Joysweepers Incoherent Idea Bank

This is Joy's Idea Bank. It isn't a story. It isn't an article. It is a list, and a list without organization, at that. Joysweeper is easy to inspire, but for various reasons can't act on everything. This is a backup - her computer is crashy, and she doesn't want to lose all of these. Why is she typing in third person?

You can look through it, but it isn't for you, and I haven't reformatted it in any way. Here we have definitions, a couple of links, some story concepts and fragments.

"A palimpsest is a manuscript page, whether from scroll or book that has been written on, scraped off, and used again. The word "palimpsest" comes through Latin from Greek παλιν + ψαω = ("again" + "I scrape"), and meant "scraped again." Romans wrote on wax-coated tablets that could be reused, and a passing use of the rather bookish term "palimpsest" by Cicero seems to refer to this practice." So! Strangers = totally unfamiliar. Palimpsests = changed, but something yet remains. Some other term = basically untouched. Will come up for Five Years.

[1] DUDE! YES! AWESOME! FIVE YEARS!

"Is there anything that arouses the senses so strongly as a feast of chocolate delights fresh from the oven? Thoughts of childhood joys, first love, and the divine fill the soul. A drifting aroma which begs appreciation. The sensual fingertips of desire wrap delicately, yet needily, at the center. Ingestion. A climax. The roaring winds. Drifting, consuming madness, beautiful in its inescapable passion. Open and fertile skies, waiting desperately to be explored. Elevation. Freedom. Bliss. A compelling call. Parasailing. Baked chocolate goods." Shortpacked blog.

There’s something unbelievably exhilarating about having a protector who’ll take anyone who picks on you and dangle him above the ground. Stick up for one another, and defend the lesser folk.

Villains act, heroes re-act. Ambition is for villains. The Five Hundred and First would by that definition be villains.

“There should be all this steam and a KSSSSSH sound effect whenever X takes off X’s helmet.”

To cameo: Taskmaster.(Photographic reflexes, pseudo-villain) Gamecock.(Buh. What an awful villain.) Razorfist.(Replaced HANDS with KNIVES. WHY.) The Walrus.(Yep.)(WHY. WHY. I think I broke Joy's brain!)

And I found this quote on one of the 501st homepages. It is so perfect. "Some fans are content to collect action figures...other fans want to be action figures. Nothing professes your fandom quite like building your own detailed costume replica of a classic Star Wars villain, and there's nothing quite like the feeling that comes from bringing the characters of Star Wars into the real world and sharing the magic with others. A truly engaging Star Wars experience only occurs through a convincing appearance. To this end, the 501st constantly strives to improve the quality and accuracy of its member's costumes. Our goal is to appear as if our characters have just stepped off the big screen and into this world." I hope I can find some way to use this ironically.

Donny grinned, freckled face distorting above his immaculate white coat. "Wings? Sparklies? Magic wands? Thas _nothin'_. Getta loada _this_." Snapping on one of the latex gloves that seemed to be produced without end from his pockets, the boy uncovered the plastic bucket he was carrying, from which came a variety of soft rustlings.

Donny plunged his hand in, the flourescent light glinting off of his lenses and the stethoscope around his neck. A series of sharp cries and a great deal of frantic scrabbling erupted from the bucket, and when he pulled his hand up he held some shredded paper and a pair of what looked like the same kind of plastic army men that sold to boys by the millions. One was khaki, the other green.

But they moved.

Donny only held them up for inspection for a few seconds before closing his hand, but in those few seconds they kicked their legs and tried to back out of his grasp. He dropped them carelessly back into the bucket and grinned at his fellows as another series of sharp, muffled cries rang out.

"I foun' 'em over there-" and one latexed hand waved vaguely in the direction of the Con- "inside, 'fore things went wacky. There was bjillions!"

One of his fellows, attired in blindingly red Nascar nomex that conformed perfectly to his skinny frame, asked lispingly whether Donny'd been caught.

"Naah," he boasted. "I'm the bes' there is. 'F I don' wanna be caught, I don' get caught." Puffing out his chest, Donny was about to continue the boast when a harried-looking white-coated man came into the room, clipboard in hand.

Immediately Donny straightened and went to the bewildered man, spouting technical jargon about "moderate contusions" and suggesting a painkiller as he lead the doctor and his peers away.

The bucket lay forgotten.

Ladies's restroom. Right. It had apparently had a door at one point, but this had been removed. The gaping doorway, one hinge still attatched forlornly near the ceiling, reminded me yet again just how lucky I had been in choosing my costume. Hands and a bipedal stance... yes, very lucky.

I sidled in, passing a...seahorse thing... that was apparently having trouble deciding if this was the right place to go. Despite a not-completely-clean floor and a couple of cracked mirrors, and the poisonously clean aroma of far too much cleanser in the air, this bathroom was in relatively good condition. I refrained from looking at the stalls, however. Not something I needed to see.

