A Cellarful of Boys

Since there's been no response from the mod and only one response from another member of the comm, I don't see a lot of hope for resurrecting cellarfulofboys  as a viable Beatles drabbling community any time soon.  If there's someone else who wants to join me, I've been posting Beatles drabbles at kynxpirations .  Anyone is welcome to post there.

There is a cycle to these things, ebbs and flows and such.   It was a shock to realize there'd been no fics posted on lennonharrison since June, for example!  I just wondered if the writers assembled for this comm still had any interest in writing Beatles drabbles and whether our mod is still monitoring activity here.

Personally,  I suddenly find myself in Beatle-writing mode again.  Anyone else?  Can we get something going?

Title: No title yet
Pairing: G/R (my first with this pairing)
Prompt: Music
Rating: PG-13 (swearing)
Disclaimer: These are not Ringo's real thoughts. I have never been inside any of the real Beatles' heads and can have no way of knowing what they really think about. Therefore, this must be fiction.
Word Count: 949

Author's Note: I started this for the music prompt. Slowly but surely the word count crept over 500, then shot up to over 900. I'm still putting the link up here, because this was going to be a drabble and no one posts here anymore.

Link

Title: Show Me That I'm Everywhere and Take Me Home for Tea
Pairing: John/George
Rating: PG
Word Count: 437
Disclaimer: I have no idea what John or George experienced on LSD. I wasn't (here) there, or everywhere.
Prompt: #3, Tea. The title comes from It's All Too Much.
Warning: I'm using a Mac which doesn't permit LJ cuts.

George said something about being everywhere. John had seen many things on his trips, but he hadn’t been everywhere, not yet.

“Show me.”

At first, scenes. Atop a mountain, in an unfamiliar city, beneath the sea, within the clouds, at the center of star.

He could feel George beside him, looking with him. It wasn’t just an expression; even though George was a few feet away, John felt George’s body the way he felt his own.

Then images, sounds, scents came, faster and faster. George’s presence vanished in the torrent. Parched air burned John’s throat, water rushed into his lungs, aching cold invaded his fingers—blending together—drums into sitar, flute into guitar, all sounds he could imagine and some he couldn’t—words, one language snaking into another. Sand, dry dirt, swamp, snow, rocks beneath his feet. And the smells—gasoline into roses; cypress and smoke.

He was mangled, burned, bruised, suffocated, banished. He was loved, held, kissed, blessed, comforted. Guilt, rage, fear, longing, love, unbearably distinct but felt together

All at once: fur into feathers into scales, all rhythms, all notes, all words, too fast to name.

The part of him that sought words to divide the torrent into manageable bits thought, “this is everywhere. I am everywhere.”

He didn’t know how long it lasted. He didn’t ask. Time didn’t exist.

He couldn’t contain it, he couldn’t feel it all, he would burst and it would end, but he didn’t want it to end.

He grasped for something familiar, something to hold onto. Cinnamon-sandalwood, the taste of cigarettes, the sound of a sitar, the color of sunset, graceful hands. An undefinable mix of mischief, yearning, vulnerability, prickliness, love. George.

John felt George touch his arm. A gentle touch, but the volume was turned up on his senses and it screamed at him, drowning out some of the noise of everywhere--pulling him back into here, and now. Here was lying on his back beside George. Now was him reaching for George’s hand, knowing his friend would guide him through the whirlwind.

And then there was one thing at a time. His mind itched, adjusting to everyday reality as eyes do after receiving too much light. The world seemed impossibly small and dark, but George still looked radiant.

Those dark eyes looked at him with infinite compassion, taking in his shakiness.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

Never had tea felt so bracingly normal. John let Everywhere drain out of him with each sip, clinging only to knowledge that he’d been everywhere, with George.

There was nothing to say, nothing that could be said, but a world passed between them as they sipped their tea.

So, as you all may have noticed, the community has all but shut down in the last few weeks, and it's 95% my fault. I am sorry to continually be such a neglectful mod. There's no excuse for it; I've been overwhelmed by Real Life during the second half of this university semester, and that happened because I managed my time poorly. I usually remember that I need to post on Monday, but then I get bogged down in homework and errands and chores, and I think, "Oh, I'll post the prompt tomorrow" -- and then the next day something else comes up, and I forget. By Thursday I start to think, "Well, now I guess I'll have to wait for next Monday," and then I repeat the vicious cycle of bad modship.

