Time to write!



This isn't your typical story, where the girl somehow gets transported back in time, feels helpless for awhile, makes a whole bunch of social mistakes, makes a friend with a high class lady, and falls in love with the nineteenth century hunk. Those girls go back in time and immediately start worrying about how they're going to get home again. Those girls try to blend in, to be a part of the system until they can somehow return. Those girls meet some Mr. Darcy or a knight in shining armor and realize they never want to leave. Then those girls are inevitably just as swiftly transported back into their own time, where they meet a modern day parallel of their man. This aspect even more than time travel disproves these stories entirely.

But you see, this is my story. This isn't one of those teeny-bopper feel good stories that makes you laugh and makes you cry and wish that YOU TOO could go back in time so that next week the love of your life will approach you in high school, complete with Mr. Rochester mannerisms, and an innate tendency to wear boots without looking gay.

This is my story, and I'm not one of those girls. Because when I went back in time, I realized I had so much the advantage. I had history and the developments of the future on my side, and I realized I didn't have to blend in. I could change the world. Heck. Forget changing the world. I could rule it.
***
Before you go off and label me as inherently evil, I guess I should pin the blame on someone else, and say this all boils down to my love for old Marvel comics. In the comic books you have two kinds of characters. You have those who try to blend in despite having incredible powers, and therefore cover their faces whenever they're fighting. They're big into secret identities and have weird rules about only ever putting the villains in jail, or allowing the villains to do something dumb that leads to their ultimate demise. Then there are the characters who are like "Yo. I'm here. Deal with it." Ironman definitely falls into this category, but my favorite example here is Loki.

When Thor falls to earth he finds normal clothes and learns how to function in society. Then Loki comes down. Bam. Completely unapologetic, green cape, random gold horned helmet, the works. And I say good for you, man.

If there's one thing Junior year taught me, it's that being ashamed of who you are or trying to be someone else isn't going to make you any more popular or suddenly help you have friends.

If there are two things Junior year taught me, the other would be that justice in this world really is only a mere concept, an ideal we can aspire to, but something we'll never fully reach. Bad things happen to good people and nothing actually fixes it. Sure, in stories it happens. In movies. In the heads of all delusional girls.

Many people, too many people, go home from school and tell themselves that tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow is the day for making friends. Tomorrow is when that guy will finally notice that those other girls aren't as nice or as smart.

It's a pretty idea, really it is, but its naive.

So after Junior year I decided it was over. I'm not going to be Peter Parker anymore. I'm going to be Tony Stark. I'm going to reveal my face and say "What the heck. Yep. I'm Ironman." Except I'm not really Ironman, but the imagery remains. I'm going to march in wearing that awkward Loki helmet like it's the coolest piece of armory ever conceived and I'm going to own it.

This was my philosophy going into Senior year, but when I suddenly found myself in nineteenth century London, the same concept applied.

There I was, wearing black skinny jeans and black leather boots, a yellow and red t shirt and a black leather jacket and instead of darting off to the nearest clothing shop where I could trade my foreign garments for a petticoat and bloomers, I put on my sunglasses and smiled.

Because this was my Loki moment.

I was Tyra Rizmont, and I was going to take over the world.

Letters From?

Time to write!

A character finds letters written to them from someone they've never met, which bear dates from the future.

Sounds very Lake House, but could be fun.

The first letter was on the breakfast table. I'd gotten my cup out, filled it with water, and set it in the microwave to heat for my hot chocolate and had sat down at the table to wait for the timer, my forehead resting in my hands and my fingers in my hair. I was exhausted. I rarely slept well. It wasn't until the timer went off and I pushed back from the table to retrieve my mug that I noticed the envelope on the table.
"Weird," I muttered, picking it up and turning it over.
It was addressed to me, Shauna Winderly, but there was no return address.
The beeping of the microwave, even more irritating than normal given the early hour, made me pause in my contemplation of where the letter could have come from, but once my hot chocolate had been made I broke the seal of the envelope, pulled out the letter and began reading as I sipped my beverage.

