Meme - caving to peer pressure:

[concertigrossi]

Pick a paragraph (or any passage between... let's say 200 and 600 words) from anything I've written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you'd expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

Comments

[rexluscus.livejournal.com]

From your "Epiphanic Drabbles":

Singapore stank. Not as bad as London, which you could smell for miles out to sea, but it was thickly rank nevertheless. The odor roiled through the port, the effect of thousands of people and their animals, the smoke from their cooking, their food and the resulting effluvia. He stared at the source of the stench and saw in it a microcosm of the whole of humanity. People working and playing. Eating and fucking. Being born, living their lives, and dying. His had been a clean sort of limbo, and he’d gotten too used the cold asepsis of a place above and past and done with all of this. He didn’t feel ready to wade back into the filth of being alive.
“See, here’s how this works, Commodore. They put the pretty board down to the pretty dock, and you walk across it and off my pretty ship. Savvy?”

Then again, it wasn’t like he had a choice.

[rexluscus.livejournal.com]

Oh, oh, one more! Am I allowed one more? From "In Perpetuity":

He’d lived for pleasure, for a time. He’d even devoted an entire decamillennium to sex and all its wonderful, consenting-adult iterations. Against all probability, against anything anyone he ever knew would have predicted for him, it palled.
So he travelled almost randomly, and tried to help people wherever he found trouble. A bit hokey, perhaps, but it worked for The Doctor, didn’t it?
He was currently on Progera, a little backwater world. Two separate sentient species had evolved on the planet: the St’laga and the Neigeta, and though they’d once coexisted peacefully, the St’laga had gained dominion over the planet, and enslaved the Neigeta. An underground resistance movement had grown up over the centuries, and found a natural leader in Jack, once he landed there.
With his guidance, they triumphed.
However, as it happened, while the revolution started in the hope that peace and equality could be restored once more, the Neigeta elected to power those who sought only revenge. The oppressed became the oppressors, and Jack began to protest. This was always how it seemed to work out: revolutionaries would rise up to right all wrongs, and a few centuries later, they were the jackbooted tyrants everyone wanted to overthrow. And tyrants are distinctly unamused when one of the original revolutionaries sticks around to tell them what they’re doing wrong. They had no compunction about shutting him up in prison, and they’d heard about the Immortal Man, so the security system was built accordingly.
When the Wheel turned again, and the tyrants were turned out, he was fêted as a hero. They returned his original possessions, but enough time had passed that the pages of The Book were crumbling to dust.
He left the planet as fast as he could.
He reconstituted The List, but this time he had it carved onto blocks of basalt, and placed on an uninhabited planet in the far reaches of the Mandala galaxy. Let it be set in stone, he thought. It was as good a monument to his life as any.

I had a real difficulty picking this particular one out...

[soubie.livejournal.com]

Touch
A bed. Not a cot, or a bunk, or a hammock, but a proper feather bed. Big enough for him to stretch out completely and only have his feet sticking off the bottom. Soft enough to burrow into, the better to escape the penetrating chill of late fall in London. Linens, clean and fresh-pressed, smelling faintly of lavender. A new night-dress. The sheer sensuality of all that snowy cloth against his bare skin engulfed him as much as the duvet did. It was bliss, and he reveled in it.
Chagrin took over, as sleep began to claim him. Good Lord. He was waxing rhapsodic about bedclothes. Much more of this and he really would run mad.