My drug of choice is writing––writing, art, reading, inspiration, books, creativity, process, craft, blogging, grammar, linguistics, and did I mention writing?

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Previously on Writing About Writing (Season 1 Recap)

~soft but deep, Giles-like voice~:  Previously on Writing About Writing.

Chris: Let's show our readers the future of writing!


Chris: What the hell am I looking at?

Research and Development Scientist: Tomorrow's post...today.

Chris: I haven't even written it yet.

R&D Scientist: Exactly.  You told us to show you the future of writing.  We did it.  We DID it!!!

Chris: What have you done?  Dear god, man, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??


R&D Scientist: Some of our experiments in the time space continuum have delved pretty deep into phase reality.  What you might call parallel dimensions.

Chris: And we still haven't hit triple digits on pageviews?  That's disappointing.

R&D Scientist: Chris....something is out there.  Something has heard us.  Writing About Writing has made first contact.

Chris: Five thousand years of human culture and the first thing they're going to see is my blog?  This will end badly.


Glick: I am emperor Glick of the Octorian empire.  The Octorians have received your transmissions of this Writing About Writing and have deemed you too pretentious to live.  Your race will be exterminated in fire and your cries to the heavens for mercy will be ignored.  Have a nice day.

Chris: Genocidal bipedal cephalopods that want to expunge life from the entire planet because they read my blog.  Okay now I can confirm that there is a feeling worse than a post only getting ten hits.


Lady Felicity St. John Smythe: Oh my god!  Tell your father not to start the car!  TELL HIM NOW!!!


~car explodes~


Random Control Room Dude: Incoming fighters.  Activate the defense screen!


Intense Young Man: It doesn't matter how far you run or how well you hide.  They will root out pretentious prats and terminate them.  It's what they do.  IT'S ALL THEY DO!!!


Strangely Androgynous Elf:  My name is pLink.  And I am on a quest to save my girlfriend from Dannongorf.  I can help you if you'll give me that molecular sword.

Chris: How can you help?

pLink: I am really really good at killing eight legged things by the thousands.  Really good.  Where I'm from they pop up out of the ground and fly straight at your head with their little beak glistening with venomous saliva.  But I still kill them.  And I will kill yours too for the sake of Earth. I will go to their world and slaughter them in droves.

Chris: It's dangerous to go alone.  Take this.  ~hands pLink the sword~


Leela Bruce: You want my badge number?  Here!  Here's my fucking badge number.  ~does a spinning kick~


~Scene of pLink in a massive battle against dozens of Octorians~


Man in Black: Sir, I believe we're dealing with a level two invasion.

Other man in Black: Entry point?

1st MIB: It's a blog, sir.  Not even a third rate blog.  We had to invent a new "forth rate" category to describe it.  It's called Writing About Writing.

2nd MIB:  Initiate protocol four containment.  Prepare to nuke the site from orbit.  It's the only way to be sure.


MIB: Are you Chris Brecheen?  We'd like a word.


Cedric:  Come with me if you want to live.

Chris: The agents....

Cedric: They're dead.  Take my tentacle if you don't want to join them.


Cedric: Where would you be without me, human.

Chris: Back home.


Chris: Why are you helping me?

Cedric: Because my world has gone mad with its own sense of high art.

Chris: But you can never go home.

Cedric: I know...


Chris: Give me your hand!  Tentacle.  Thing.   Whatever....

Cedric: Save yourself human.  Tell your people what you've seen here.

Chris: Not without you.

Cedric: There's no time!

Chris: Not. Without. You.


Chris: Pay's not great, but the job will be easy.  Answer phones.  Light filing.  Maybe a memo.  But I do most of the writing...so.  With eight arms you should be pretty great at it.

Cedric: It will do.  I have one other request.

Chris: Yes?

Cedric: May I call you...friend.


Severe hottie in a lab coat: In all my years of research, I've never seen a virus reproduce this quickly!


Chris: This situation is worse than we can imagine.  We need help.


Chris: What the hell is this?  I wanted the A-team.

Hanny Smith: We're an A-team.  Like in the traditional sense of being very good.

Chris: What are you talking about.  You can't hit anything, no matter how hard you try.

H. Smith: We can spell out "A Team" in bullets on that wall over there.

Chris: Yeah, but that's all you can do.  You can't hit people or targets or anything but a wall!


Cedric: They have a limited number of soldiers who can handle the physiological stress of entering your time continuum.  They will stop at nothing to get The Pretentitron so that they can create endless soldiers to invade Earth.  Nothing.

Chris: Then let's give it to them.


