And who's the blonde?

"She's my landlady," Spike said. He was a regular here, I'd figured that out already. I mean, he liked Man U, not the Browns, and he was religious on the evils of American beer, and the jukebox full of Mariah Carey and old Foreigner hits had to make him physically ill. But every couple minutes some guy in a Browns t-shirt would come by and tap him on his shorn head and make some joshing comment before moving on to the bar. Everyone knew him. Even liked him. Go figure.

The girls came by too. Only they didn't move on.

We were sitting at a table in the corner. I had the booth side to myself. He was on the other side, surrounded by four girls. They all had too much makeup, just as I predicted, and short hairdos gelled up and dyed odd colors. Cleveland had kind of weird fashion trends. They were way into clashing.

Spike didn't seem to mind. He was leaning his head back against the breasts of one girl as she ran her fingers over his stubble, and smoking a cigarette held by another (and he'd supposedly quit smoking), and holding another girl's hand. His other hand was under the table, probably up the fourth girl's short skirt. He was a dog and his hair was hardly an eighth of an inch long and I despised him.

The trouble is, he didn't seem to care.

"Your landlady?" one girl was saying skeptically.

"Yeah. My landlady," he repeated.

"Oh, yeah?" And I found myself saying the words I'd always resisted saying. "I'm his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend."

He opened his eyes and gazed at me in astonishment. Then he sat up, and said coldly, "She was never my girlfriend. We just fucked a few times."

I couldn't suppress a gasp. It hurt. Boy, did it hurt. To hear our long and complicated relationship characterized like that-- to hear him use that term when he used to say he tell me how lucky he was to make love to a goddess. Okay, I'd never let him finish saying that. But that's what he used to say, not "we just fucked a few times." He never said that before.

Even the sluts seemed kind of appalled for my sake. Not that they moved away from him.

I looked him straight in the eye. We had so much history. I remembered it, even if he was determined to forget. "Oh, I don't know if I'd call five hours straight just a few times."

The good news is, he removed his hand from under the table.

The bad news is, the sluts were all mouthing five hours straight?

Spike rose, and muttering an apology to the sluts, he stepped away from the table. "Slayer. May I speak to you in private?"

I'd accomplished my goal. I'd gotten him away from the other girls. And, hiding a smile, I followed him out into the street, and there, under a streetlamp, he turned to me. His eyes were cold and blue and I shivered, but I wasn't frightened. He couldn't hurt me. Well, what he said in the bar hurt me, yeah, but he couldn't really hurt me.

I knew him, after all. Knew why he did what he did and said what he said.

And now he balled his hands into fists I knew he wasn't going to use, and in a low voice, he said, "I don't know what you're about, Slayer, but you can stop right now."

I was watching his mouth as he spoke. "Why do you always call me Slayer now?"

He started to speak, then stopped, then shook his head. "Go home, Buffy. I don't want you here."

"Why not?" I tried to make it sound cool and defiant. Faith-like. I wasn't sure it worked. Anyway, he answered me.

"Because that's a place that's mine. And I don't want you to ruin it too."

Oh. Well. He proved it. I was wrong. He could still hurt me. "You're being mean," I whispered.

"I'm being honest." He turned and started back to the bar, but I got hold of his shirt. He knew I could rip it if I wanted to, and so he stopped and stood there, looking at me with that impatient look of his.

I liked the feel of his old t-shirt in my fist. I like the feel of his hard chest underneath. I moved closer and pressed up against him, pressed him against the brick of the building. Slid my hand down his hip and to his thigh, and then I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

For just a second, he was still, and then he sighed and slid into the kiss, and it was so much like I remembered that I let go of his shirt and touched his cheek, pressed his face with my fingers to keep him there, right there with me, his mouth tender and cool under mine. He closed his eyes, as he always ended up doing. And then I closed my eyes too, and kissed him.

I slid my hand up to the nape of his neck, to touch where his curls used to be, felt the bristles sharp under my fingertips. It was a new sensation, and now the kiss felt new too, sweet and hot and sharp. I pulled slightly away and opened my eyes. "You still love me."

He pushed back against the brick, a few inches separating us now. "I still want you. That's all." Before I could respond, he added, "And I haven't had sex for a year, and I'd want any of those girls in the pub. So nothing."

