User talk:LandryC

Welcome
Hi, welcome to Total Drama Island Fanfiction wikia! Thanks for your edit to the Total Drama World Tour Redux page.

Please leave a message on my talk page if I can help with anything! -- Kenzen11 (Talk) 22:05, July 24, 2010

Other things
Yeah! I remember you! I think I left a message a lot of hours ago. XD Anyways, thanks for your reception on my stories and my reception on your episodes is positive. Not only were the plotlines solid and the characters IC, it also had that humor I really do like. Care to add yourself to my friends list here? Like I said, I've read the stuff on your TDC page and when I read the part about you being bisexual, well, I'm perfectly fine with that. Also, some other questions, have you seen TS3 and are you a boy or a girl? &quot; You&#39;re 30% arrogant, 30% ignorant, and 40% idiot!&quot; &quot; Yep, she soo has a crush on me.&quot; Nickelodeon has the best lines. XD 23:31, December 19, 2010 (UTC)

if you can believe it I'm a guy, no I haven't seen TS3 yet thanks for the positive feedback on my stories and sure I'll add myself to your friends list-LandryC

I'm glad that you liked the reception from me. But y'know, you can also leave messages on my talk page, not just yours. But still, thank you for adding yourself to my friends list. Umm, I hope that you plan on seeing TS3 (if you're a fan, I'm not trying to pressure you) because I'm working on a Toy Story fic (which I badly procrastinate at. XD) &quot; You&#39;re 30% arrogant, 30% ignorant, and 40% idiot!&quot; &quot; Yep, she soo has a crush on me.&quot; Nickelodeon has the best lines. XD 00:20, December 20, 2010 (UTC)

Umm, out of curiosity, have you ever seen Big Time Rush? &quot; You&#39;re 30% arrogant, 30% ignorant, and 40% idiot!&quot; &quot; Yep, she soo has a crush on me.&quot; Nickelodeon has the best lines. XD 04:45, December 31, 2010 (UTC)

yeah I've seen Big Time Rush LandryC 05:09, December 31, 2010 (UTC)

Oh, well, do you sorta like it? By the way, you can respond on my talk page. &quot; You&#39;re 30% arrogant, 30% ignorant, and 40% idiot!&quot; &quot; Yep, she soo has a crush on me.&quot; Nickelodeon has the best lines. XD 16:06, December 31, 2010 (UTC)

Cool. Just today, I couldn't stop listening to Oh Yeah and Till I Forget About You. XD Also, the reason why I asked about BTR is because I am planning on writting this thriller fic about them on a place called Sinister FanFiction Wikia. If you're interested in the idea, after I post it, I'll give you the link and you can review about it. Of course, since I don't really have time to watch BTR as much, if the characterization is a little off, you might hafta cut slack on me. Yet still, the plot is really, well, Jo is murdered by this serial killer woman named Snake-Eyed Sam and Kendall is really overwhelmed with angst about it. While Logan is trying his best to comfort his dear friend, it's not long until wild visions fill Kendall's head and his grip on reality and thrist for revenge could soon get the best of him,

So yeah, that's the plot and I hope this interests you. I already found this picture on dA and think that this would make a very cool title picture, but of course, the title may change eventually since I'm just drafting it out on Word. Still, this is what I thought the title picture should be.



Huh, huh? How does it look? &quot; You&#39;re 30% arrogant, 30% ignorant, and 40% idiot!&quot; &quot; Yep, she soo has a crush on me.&quot; Nickelodeon has the best lines. XD 22:17, January 1, 2011 (UTC)

Why, thank you. At first, I worried that you wouldn't like it considering the fact that the fic is a lot darker than the TV show itself. Also, I'm really glad you liked that picture; it's a picture of a rose and the liquid beside it is, you guessed it, blood. Of course, I'm not so sure about the title; it's called Never Too Late for now because of this Three Days Grace song I heard on the radio and on Youtube. Still, if the title changes one day for a reason, I'll change it and when you read the fic, you'll see that pic again. Also, just thought you'd want to know this, the genre is horror/angst/hurt&comfort. Also, like I said, if the characters are a little off, you might hafta forgive me for that. For some reason, I just thought of James being the one to comfort Kendall the most, don't you? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 03:48, January 8, 2011 (UTC)