749_penny_lane, who has been a great source of encouragement and support since the creation of this community, contacted me recently to check in and was very understanding about the whole college thing. I vowed to do a better job of maintaining the community. Unfortunately, there seems to be a tiny gremlin living inside my apartment's wireless router, and that tiny gremlin clearly hates Beatles slash, because as soon as it got wind of the fact that I was trying to focus more on the Cellar, it responded by having a total meltdown. So, for about a week, I had to toggle my laptop's wireless switch every five minutes to wake up the router, though I more frequently threw my hands up in disgust and used the free wireless in the university library to get my homework done. The wireless still doesn't work in my bedroom, despite my laptop's claims that I have a full signal, but I can now use it in the living room to slash to my heart's content whenever my roommates aren't hovering around. And my internship ended, my classes are over, and I only have one final. Therefore: no more excuses. I will post a prompt every week. I'm inviting some more people to join. And I'm also contemplating some possible changes to the community -- nothing major, just some logistical nuts and bolts and some tinkering with the invitation process. I'll keep you all informed.

I'm also very interested in getting feedback. Although bad time management accounts for most of my modly failure, I must admit that I've also been a bit discouraged by low participation. If you've been invited and have joined the community, yet you've rarely or never posted, why have you held back? Have you, like me, been limited in your free time? Have you lost interest? Do you have reservations about posting your fanfiction? Or would you like to see some changes or improvements made to the community or the prompts? Please, let me know. If you'd rather not give public feedback, you may of course screen your comment or e-mail me at spinalcracker09 at yahoo dot com.

Also, here's one change that is going into effect immediately: I'm moving the weekly prompt post from Monday to Saturday. I think it makes more sense to post on the weekend, with the idea being that more people are likely to have free time on Saturday and to actually write something when they first come up with a response idea. Plus, even if I get terribly busy again, I'm more likely to be able to put aside time for the community on Saturdays than on Mondays.

Again, my apologies. Please feel free to berate, tongue-lash, comment, question, suggest, or provide Linksys troubleshooting advice.

Title: Memphis
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
Disclaimer: Not real
Prompt: #8 Fear


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Title: The Secret Bed
Pairing: John/George
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 414
Disclaimer: Untrue.
Author's Notes: For the "Firsts" challenge. I'm so pleased to have been asked to join this brilliant community. I've got tricky internet and a heavy workloads, so  this is the first time I've managed to post! Hope you like, all.

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Title:  “It’s Johnny’s Birthday”
Author:   749_penny_lane
This story is a reply to the last three prompts: 
John’s Birthday (Prompt #7),   Fear or Fright (Prompt #8)  and An Omen, Sign or Fortune Telling Incident (Prompt #9)
Words: 500  (Three-in-one, I figure I'll take the higher word limit)
Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction based on the following listed facts.

Thanks to harihead for being a sharp and discriminating reader.  Thanks to carrotcaper2007 for being unfailingly supportive in my more neurotic moods.

Knowing these facts may help you with the fic: 

• John Lennon was born on October 9, 1940.
• Michael Abram attacked George and Olivia Harrison in the early hours of December 30, 1999.  He may have gotten through the gate while champagne was being delivered for their New Year's Eve Millennium Party.
• Some friends claim that the trauma of the attack in one way or another contributed to George’s death a little less than two years later.
• George believed that contact with those you loved after death was possible and that he had experienced it.

 

Hello everyone!

I have recovered from the nasty whatever-it-was and caught up on my coursework (being sick during Faulkner week in my American Fiction class has been a blow to my free time, let me tell you!), and I am very sorry for not having posted the prompts. I hope I haven't killed the community -- it's awfully quiet around here! *drops pin*

To make up for my atrocious neglect, I'm posting two prompts this week, and next week I will post a longer fic challenge.

For prompt #8: Write a story on the theme of fear or fright. What can I say? It's Halloween and I'm feeling kind of...seasonal. Responses can be light and funny or grim and angst-ridden; it's up to you!

For prompt #9: Well, I guess this prompt is in keeping with the spookiness of the season, too. Remember that whole kerfuffle over the significance of the number nine in John Lennon's life, as though it were some kind of omen? Write a story about an omen, a sign, or a fortune suggesting good or bad luck. You don't have to cart the lads off to the psychic's parlor, but it would be interesting to see what you can do with the number nine, or John's period of involvement with Tarot, or what happens when George walks under a ladder one morning on his way to see Paul...

Thanks ever so much for being patient with me while I was sick and getting caught up!

Title: Don't You Smoke?
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG
Word Count: 497
Disclaimer: Not real
Prompt: #7: John/John's birthday