Come to think of it, my feet are pretty itchy too...
Right about the time when I and my friends were all considered literary, the group agreed on a name for the writer’s circle; Buckfutter. It’s supposed to be an obscene reference, but few (not even the girls) saw the linkage. That perhaps all thought the term was novel all too well lead to its wholehearted adoption (by “wholehearted,” I am referring to the complete lack of inflammatory emails regarding this topic). Anyhow, the name stuck and has even outlived the purpose that justified its creation.
Of course, my recollection of history can be fuzzy sometimes, so feel free to correct me. And then I’ll flame you. Hehe.
The stories then were ala-Justice League, sort of, ‘coz everybody were using alter egos on their works. Some were technocratic, while others were sporting mutant superpowers. I preferred wealth over health, and settled on a somebody that is both filthy rich and insanely wily, stopping quite short of naming him Bruce Wayne.
Unlike its role model though, our characters seldom worked together, much less meet at all. For some sort of connectivity however, many attempted cross-overs, but that often resulted in angry, flaming emails over alleged “misuse” of personal property, as members at times take artistic “liberties” during cross-overs. The hoopla over these failed attempts at realizing our common universe would stretch over days as arguments, logic, stupidity and insults (civility being conveniently forgotten after the first few replies) would fly back and forth. Buckfutter becomes polarized, members sidle next to one of two opposing camps, and the bush fire spreads. In the end, everyone is so busy thinking of a nasty rebuttal that no work gets done and our literary universe becomes frozen in time.
I think in the end everything got resolved by all parties (fence sitters included) agreeing that the offending story be stricken officially from the records. It was as though the story never existed, and the events therein pulled out of reality. And it was in this manner that the Olympians of Buckfutter played dice with the universe, with a flourish of the pen and the subtle click of the SEND button.
I’ll share my storylines and some thoughts on my colleagues’ works next post.
Of course, my recollection of history can be fuzzy sometimes, so feel free to correct me. And then I’ll flame you. Hehe.
The stories then were ala-Justice League, sort of, ‘coz everybody were using alter egos on their works. Some were technocratic, while others were sporting mutant superpowers. I preferred wealth over health, and settled on a somebody that is both filthy rich and insanely wily, stopping quite short of naming him Bruce Wayne.
Unlike its role model though, our characters seldom worked together, much less meet at all. For some sort of connectivity however, many attempted cross-overs, but that often resulted in angry, flaming emails over alleged “misuse” of personal property, as members at times take artistic “liberties” during cross-overs. The hoopla over these failed attempts at realizing our common universe would stretch over days as arguments, logic, stupidity and insults (civility being conveniently forgotten after the first few replies) would fly back and forth. Buckfutter becomes polarized, members sidle next to one of two opposing camps, and the bush fire spreads. In the end, everyone is so busy thinking of a nasty rebuttal that no work gets done and our literary universe becomes frozen in time.
I think in the end everything got resolved by all parties (fence sitters included) agreeing that the offending story be stricken officially from the records. It was as though the story never existed, and the events therein pulled out of reality. And it was in this manner that the Olympians of Buckfutter played dice with the universe, with a flourish of the pen and the subtle click of the SEND button.
I’ll share my storylines and some thoughts on my colleagues’ works next post.
posted by the nature boy at 6:46 PM
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