Can I use this? “You know, with all the mind-wiping, mind tricks, mass hallucinations and super powerful telepaths in comic book universes, I'm starting to realize how terrifying it must be to be an average civilian in one of these universes. Take the Marvel universe - there's the grand illusion of House of M, then you have to live through a war, and now you can't remember anything about that Spider-Man fellow. There's probably tons of other mass mind-wipes before all that, too. How does the average person ever know what's real? How many people eventually have existential crises and end up in an asylum somewhere? Seriously. With all the incidents of time travel, mind-wiping, altering reality, hynotic illusions, dimensional warping, and psychic manipulation in the world, how could you be sure anything you've done you actually did? And that you would even remember having done any of it tomorrow?”

“Problem.” “Yes?” “You’ve read the report on what happened to Paul Redmond, right?” “Redmond… oh, one of the vampires. Fell into the bay and was… bitten rather badly by sharks, right?” “That’s right. Turns out there’s some fallout to that. Uh-“ “Don’t tell me we now have vampiric sharks.” “Very well, sir. I won’t. But if I might suggest…” “*sigh* Get me my chainsaw sword.”

Someone who is not narrator gets a phone call/text message, exclaims “Zombies!” or “Giant Ants!” or “Femtroopers!” or “Rockettes!” or something similarly left-field, then tears off at high speed. Narrator is perplexed but too busy.

Get up so I can knock you down! “We start off with a would-be hero who fights purely enough, only to slowly hit a snare thanks to his beliefs. Then it gets worse as time goes by until he’s responsible for untold damage. Once things look their bleakest, we get the hero we weren’t even sure we were ever going to find. The build up steams and we return to our villain, who has reached almost complete insanity. Things come to a head and we get the coolest fight scene ever with some of my all-time favorite comic lines (“Get up so I can knock you down!!”). And just as the fight comes to an end with a true victor, it goes directly into a strong conclusion.”<- Ooh ooh! Maybe a robot/mecha character for the WBH? Heart beats strongly, pulsing in throat, temples, gums. Stops. "You can't feel yourself breathe. You can't feel your heartbeat. And you can't recognize the man in the mirror"

“The X-Men turn the tide until only Magneto is left. Magneto does the usual supervillain “ENOUGH!” attack, which is like the evil version of the superhero “THIS ENDS NOW!” tactic. You know what I’m talking about. Like if the Fantastic Four were pounding down on Doom from all sides, he could just spread his arms out, scream, “ENOUGH!” and suddenly everybody goes flying in the opposite direction. It’s a nifty power.” Joy, if you can’t find some way to use this…

Notes:

Names: Revan. Alisa Freeman.

Gist: Ask for character. Dark room, eyes very wide, ears very sharp, distracted, blindsided, no v/h, fighting, “Finish me now!”, doesn’t happen. Lingers, lasts. Walks away, Revan’s compensating and on edge(paranoid! Paranoid!), Alisa is d/b and scared, little communication – attempts. Throat vibration, monitoring tongue and lips, no idea w/out sound. Revan can’t read English. Alisa can’t read Aurebesh. War robes, war mask, bogan, intimidation factor up. Make it back to CC, one-sided conversation, healing trance. FIVE YEARS. FIVE YEARS, and Fake Rip Van Winkle it to twenty. No! More! AWESOMESAUCE.

Names: Kyle Ward. Lynette Ward.

Gist: Kyle is a furry, late teens. His older sister Lynette(Lyn) is an ornithologist, early twenties. They are close. Kyle is helping out a friend who makes interesting fursuits – he’s “advertising”. Lynette was roped/persuaded to help with The Bird Costume – a nonanthro bird with good vision and manual dexterity. Fits her, because she is small. Don’t forget the shirt. The Change happens – Lyn almost beaks out Kyle’s eye, freaks out, runs. Encounters and runs from all kinds of people – let’s say, Lt Julia and SL-0075 from 501st(I told you to hold your fire!) Deuvoci, a feral feline, several others (Godot, as many people as I can get to agree). Eventually escapes. Flies to Behjopiray’s lake. Sees reflection, removes shirt, has The Freak Out (no heels to stamp or hair to pull, no fists to punch or fingernails to claw or face to twist, but wings to flap and toeclaws to rake, a neck to whip, a voice to keen). Sees Behjopiray, retreats. Sleeps. Early morning. Returns to lake, turtle scene(Kill it with stabs). Collects shirt, flies away. Passage of time. Trying to hone in on Home with magnetic field. Dodging various things. Chickens? Maybe. Winter. Starving. Some kind of confrontation climax – hunter in the woods, maybe. Almost beaks out eyes, thinks of Kyle. Flies away. More starving. Follows streets, lands on balcony of Kyle’s apartment, pecks at the door. “Kyy-yah?” “Lynette…”

Names:… Maybe use first-person? Possibly a Muslim, non devout. Godot character. Gist: Jury Duty. Yes, a number of people from Xanadu have shown up in court, but this is the first one to serve jury duty. Let’s make it a murder case? I need to work out details. At some point he sees something that was missed, and things proceed to become a little more like a crazy PW case. NEEDS WORK. Need to actually pull jury duty. Or have some idea how the hell this works.

"I was! I'm not anymore."

"After it happens, they all ask each other, 'why didn't somebody act? It could have been so different.' So many times, it's kept from happening. Somebody can't be everywhere, and they don't remember that. Somebody has a lot of hard and thankless work, but somebody has to do it. Guess what? You're somebody too."