Doctor Who Discussion: We Bash the Internet and Cosmos, But For Once NOT Chibnall

Welcome to Living Authors’ Society’s Doctor Who Discussions. This week, we’ve called a special discussion to deal with the fact that parts of the Internet are, metaphorically speaking, currently on fire.

Jaden: Emergency the Doctor is a woman discussion?

JA: I mean, I don’t know how much I have to say.

Jaden: You mean this casting didn’t literally ruin 54 years of history for you and signal the demise of the franchise?

JA: http://doctorwhogeneral.wikia.com/wiki/Times_Doctor_Who_Was_Ruined_Forever

Jaden: yeah but this time it’s different

the doctor has boobs

JA: Sweet Omega, you’re right. I can take the Doctor being old, young, Scottish, northern, but having boobs is the last line.

It’s like the Doctor’s whole body changed during regeneration or something.

Jaden: Although I am a little bit afraid they are gonna Supergirl it

JA: This would be my one fear.

But bad writing occurs regardless of the Doctor’s genitals, so I’m not too bothered.

Jaden: But bad Doctor Who is often uniquely bad, in a way no other show can be bad,

There’s no other show on earth where you can say an episode was terrible because a moon was an egg, or a woman suggests leaving children to die so they dont miss their mothers during a crisis of sentient trees

JA: Because there’s no other show willing to engage in stories that mad and wild. Doctor Who is bold and bright and beautiful and it always aims beyond its reach. This means, of course, that it often misses more spectacularly than any other show, but I’ll take Love and Monsters if I can get Blink and I’ll take In the Forest of the Night if I can get Listen.

Jaden: So please dear Chibnall don’t be lame and make this a “the universe learns a GIRL can save the world too” series arc.

JA: I second this. I think that this is an area where showing not telling really applies.

Just give us women being awesome. You don’t need to tell us how awesome they are.

Jaden: Moffat, for all the praise I heap on him, was guilty of that sometimes.

JA: Very occasionally, I think.

There were a lot of men being rubbish jokes, which aren’t quite the same thing.

Although I could have done with less of them.

Jaden: Well whatserface and lizard lady wound up saying “look, we’re GAY” every five minutes despite good setup

JA: True.

But they were so awesome I didn’t care.

Jaden: Don’t give whatshisface any excuses

I’ve been up since 5, I’m too tired to remember names

JA: I don’t intend on giving Chibnall any excuses.

But today, for once, I’m not annoyed with him. lol

Jaden: Do you think there should be any sort of explanation for the female incarnation?

JA: No.

Say that it’s rarer, maybe, but otherwise, just leave it as a regeneration.

I would assume that Time Lords tend to stay closer to their “baseline” form, but some regenerations cause more major differences.

Jaden: yeah I agree.

Just basically I hope they dont treat it as all that different

JA: Same.

An idea I can’t take credit for because I found it on the Internet:

The Doctor suddenly freaks out about the regeneration and tries to find a mirror. She looks at it and says “It’s been a while since I was blonde.”

Jaden: I’ll be waiting for a “ohhhh and STILL not ginger”

though when is the last time we had a blonde doctor?

JA: Colin Baker?

I think.

Yeah, Colin Baker.

Who has been pretty amazing on Twitter today.

Jaden: is his childhood ruined?

JA: 

Jaden: I’m sure he’s just hiding his devastation

JA: Clearly. After, how could a former Doctor be OK with the DEATH OF THE SHOW?

Jaden: “I’m not the worst thing to happen to the show anymore?”

JA: Hey. It wasn’t his fault.

He wanted a black costume. They gave him an outfit in every color except black.

Jaden: btw I just made the entirely reasonable decision to check the youtube comments for this announcement. Top one: “I’m not mad because it’s a female doctor. I’m mad because the only reason they did it was political correctness.”

I facepalmed so hard i think i have a concussion

JA: See, here’s the thing. And this goes into a lot of this “I’m not racist/sexist/homophobic, but…” BS.

