The curse of self-awareness strikes again.

[mrissa]

Sooooo...once upon a time there was a certain woman who had a habit of writing stories that had cliffs in them. Or cliff-like objects: high city walls, that sort of thing. It was a recurring theme, if you will. Possibly a trope. (Tropes are what you get when you are a finalist for the Nebula Award. For the rest of us they are merely freaky obsessions. Not so for Nebula finalists! They have tropes.)

And this woman had some very mean friends who teased her about the cliff thing. And one of them made her an icon, and some others just made fun of her, and two of them went so far as to suggest that if she was having trouble with a story that didn't have a cliff in it, she could just name a character Cliff, and then all her troubles would be over.

Ha ha, laughed the mean friends. Ho ho, laughed the mean friends. We are so funny, said the mean friends. Name a character Cliff! Ha. The funniness of us.

Until one day one of the mean friends realized that one of the protags in her space opera -- the only story she'd written recently that had no opportunity for tons and tons of snow -- was named Winter.

Um, said the mean friend. Gosh, said the mean friend. Golly, said the mean friend. How transparent these walls look, and I wonder what I should do with this conveniently placed stone?

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[matociquala.livejournal.com]

*loff*