I sent you a very basic outline. If I actually write it, it should be around 30k words, which I think I can manage in a month. I just want a second opinion on whether or not it is political enough for this contest.

 

Yes, that's the point of a writing competition.

Yes, that's the topic for this month.

 

And where can I post this? When is the time limit (not sure how to phrase it)?

 

Here, man. Read this announcement Vash made specifically to answer these questions and more.

 

2 hours until results?[/wishful thinking]

 

More along the lines of 11 hours. [/dream crushing]

 

If its not to late, I'd like to volunteer at being a judge.

 

/epic ninja turtle music

 

A monthly contest idea: Meta Fics
So we can allow all those "Harry's parents read the Harry Potter books" and other creative ideas along similar lines. I'm curious to see what DLP could do with this

 

:facepalm :facepalm :facepalm

 

Read the Harry Potter books, you say... Only one scenario comes to mind.




James' legs cramped as he climbed the long, broad staircase that led to the upper floors. He puffed and grumbled and complained about long hours and dim-witted bosses, all the while picturing his low, comfortable arm-chair by the fireplace, purposely brought to his study so that he could be alone when he needed some space.

Some scotch tonight, perhaps. Or maybe Sirius' bottle of red wine. Old dog wouldn't miss it.

He paused at the second floor's landing, catching his breath. Harry's excited squeaks came from below, probably the kitchen. Lily must have been conjuring bubbles for him to pop. Only flying and bubbles could get his son that worked up.

Well, maybe animated drawings, too. If James ever had to concentrate on magicking sticks and vaguely geometrical shapes into motion again, he'd sharpen the tip of his wand and stick it in his...

He stopped by the open door of his study, eyes on a particular object that sat on his desk, and his jaw went slack.

James Potter was a man of little organization. He could tolerate towering stacks of paperwork on his desk. He could tolerate dirty cups strewn about the room with only an inch of amber liquid to show for previous nights of idling. He would even welcome scratches and stains on his furniture, thinking it gave a room a more lived-in feeling.

But not this. Never this.

It was his journal -- not a diary filled with flowery feelings and rainbow-coloured hopes, mind you -- a proper, serious journal; black hardcover, elegant but strong, his initials printed on the bottom right corner of every page. And most important of all, it contained his life-long work in Transfiguration theory, particularly the branch that specialized in inanimate to animate magic.

James had poured everything he knew, everything he had speculated, everything he had ever experimented with into that journal.

All for nothing.

The pages were folded and creased. The spine was bent and in danger of falling apart. The elegant cover had been defiled by childish doodling in bright green crayon, and as he took a closer look, James found the rough, painful attempt at words scribbled across the black leather. It was a title.

"Harry Potter and the Sorserer's Stone"

His eyebrows shot up. James cracked the book open – it was a book now; the journal would have to be remade – and began deciphering his son’s language.

It read:

“Harry Potter thinks he is an ordnary boy - until he is rescued by a bietle-eyed giant of a man, enrols at Hogwars Schol of Witchcraf and Wizardry, learn to play Quiditch and batles in a deadly duel. The Reason: HARRY POTTER IS A WIZARD!”

James told himself that he loved his son. He repeated it over and over again, a few times out loud, just to make sure he remembered it well. Then he took a deep breath, figured he could just copy his work into a fresh journal and made to sit on his throne-like arm-chair.

And then he changed his mind.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

The bull-like roar echoed around the house.

The bubbling laughter of his son died instantaneously. Through the open door to his study he could almost hear Lily's frown and Harry's wide green eyes slowly rising to stare at the ceiling. James stood there fuming, impatient. Harry had gone too far this time.

"Harry Potter, you will come to my study -- RIGHT NOW!"

James dropped on his arm-chair, the ruined journal resting on his lap as he waited. Footsteps drifted over to him -- slow, hesitant footsteps that sounded entirely too guilty to be anyone's but Harry's.

A pale face poked its way into the study, followed by the rest of James' son. Harry stared at the floor in silence, his foot drawing circles in the carpet, looking the very picture of guilty yet adorable remorse. That wouldn't work this time.