Dear Shauna,
     It's been nearly a year now, and my feelings haven't changed. I was delighted to receive your letter last month, and I'm sorry I did not respond sooner. I simply did not know what to say. This is really no excuse though. I should have written straightaway.
  First, I want you to know I truly am sorry about Eric. Despite my feelings for you, I wanted you to be happy, even if that meant picking Eric over me. I did not leave, as you thought, to make you feel guilty or to prove to you that you couldn't keep us both in your life. I left because I didn't want to mess things up by staying and saying something to you that would jeopardize our friendship. Of course, this was still a selfish choice, and if I could go back, I'd do it differently. I'm sorry you felt alone. That is never what I intended.
   Second, it would be wonderful to see you again sometime, but I'm afraid I'm a little booked at the moment. Perhaps we could meet for a weekend in New York? I'm sure we can arrange something, my funds are just a little low right now and I need to finish this project before there's an option of me catching a plane anywhere. 
  Shauna. There's so much I want to say in this letter and so much I cannot say. I'm sorry I can't write more now, for lack of the right words. I'll do my best however in saying, I hope you're smiling. Right now, because the world needs your smile.
  
All my best,
Jayce

Despite Jayce's fond wish for me to smiling, that was not what I was doing. Instead I stared at the paper, completely confused. Who was this Jayce individual? Maybe even more to the point, who was Eric and why was Jayce sorry about him? Did Eric die, or did he just leave me?
I set the letter down. This is probably all just some big joke. How someone had managed to get the letter into my house, I had not the faintest, but I dismissed the odd letter as a prank, refolding it and sticking it into the torn envelope, then went upstairs to get ready for work.

***
"Thank you, sir, for your patience. Mr. Grayson is ready to see you now," I said, addressing the heavy set gentleman who was waiting to make a proposal about a merger to Mr. Todd Grayson, founder and CEO of Grayson Electronics Co., one of the largest electronic companies in the United States. I knew that the gentleman, Lloyd Harris, one of Sony's bigmen, would have to deliver a solid pitch to earn himself any more than five minutes of Mr. Grayson's time. The man was over scheduled  overworked, and overwrought with the responsibilities the quickly expanding company presented to him. Unfortunately, as his secretary I was automatically over scheduled, overworked, and overwrought as well. I wondered what his three personal assistants did to keep themselves sane.

As Mr. Harris walked through the door leading to Mr. Grayson's office I suppressed a sigh and shut my eyes, rubbing my temples, feeling a headache beginning to press in on either side of my head. A sharp ping of the tiny bell snapped my eyes open and my attention to the man standing in front of my desk.

He was tall, perhaps even very tall. My initial guess would place him at 6' 2'' or 3''. He had sandy hair combed carefully back from his face, leaving him looking very polished, but not slicked back in a way that looked greasy or overdone.

"How can I help you?" I asked, trying to keep my appraisal of his appearance purely professional.

"I'm here to speak with Mr. Grayson," he told me, smiling in a way that revealed teeth which must have spent time in braces.

"Do you have an appointment?" I asked, looking at the Excel document on my computer screen listing Mr. Grayson's appointments for the day.

"Yes, eleven o' clock," he replied confidently.

Mr. Grayson still had another two people to talk to before eleven, but you had to give the man credit for being prompt. A strange sensation took me though as I looked at the name written in the eleven o' clock time slot, a ping which sent me questioning. The man's name was Eric Riley.

More Than a Story- The Ultimate Crossover Fic

Time to write!

When I stumbled upon this quote, an idea was borne in my being which delighted the mind and tickled the soul. And this is the first piece of it. It is one I intend to keep on playing with, because it's going to allow me to play with some of the most brilliant characters ever created, at least by my own accounting. Unfortunately, copyright policies impel me to say that regrettably I do not own the characters who are CLEARLY not mine which I will so cleverly attempt to manipulate in this endeavor of mine, and I only hope that someone out there will enjoy reading it. 

A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. - George R. R. Martin

I grew up being "that nerd girl" who was always in love with fictional men, and was obsessed with reading. As a child I loved Star Wars and Harry Potter, as a teen I loved superheroes, and in college I got introduced to Time Lords and the beauty of all things BBC.

And that was great. I considered myself a normal, college student, with maybe a little extra geekiness on the side, but I never really considered I was anything special.

I can't tell you the number of times I fantasized about meeting one of various characters from the novels and TV shows I let myself get so emotional about. Wouldn't it be great to hang out with Sherlock Holmes, or have a heart to heart with Lizzy Bennett? 