A white man is not neutral.

You’re still making a statement.

Choosing to cast a male Doctor over a female would be just as much of a biased choice made for political reasons.

Also, don’t read YouTube comments. lol

Jaden: I don’t really think casting the doctor is/should be a statement. It’s whoever fits the vision for the moment. Like, had Tennant not been the doctor maybe Chibnall would’ve picked him for the same reasons (I’m assuming) they picked her. Talented actor not too big a name who has worked with him before.

JA: I think Chibnall said he wanted a female Doctor. Which I will defend, because we’ve had 12/13 male Doctors. It’s well past time for something else.

Jaden: Yeah the “it’s been male for 54 years” thing works both ways

Like the Doctor amirite

JA: Yeah, the only question for is whether Jodie Whittaker is the right choice, not whether a female Doctor is the right choice.

And I think she is.

Jaden: Shes got intense eyes. The only physical trait that is a must

JA: This clip sold me:

That’s some quality Doctor-esque speechmaking.

And you are spot on about the eyes.

Jaden: The Doctor sounds weird with an english accent

JA: I really hope she keeps her natural accent.

Jaden: is that it?

JA: In the clip? Yes.

She’s done different accents in other things.

Jaden: yeah i can imagine that working. just as long as the monologue is less preachy than an episode of cosmos

JA: There are few things more preachy than Cosmos.

Jaden: I think I’ve seen sermons less preachy than Cosmos

Do you see sermons?

Attend?

JA: I do.

Most are less preachy than Cosmos.

Jaden: So it sounds like Chibnall has literally one job now. Putting odds 2:5 on him screwing up Supergirl style

JA: I keep getting all excited about the Doctor and then remembering it’s Chibnall and getting hesitant again.

Please, Chibnall, prove me wrong about you.

Jaden: I should watch more than the first episode of broadchurch

JA: Broadchurch is actually really good for the first series.

And then series two is so boring.

So I don’t know what to think.

Jaden: So iZombie?

JA: More than iZombie.

Jaden: I’m trying to remember my other question I was interested in hearing your thoughts on

JA: The problem of evil? Is the cat alive or dead?

How much do I hate Hemmingway?

Jaden: Why are there no fish in the fish pond?

JA: Ducks.

Jaden: whatever.

JA: Apparently they filmed an explanation and it was cut. I assume it was the cracks.

Jaden: the doctors a girl now the shows dead anyway

JA: Very true.

RIP the show

Jaden: at least we still have ghostbusters

JA: Oh, yes, that time Hollywood tried to get people to see a crappy remake by saying it was feminist.

Jaden: 9 and 13 talking about democracy or something

I like how people are saying her being a woman is the only reason she got the role. Not having worked with two doctors and the showrunner before

I’m on the Whittaker hype train. The only brakes are Chibnall

JA: I would like a ticket for that train.

Let’s hope a mummy doesn’t kill us.

Jaden: lol good a line to end on as any. though im trying to think of a shoehorned twilight zone reference

And yet he never did. Join us for our discussion of the Christmas Special, when we’ll see Peter Capaldi bow out, Jodie Whittaker step in, and the ghost of William Hartnell just hang out. 

The Crew Comes on Monday

Demolition started Monday. The crew would come in with their wrecking ball, smashing through brick and wood, reducing it all to pebbles and matchsticks. The dust would rise like a great mist and then there would only be silence.

The building stood and remembered the things that would soon be lost.

Memories were etched into wood and stone, drifting like ghosts in the stillness.

If you listened closely, you could hear them.

The laugh of a young child, one of seven, fighting to survive in a room made for two.

The tears of a new widow that had stained deep into the crumpled letter in her hands, making the words run in black rivers.

The slamming of a door by hands that never opened it again.

The clapping of proud parents, eyes glistening and smiles broad.

The patter of first footsteps, wobbling but determined.