Octorian soldier: We got the Pretentitron General.  Hell, they practically gave it to us.  Why is it beeping?

~nuclear explosion~


Ima Lister: Everyone I've told about that file is dead.


pLink: There are too many of them.  We can't possibly win this.  Not without hundreds of me.  Possibly thousands.

The SciGuy: You know....that could actually be arranged.


Chris: pLink, I want you in charge of our research and development while your clone army invades the Octorian dimension.  You know what we're up against.  You know how to kill these things.


R&D Scientist: This is crazy, pLink!  You've got us working on some optical enhancement beam that will reveal when walls are actually hidden doors.

pLink: Chris want me to fight them my way?  Well, this is my way!  Where I come from there are more hidden doors than you can possibly imagine.  In walls.  In tombstones.  In trees.  Under bushes.  Behind rocks.  They're everywhere.  And there's always good shit inside them!  Sometimes there are fairy fountains that can totally heal me and magical gumdrops and arrows for my bow and shit.  The ability to differentiate doors from walls or bushes or whatever would the single greatest factor in this entire war.


Guy Goodman St.White: What do you mean cut the blue wire.  They're all blue wires.


Chris: You cloned ME?  There's an evil ME running around?

SciGuy: We did it to annoy you.

Chris: Mission well and truly fucking accomplished.  How evil is it?

SciGuy: Is evil really a thing?  I mean what is evil anyway but the relativistic rejection of a culture's arbitrary norms.

Chris:  How....evil?

SciGuy: It actually likes NaNoWriMo.  A lot.

Chris: ~shudders~  Dear.....GOD!


Evil Chris: Not only do I approve of the work pLink has you doing, but I want you to install this optical door revealer with um....a reversal switch.  ~snicker~  Yeah you heard me.  A reversal switch!


R&D Scientist: Yeah, so not only did your evil clone make us waste our time making that stupid hidden door revealer with reverse switch, but then he went and stole it.  He's got it down there in his underground lair--using it to hide doorways and shit.


Evil Chris's Voice: ~singing~ I'm here...the Phantom of the Blog Post!


Random Ninja: The entire Hamazuki clan has been commissioned by NaNo fans to destroy you, Chris Brecheen, for your words of caution to young writers.  An army of ninjas will be arriving at Writing About Writing shortly.

Chris: Dude ALL I said was that trying to write that much for only one month a year can be detrimental--

Ninja: Your words mean nothing.  Nothing of even slight negativity may ever be uttered of The Great NaNo.  Get your affairs in order, Mr. Brecheen.  You die tonight.


Octorian general: Fellow Octorians....  They sent us a thermonuclear weapon disguised as a cloning machine.  Well...I mean we stole it.  But they tricked us!  Then they invaded us with thousands of clones of some elven guy...or girl...I'm not really sure about that one.  I think they're guys.  Anyway...forget that.  The point is....today we strike BACK!!!!   Scourge pretentious from the world and give pretentiousness no quarter!  Raaaaaaaa-


Leela Bruce: Anyway, once I got the NaNo ninjas talking to the anti-pretentious Octorians, they pretty much killed each other.  A lot.

Michael Dukakis:  What a mess.  I best get cleaning.  At least I'll be able to get some O.T. tonight.


Chris: It doesn't really matter that those A-Team guys are now carrying Octorian plasma weaponry.  They still can't hit anything to save their lives.....unless they're spelling out their name on a wall.  It doesn't matter what tech level they're holding if they can't hit anything.  We can't count on another miracle wave of pissed off ninjas.  The next invasion they send will be our last.


Emperor Glick:  In our zeal to destroy what we saw as patently offensive amounts of pretentiousness in Writing About Writing, we underestimated your martial prowess.  We, the Octorian empire, surrender.  Watch out for General Gilgish though.  He's having a hell of a time letting go.  He's gone rogue.  He's determined to expunge humanity.  He's sort of a dick.


Lt. Lambaste: I'm dying.  But at least I got to be held by you...just...once.  I should have told you.  I.... I love you!

The SciGuy: I know.

~passionate kiss~ 


General Gilgish:  ~picks up The SciGuy and starts choking him~ If I can't have this world in flames, I will have it's most pretentious!  Bring me the writer!  Bring me Chris Brecheen!

And now....the conclusion....

For no particular reason: random *enhanced* cliffhanger Star Trek clip from YouTube.


  1. NONE of this stuff actually happened. You like hinted at some of it, but there isn't one single line in here that was actually "previously on Writing About Writing."

    If this blog weren't free, I'd demand my money back. You get what you pay for, I guess.

    1. Um... But that was supposed.... Um....er.....