or maybe I should call it...

When Fanfic Writers Go Bad
Rated PG

It was everything Lois expected it to be. They came in through the kitchen door--Clark didn’t even bother to ring the bell. There were shelves with knick-knacks and other sundry items in the kitchen that made it look just as rural as it truly was. It was all very typical and very small town. It was no wonder Clark had turned out the way he was, growing up in this homespun, Bible belt environment.

Okay, so dinner wasn’t what she had expected. She figured they would be having meat and potatoes while a homemade apple pie finished it’s last few minutes in the oven. She hadn’t expected vegetarian. Wasn’t that illegal in the Midwest? Maybe they were trying to impress her with their knowledge of big-city ways. She wasn’t impressed, but she thanked her hostess anyway.

The conversation wasn’t what she had expected either. With only half a glance at his stocky frame and his bib overalls, it was easy to see that Jonathon Kent would be a man of few words. Martha, of course, would be the one to blather on and on about small-town gossip, taking everyone down a peg or two in the process. Surely in a town this size everyone knew everything about everyone else.

They had hardly been seated before Jonathon started chatting with Clark about the local goings-on. While that was certainly a role-reversal, it still had that stereotypical hometown feel to it--only it lacked the acid she was sure she would find.

Martha, on the other hand, was astounding. She was no simpleton, that was for sure. She was downright passionate about the local art scene.

With all the varied, sophisticated vocabulary, the interest in the concerns of other people, the curiosity and the passions; it was no wonder that Clark wrote the way he did. Not that she cared so much about how hayseed Clark Kent wrote, but it did explain a lot about him.

Clark was as polite as ever. He tried to include her in the conversation whenever possible. She couldn’t help it--after awhile she found herself relaying anecdotes from her own life. She even told Martha about the unfortunate pencil-pusher who asked her to the office Christmas party last year.

“Chuck works in accounts receivable. A real nerd, with the works: pocket full of pens, glasses, allergies… Get this, the guy writes fanfic.”

“Fanfic?” Martha mused.

“Yeah, fanfic,” Lois snarked. “Oh, right. Umm… fanfic are fictional stories written by laypeople who like a particular comic book, television series or movie. Get it? Fan-based fiction? Fanfic?”

“That sounds rather artistic,” Martha mulled over, “but not really nerdy.”

“Oh, it’s nerdy alright,” Lois assured her. “Men who write fanfic are almost always sci-fi geeks. The women are just as bad. Women who write fanfic are lusty, over-the-hill types who have twin-bed kind of relationships with their husbands, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jonathon chuckled, playfully nudging his wife, “a twin bed sounds like a lot of fun, but we’ve always preferred to spread out to enjoy each other.”

“Dad!” Clark scolded, but his smile let on that his heart wasn’t really in it.

Lois shifted uncomfortably and tried valiantly to get the conversation back on-topic.

“Chuck showed me one of his fanfics, a blood and guts take on Star Trek.”

“Mom usually writes about The Batman,” Clark informed her. “You should look her up on the internet sometime and read her work.”

“On the internet?”

“It’s a communication tool where computers send messages and other information to each other over the phone lines and other means in a loosely-arranged conglomeration of pages. You get it? Interconnected network? Internet?” Martha instructed.

“I get it, I just… Well, I never imagined…” Lois sputtered.

“I have a hard copy if you want to see my latest work,” Martha offered. “I like to go over them with a red pen before I send them to my beta-reader. He’s kind of like a volunteer editor who also gives feedback on the flow and feel of a story. You’re welcome to read it if you like.”

Seeing how she had little choice, Lois wandered into the family room and plopped down in an overstuffed rocking chair. She switched on the reading lamp and skimmed over the first few paragraphs of the story. It was lusty, alright. It was also extremely well-written and descriptive beyond belief.

“Is that even possible?” Lois wondered, not realizing she had spoken aloud as she came across one of the more colorful scenes.

“Oh, it’s possible,” Jonathon laughingly assured her. “Although it wasn’t as pleasant as she made it sound. Certainly not as pleasant as the daily bump and grind.” He seemed to enjoy her blush a little bit too much. “A good writer always researchers her stories well. Didn’t you know that?”

Lois stashed the rest of the story on a side table. “Would you look at the time? I promised Perry I would send him a fax.”

“Fax?” Martha questioned in an overly-innocent tone.

“Never mind,” Lois grumbled. “Maybe I’ll just scan it and send what I need to Perry as an attachment on an e-mail.”