Well, as an English major I must apologize for the dreadful use of the tired cliche, but this was just another scenario when it's better to "be careful what you wish for", because sometimes being thrust into the worlds of various characters throughout time and space isn't as fun and glamorous as we imagine it to be in our heads.

But I guess before I get too deep into the analyzation of wishful thinking, and self-inflicted prophesies, I should clarify. My life went from that of your average College Freshman to that of someone who was expected to be on par with the likes of Indiana Jones and Dora, you know, legendary explorers. In short, everything changed the day I found the Continuum Circuit.
***
The Continuum Circuit is not a device like the TARDIS or a time turner, or the "beam me up, Scotty" teleportation pads found on the Starship Enterprise. Instead it's more of a pathway, a portal that exists in its own dimension, and which deigns to show up here, really, only when there's trouble.

I stumbled upon it quite by accident, when walking through the library one day, merely as a shortcut to another class. It was only my third time stepping foot in the library all semester. Not because I wasn't studious, but because I actually preferred studying in the privacy of my dorm room. While many of the girls on my hall adhered to the policy that studying in the dorms would yield ineffective results due to all the activity going on, I found that in the evenings the dorms were actually a very quiet place to be...because all the other girls were at the library. I had merely come into the library that particular day because I thought it might be quicker to go through the library than to go around it, and I was already running late for class. Now that I record this however, I must admit that there are numerous characters with mantras running along the lines of "There are no such things as coincidences", so maybe it was fate that pulled me into the library that day.

Or...maybe it was my innate ability to sense attractive men in the vicinity. Insert sarcastic smirk here. Before we get any further, it should be acknowledged that my geekiness makes me much more prone to fall in love with men until just recently deemed by myself to be "imaginary" than with any I might actually talk to. In this instance however, I quite literally stumbled into a den of dreamboats.

I'd just passed through the metal detectors and was crossing the main reference desk when a strange, multicolored tinted light caught my attention. It was like someone was shining a rainbow underneath the crack of a door, and as I turned to assess the situation, I realized the thin strip of light really was coming from underneath a door. It wasn't a door like all the other doors in the library however, which were boring, and brown, solid and dependable. This door was white and looked like it was made of high grade plastic, but somehow classier. From underneath the door the light was shining, blue in places, pink in others, orange here and there, and mostly green in the middle.

Color me intrigued, forgive the pun. I pushed the door open and shook my head. The scene before me is one   I didn't believe, and one I don't really expect you to either. It looked like a conference room, but maybe a conference room in an insane asylum. The walls and floor were white, and made of the same material as the door. The huge, oval table, which dominated almost 80% of the room was also white, but the chairs surrounding it were black. There were no overhead hanging lights, but there were lights high up on the walls, multicolored lights, which cast colored glows bouncing off the white surfaces everywhere and reflecting back at strange angles.

This almost disco-party affect was not what made me stop and question my sanity, however. The aspect of the scene which made me both want to leave the room and pretend the incident ever happened and stay forever was the fact that seated around the table were Mr. Darcy, Anakin Skywalker, Peter Parker, Lucius Malfoy, and a man I'd never seen before, but whose sonic screwdriver in hand clearly identified him as The Doctor.

To be continued....

Memory Bottled

Time to write!

Continue on the following:
"If only there could be an invention," I said impulsively, "that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale.And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again."

That's what started it. The idea to be able to preserve a memory, to keep it in a bottle, and to visit the memory again, whenever you needed it most.

At the time, when inspiration struck me, I never imagined that this would have come of it.

I never dreamed that one day I would return to my office and meet a man there by the name of Doctor Halvin, who would inform me that the idea I had conceived could actually become a reality.

And we both never even considered the possibility that we'd end up making more than we'd set out to. We never stopped to consider what might actually happen if you truly trapped a memory inside a bottle.

Time travel. And now we're all in trouble.

Ok, so once again I'm updating at 1:40 and that's why this is so short. HOWEVER, I actually do love, and I mean love the idea this prompt gave me and could see myself turning this into a story. So I'll probably revisit this prompt at some point and then some other time begin writing a real story. But I'm jazzed. I love inspiration!