James raised the journal in one hand. "Explain yourself."

His son looked up, eyes wide and innocent. He was silent for a long minute, knowing that not just any answer would appease his father. "I wrote a story, dad. Grandpa’s friend inspired me.”

I’ll kill Flamel, James decided. “Go on.”

“You were at work, and so was Mum,” explained Harry. “And I couldn’t find any paper downstairs. So I…” He looked at the floor again, and finished in a small voice. “So I came into your study.”

“…and?”

His son took a deep breath, still not looking at him, and in a rush said, “And I found some paper.”

Silence. James let it stretch until Harry began shifting his weight, too nervous to speak or meet his father’s eyes.

“Harry,” began James, in a tone far too calm to be friendly, “how many times have I told you my study is off limits? Hmm? How many times have I told you that you can play anywhere, but not in here? I don’t like repeating myself, Harry.”

The nine-year-old made himself even smaller, if that was possible. “I’m sorry, dad.”

James sighed. If he kept this up Harry would soon start crying. He didn’t like to see him sobbing, and more importantly, he didn’t like to be the cause of it. The child just needed a reminder, that’s all. Time to let him off the hook. For now.

“Look at me, son.” Harry did so, slowly, hesitating before meeting his father’s eyes, his face anguished. “Never again, alright? I don’t like punishing you, but these things can’t happen, you understand? This is my work. Forget the Auror stuff. This is what really matters to me.” James glanced at the ruined journal and fought to keep the dismay off his face. “Would you like it if I went into your room and messed with your toys?” Harry jerked his head from side to side. “Would you like it if I accidentally broke your broom?”

The look of horror on his face was almost comical. “No!” He swallowed. “No, dad.”

“Alright.” James stood up, his movements sluggish. He headed for the liquor cabinet. “Off you go, then. Back to playing, young Chaser.”

Harry grinned, the expression shy, as if he weren’t sure such happiness was allowed yet. James gave him a last look and his son’s smile froze in place, dreading the possibility...

“And get your mother for me please.”

 

You just had to do it, didn't you? Now I'm curious what you could actually make of the premise with a little more time, horrifying though that thought is.

 

@IdSayWhyNot: You should've had James break Harry's arm, a la Jack Torrence.

 

I'm sure we can be even more creative with the meta concept. What about Harry reading a fanfiction of Molly weasley reading the Harry Potter books to a young ginny weasley? And then Harry develops a soul bond with ginny that transcends the meta/(whatever the opposite of meta is) concept...I call it ficception. What say you, Ashaya! Creative enough?

Oh and nice start, IdSayWhyNot.

 

There's this new game for the PS3 called Russian Roulette. You need an extra controller, but you should definitely try it. Just six times, tops.

Edit: Friggin' trolls.

 

Reading that hurt. It really did.

 

@dhulli: That's called recursion, and it's not something you should abuse with terribleness like that.

 

It's clearly not recursion. I'll be honest though, I don't know much about recursion outside of Computer Science and mathematical definitions.

For one, the story would have to be like this: Harry comes upon the fanfiction, starts reading...In the fanfiction Molly comes upon HP Books, reads them to Ginny....The Entire Harry Potter books to finish...End of Molly's story, other stuff happens until fanfiction finishes....Original harry potter done reading fanfiction now lives his life. But if you've read any of those Harry's parents reads the Harry Potter books type of fanfictions you'll know that changes happen while reading the story, like oh Sirius joins along!

Secondly, the recursive instances have to be very similar. I'd argue that the change of POV, location, timeline, etc and hell even the writing style (between the fanfiction and HP books) makes the instances very dissimilar.

On Topic: I'll try my hand at writing for this month's contest!

 

It's almost recursion.

I know recursion as a linguistics term, but as a generic term it's actually not too far off the mark. It would better apply if Harry was using his own books as a reference to complete his Horcrux quest or something, not dissimilar to Hiro and Ando using 9th Wonders in Heroes.

That said, dhulli, it's still a fucking terrible idea and you should feel bad.

 

But what if he had the wrong books instead?