This time it didn't hurt. I touched his face again, tracing the sharp outline of his cheekbones. "So something." My fingers moved to his mouth, and I said, "I know you." I meant something by that, something important, and his mouth curved under my fingers, and I felt the ghost of his breath.

"What do you know?"

I'd never been good at explaining. "You know. Let's go home."

He stood his ground. He might be hard and wanting, but he didn't give in. "Not looking for a triangle, slayer. Want something uncomplicated."

Uncomplicated. Well, that wasn't anything we'd ever been. "What do you mean?"

His eyes narrowed. "I mean, don't want to compete with my own grandsire."

I'd only had one drink, but I felt hot and restless, and I pulled out my cellphone and hit the speed-dial, and when I heard Angel's voice, I said quick, so I wouldn't chicken out, "Look. I'm sorry. But I'm going to be with Spike now."

And I hung up so I wouldn't have to listen to him argue with me.

Spike was staring at me. He grabbed the phone and hit redial, and I could hear Angel answering and saying, "Buffy? Is that you?"

Spike hung up and shoved the phone at me. It immediately started ringing, so I turned it off and said, "Okay. No triangle. Just you and me."

He didn't answer. He just slid out away from the wall and started walking, taking long strides down the street towards the lake. I had to run to catch up to him, and he wouldn't speak until we reached the little strip of sandy beach two steps down from the street.

I stopped to pull off my sandals, but I left them there by the seawall and followed Spike, the sand wet and squishing between my bare toes. He was waiting for me by an old private pier, his marble-pure face so familiar and so alien now without his usual bright crown of hair. A new year. A new beginning.

I didn't know what I was doing. I never knew what I was doing with him. At every point in our long relationship, I never thought. I just did. We were enemies, so I tried to kill him. We were reluctant allies, so I tried to protect him. Then I wanted him, so I took him. Then I got scared, so I pushed him away. Then he needed me, so I helped him. Then I needed him, so I ... killed him. I guess. Then he was gone and I left him behind. Then he came back, and I lost him. Now here he was, and I wanted him again. Want, take, have. That's what Faith always said, and it worked for her. Worked with him.

So I walked up to him and took his hand, and he didn't pull away. But his voice was just a whisper in the soft breeze that came off the lake. "Buffy... you should call him back. Tell him you didn't mean it."

It was the last thing I expected to hear. He'd always hated me being with Angel. I shook my head to clear it. "Why?"

He looked down at our joined hands, stroked my wrist with his thumb. "This isn't going to work. So don't wreck it with Angel. I'm not going to love you again."

I felt like I'd been kicked by some demon. All the air was sucked out of my body, and if he hadn't been holding my hand, I might have collapsed into the sand. As it was, it took me a minute to gather myself back together enough to say, "You can't just decide that."

"Yeah, I can." He looked past me at the water, his eyes dark as the darkness all around us. "Just won't love you again."

I gripped his hand tighter. I felt I was falling. But I reminded myself of his kiss, so sweet and tender. That wasn't a kiss of just wanting. I knew the difference. I knew him. "I don't believe you."

He looked at me then, smiling faintly. "That's my slayer."

My slayer. It sounded good. Intimate. It didn't sound... unloving. I felt encouraged. "I know you. You don't stop loving. You probably still love Drusilla."

He sighed. "Don't take this wrong, Buffy, but she's easier to love than you are. Especially when she's not around."

"Don't take it wrong?" I grabbed my hand back. "How am I supposed to take it?"

"Take it any way you want then."

"You think I'm hard to love."

He considered this, his head tilted to the side, as if he waited for some inspiration. "Easy to fall in love with, I'll give you that. Just-- just we never got on."

There he was doing it again. Diminishing us. We never got on. Epic sex and epic battles. He got his soul for me. I broke his heart. We saved the world together. And we never got on? It sounded stupid and trivial and... and not us. "That's stupid."

"Is it?" He considered this too, putting his hand on the wet wood of the pier and stroking it. "Maybe. But I'm not doing it again. Not really about you anyway. I'm not going to love anyone again. Done with that."