A thousand stories hung in the air, so many people remembered in fragments of old memory, fading like photographs in a scrapbook.

Demolition started Monday.

But today was Sunday.

And it was a Sunday for remembering.

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Word Count: 180

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to Mike Vore for providing the prompt photo!

Free Spirit

Barefoot, she dances, toes skirting through rainwater.

The trees seem greener, the sky bluer, and the birdsong brighter.

Even in the artificial tennis court, fences and nets like prisons bars, the spirit of the forest reigns.

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This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Sam Burriss for providing the prompt photo!

In A Cave By The Ocean

Saphire-blue waves kissed the green-tinged stone of the cliff. An opening loomed in the rocks, a gaping jaw that led only into grim labyrinths.

Velloa felt the weight of the shadows and the moistness of the air. Her boat was naught more than a battered hull with a split mast and ragged sail. Across the North Sea she had sailed to reach this lonely isle. There would be no turning back.

Raising her hood over dark locks and sun-browned skin, Velloa stepped into the the cave. In shifting shadow she saw swift shapes, black as night, small as children. They were the dream-keepers, the name-knowers, the metal-shapers.

At labyrinth’s end, they kept her prize.

Velloa walked the narrow paths, tunnels branching and writhing like the roots of an old oak. Whispers echoed around her, promising her secrets if only she would follow them, but Velloa kept to the true path her grandmother taught her.

Keep to the dark

Follow the silence

Love not daylight

Trust not whispers

In darkness dwell the dwarren

And their ancient book

At last, she burst upon the inner chamber. Among looming statues stood an altar.

And upon it, a leather-bound book.

The Rune-lore. 

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Word Count: 198

This is for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner Week #28.

The Gifts of Dwarfs

Deep in the dark, dwarfs fashioned gifts for a mighty king: a candle that burnt with a light only the holder could see and a jar that held the wind.

The gifts were put in the king’s daughter’s room to gather dust.

His daughter grew. So did his enemies.

There came a day when the gates were torn asunder and the halls were red with blood and fire. Fearful, the daughter leapt to the window and opened the jar.

The wind lifted her to safety.

She ran through the night, guided by a light no other eyes could see.

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Word Count: 99

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Janet Webb for providing the prompt photo!

Missing

He stood on the edge and breathed. His eyes closed, he felt the wind against his cheeks, the cement under his feet, and the emptiness in front of him, pulling at him like an eager lover.

He heard the screeches of tiers, the laughter of children, and the honk of horns. The city throbbed around, a living, pulsing organism.

Whispers and shouts rose up from below. People were watching him.

They were waiting for him to fall.

His heard pounded in his chest. It had to be now, before someone came up to stop him. Before he lost his courage.

A thought rushed through his mind – Flying is just throwing yourself at the ground and missing. He smiled.

And stepped out into nothing.

He felt the wind against his cheeks, the air under his feet, and the emptiness around him.

He opened his eyes and laughed.

He was flying.

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Word Count: 149

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Grant-Sud for providing the prompt photo!

A Place of Rest

The White Horse was a pub like any other, full of good ale, better people, and the roar of laughter. The fire in the hearth burnt like a sunset behind mountains of black charcoal and the dartboard was peppered with the stab marks of near-perfect games. Old friends talked long into the hours of the night, unwilling to leave.

Once you left The White Horse, you never came back.

The White Horse sat at the world’s end, beyond the horizon, perched above an expanse of twilight and mist, where echoes of distant songs carried from unseen valleys. It was where heroes came when their stories were done, a place to rest, to laugh, to tell their stories, before the time came to move on.

Some of them stayed an hour. Some stayed for decades, greeting future generations as they walked through the door to tell of their changed world.

All moved on in the end. Their hunger sated, their hearts rested, they set out along the last road and walked into the swirling curtain.

All save one.

An old man sat behind the bar, pouring drinks and hearing stories.

He remembered them all.

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Word Count: 193

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to A Mixed Bag for the photo prompt!