The Upside To Writer's Block
Disclaimer: Ok look to your left, you see that underlined name there pam halliwell, that's me. Now if you knew your GG, you'd know there's no pam halliwell with any relative importance linked to GG.
If you knew your charmed canon, you'd realise that's a name that would oddly fit in with the family. Which is why I created it when I first started reading this site and charmed fanfics.
Geez!
This story is dedicated to helaluvE, one of the bestest, all-time fanficers in GG. HAPPY BIRTHDAY HÉLA!!!!!!!!!!It's the only bday pressie i could give you :P
I'd also like to give a shot-out to marrymemilo, who I promised myself would get a nod next time I posted something, for her extremely kind words.
Ok, I know the characters here are pretty intense. And frankly I feel odd giving it a T rating, because although there is no explicit content, I do feel you have to be mature to –understand- what is being said.
Frankly this one-shot can be taken at any point in Jess and Rory's relationship, canon or following up on 'Snobby Parties and Lovely Meetings'. So go with whatever feels right.
GGGG
Girls and boys will play with toys
Until they grow to be teens
Then girls and boys will make more noise
With ploys so outrageous deemed!
He liked to make up little poems and limericks in between "muse surges". He would often come up with them in bed, post-coital or not. This last one, I remember, sprung up as soon as I came out of the shower towel-drying my hair, while he lay on the bed seemingly focused on the pencil he was rolling around in his hands. The smirk on his face after spoke volumes. Boys will be boys, I guess, not that I'm complaining.
Creating seemingly trivial rhymes was his way of bouncing off ideas and trying to ease the tensions of writer's blocks. When the blocks got really bad, I would make him invent limericks, haikus and all carefully structured poems until we both fell asleep. It turned into a sort of challenge, a game we played, a poem race of sorts. Words that you would never imagine held any links would form the most humorous compositions in that room:
My daft muse gallops
briskly to a hungry cave
by luck I am glee
One time, and this is where the inner teenage girl in me is jumping up and down squealing, his writer's block was particularly bad. It had been going on for about three months, three torturous months, where I thought he was going to spontaneously combust with frustration. I hated seeing him like that. Our usual playful way had long evidently failed this particular time. Normally after a maximum of a month things would have been back to normal.
So I took to steering clear of the subject. Until one day, I saw him sitting at the kitchen table just staring with a blank look on his face. It didn't last very long but long enough that it scared the hell out of me. If he stared, or was quiet, it was always pensively, -never- with a blank look. And suddenly, I don't know if I was angry at fate or him, but I decided that some harsh words were in order. And if I knew Jess, the only words that would truly get to him at this point were written ones.
I hastily found a pen and paper and scribbled a note, slamming it down on the table in front of him, grabbed my bag and quickly made my way out of the apartment. I didn't want to hear arguments or ideas, I just wanted to see results when I got home. I wanted to see him happy, doing what I know makes him happy.
Later that evening, when I came home, I saw the same paper lying on the table, exactly where I had left it. I was about to start giving him a patented Gilmore piece of my mind. Clearly he needed to hear the insults, but as I dropped my bag with a heavy thud, I noticed that the paper seemed more creased than when I had left it there.
On one side where the words I had written this morning:
A writer is merely a collector of words. He has a massive collection of them and picks out, with a tweezer, (you said that once remember?) which ones will go to which characters ... "One for you. One for you...Oh! Two for you!" If a writer were to be presented in one of those trading card games, they'd draw a man with a big sack on their back, as if he were Santa Claus. A bag overflowing with words.
So, here's how it's gonna be Kris Kringle, you're gonna grab your sack of shwords and your ass off that chair and when I come home, it's going to be Christmas and don't even think about making a crack that it's June! It's either that or you sleep on the couch... that always motivates you!
Merry writing!
At the bottom was a small, almost indistinct P.T.O. I turned the paper over and found his scribbled handwriting:
My 'I love you' means a world of difference from yours... or so it seems. Your 'I love you' means "Even though you're stubborn, I'll listen." There's an undertone of '"I have a right to know when you're upset" in there!
My 'I love you' means "There are going to be times when I'll walk away but I'll come back." Yours means "Dealing with things on your own. That's just not an option."
My 'I love you' means "Let's talk about stupid things. Once in a while I'll let something deep slip." Yours: "Let's talk about stupid things, deep things, my past, your future...All of it... now."
My 'I love you' means "I'll always be around. I can't leave." Yours means "I refuse to accept the introduction of such a despicable word like 'leave' in the English language. From now on, it's banished."
My 'I love you' is uttered in a breath, simply a fact. Yours is a standard, forever set.
My 'I love you' nobody but me gets. Your 'I love you', nobody, but you, has quite reached yet.
We both live not to say it, but to live it."
He'd never written me a love note. He barely ever said 'I love you' to me, unless he really meant it but hey... sometimes dating a writer has its major perks!
GGGG
Ok I know, I know, cheesy. But like I said before, what I'm really trying to say is actually quite an adult way of looking at love.
Once again, I am aware the characters are OOC. Jess's piece of writing, I feel, is that sort of thing that we have often seen, where he decides to defy all odds and do something that completely catches Rory and her organized world off-guard.
Anywho, positive or negative criticism follow the purpleness