"Oh." It hurt, the way he said that. Not just me. It had to hurt him too. "But--" I couldn't think how to say it. "But Spike, you're good at loving."

This made him turn back to me. "I-- well. Thanks. I guess." And then, all in a rush, he said, "Look. All I ever wanted was to love someone who loved me back. That's all. And I had that. It didn't last real long. But it was true. And it didn't end just because Faith died." He put his hand, damp from the wood of the pier, on his heart. "Still here. And that's what love means to me now. I don't want to replace it with pain."

I wanted to cry, but wasn't sure why. I guess... because he was hurting. Because Faith had died and left him alone. Because he was so loving and now he said he wouldn't love anymore. Because he wouldn't love me anymore.

Because he'd long since stopped hoping I'd love him back.

It took an hour or so, but I convinced him I was just as much of a slut as those girls in the bar, and I didn't need love, just wanted sex. And I got him back home and took him to bed and we were us again-- hot and desperate and generous, and when the sun was rising he burrowed under the covers, against my back, and said, "You were right. Needed you first."

I wasn't sure I liked that "first" idea, because it sort of suggested that someone else might be second. And I'd decided there wasn't going to be any someone else. He was mine, and I was going to keep him.

Big love

anaross — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 04:12:58 GMT

Big love lovers out there? This has been recced to me as a great show, but I want to watch it from the beginning, and alas, not on Netflix that I can find. Anyone out there who has a link to a reputable place to watch?

Ana

anaross — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 18:08:47 GMT

Hi-- I'll come back and say more, but I have a class starting today (I teach online), so I'm futzing with the stupid program today. (Students are fine-- it's the software!)

Nancy Kay invited me because she knows about my writing neurosis. I've been successful writing novels before, but my muse has taken a powder. I can write lots of beginnings which sound good, but can't stick with a project past chapter 3. I don't know why.

Anyway, more later after I sort out what's wrong with my class announcement function.

Fan fic article

anaross — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 02:14:40 GMT

Remember that fan fic article I was writing? Ask here in comments if you want me to send you a copy.

Octavia Butler?

anaross — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 04:57:47 GMT

Any Octavia Butler fans out there?

I've only read a couple of her books, and I need some help choosing one of her books for a class I'm doing. (Need S/F by a woman writer.) If you have read several of her books and can help me choose a scene.... please post!

Also I'm trying to explore the multicultural aspects of popular (genre) fiction, so if you can recommend some mystery by a non-Caucasian... Actually, I love Walter Mosely, so I should maybe go with one of his. Trouble will be choosing one of his books-- I love them all. Hmm. The first probably. (Hard to read that without seeing Denzel, who played Easy in the movie. :)

While I'm at it, can you all recommend a mystery or sf/fantasy or romance written by a Hispanic or Asian writer? Woman or man, either one. I'd really like to use something set in a non-white culture (like a Chinatown murder mystery). But must be originally written in English.

I know I know some, but my mind always goes blank when I'm expected to choose books.

anaross — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 23:12:08 GMT

Can you all help me with choosing excerpts for the Writercon workshops?

First, it's Writing Relationships without Sex, and I'd like to use some Buffy and Angel series excerpts that show something about non-sex relationships. Cordelia and Angel-- what would be a good excerpt that shows the depth of their non-rom ship?

How about Willow and Buffy?

Buffy and Dawn?

Spike and Xander? Spike and Giles?

Buffy and Xander?

Buffy and Giles?

Oz and Xander?

Gunn and Wes?

Any others?

What would be good scenes?

Writercon?

anaross — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 04:59:30 GMT

Who is going to Writercon? I'm going to be there. Let's meet--

Also I really, really, really want to see the new Torchwood series. Where can I get it? (I'm in the US, and I just CAN'T WAIT!!!!!)

Really, the last, last question!

anaross — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 02:48:44 GMT

This paper has to be done tomorrow, so eventually I'll shut up.

Any fics that use internet forms like blogging and twitter and IMing and the like? You know, like Dawn now has a blog sort of thing? I'm trying to find examples of innovative forms.

one last question

anaross — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 02:24:15 GMT

I remember a fun fic that had Spike and Edward of Twilight on some talk show. Anyone remember that?

Link?

Many, many thanks.