Hello again, Mr. Harley (since you are an adult and I'm a young teen, I feel that I should address you properly). Umm, remember when I told you the BTR fic that James is suppose to be the one comforting Kendall? Well, since it's still not published yet, who do you think should comfort Kendall? James or Logan? I know that I should include Carlos, but since he's the funny clown, I don't know if comforting is his territory. Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 19:13, January 11, 2011 (UTC)

Agreed. I was about to change it to Logan comforting Kendall because, well, James is a nice guy in real life, but on the TV show, his character James Diamond isn't necissarily a favorite of mine; I really resemble Logan in ways -- I'm smart, sarcastic, caring, and clumsy. XD Which BTR guy do you think you would resemble the most? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 02:45, January 15, 2011 (UTC)

Out of curiosity, have you seen Tangled? And please, when responding, just click on the "Leave a Message" thing, because it's hard for me to find my messages from you if they're typed in a past section. Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 19:58, February 9, 2011 (UTC)

Cool. The reason why I ask is because I wrote this one-shot about Tangled and I hope that you like it. Warning, since this is an alternate ending, this sorta means what would happen if Rapunzel's tears didn't heal Flynn. Hope you like it! Be sure to leave a comment in the comment box. Okay, here is the link. http://sinisterfanfiction.wikia.com/wiki/Forever Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 22:09, February 9, 2011 (UTC)

Thank you oh-so very much for your kind comment! :D That's a real great achivement to me because, I honestly thought you wouldn't like it because of its Romeo & Juliet cliché. Still, I'm glad you liked it. After reading this and noticing the sorta emotion in this, does this make you reluctant to read my BTR fic? Sorry if this question stuns you; I'm very modest and insecure. And another question, would you like a tidbit from my story? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 23:06, February 18, 2011 (UTC)

Care for a tidbit from my BTR fic? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 23:20, February 18, 2011 (UTC)

Tidbit from Crystal's story
Cool! Well, be sure to respond about it on my talk page once you've finished reading this message.

Alright, in this scene, Kendall heads off to the park after a fight with James (the fight was about James mocking Kendall's vivid nightmares about Snake-Eyed Sam) and finds a gun lying around. Inside, he finds a picture of his family and once he manages to get it out, he burns the picture with his lighter. It is then revealed that his father was a very abusive man.

Warning, this following sequence of events contain spousal abuse:

Six bullets were contained in the gun; all were unfired. I reluctantly knelt down to pick it up, thinking about reporting this to the police. Officer Garcia would definitely be surprised, I thought, eyes still widened at the weapon that rested in my palm. Officer Garcia is Carlos’ father, and that’s a very odd fact considering how a tough policeman like him would have such a childish son that would cling onto his hockey helmet for protection. A breathless chuckle came after that fact. Looking into the nuzzle, though, instead of a silver bullet waiting to be released in there, something grey and while glowed inside the used metal. Almost like… a picture. A mental score came up in my head; Curiosity 10, Kendall 0. Aiming it at the sky, a bang was heard and a picture with a hole through it fell onto my boots. I snatched it without hesitation, but quickly hid in the bushes when I heard someone insist they heard a gunshot. I stuffed the weapon into my pocket and stared at the picture.

Dad was in the center of the picture, his forehead not shown because of the hole the bullet made. It was a picture of me as a young child; 4, I believe. Mom stood unsurely next to him, his arm wrapped around her. My grasp shook as the childhood memories flooded my mind, blocking out everything around me. While most teens would enjoy seeing pictures of their military fathers, my relationship with my father was a different story; I knew of that fact well as I grabbed the lighter and burned the pictures to ashes. Before doing so, I bit my lip, wondering if this was a good thing to do. But all reluctance went away as I saw the memories of who Stephen Knight was marked on Mom – a bruise on her left arm, a dried bloodstain at the corner of her mouth, another bad bruise inside her forehead, green fingerprints encircling her pale neck, a purple mark just above those prints from where she and Dad made up, but a black eye to end the tender moment. I squeezed my eyes as I knew the painful memories crawled into my head.

My parents’ past was like a fairy tale; they met in high school, fell passionately in love, and the rest was too easy to figure out. All that my father cared about was Mom and being alone with her. As you can guess already, that meant he didn’t want any children, meaning that he didn’t want me. Hurts, doesn’t it? Well, my struggle didn’t begin until I was born. When I could be able to walk and talk, Mom always told me these stories about their love life in high school. Hmm, maybe that explains how I became such a romantic. They were almost perfect for each other. Their romantic history may seem syrupy and extremely sappy, but it’s also rare for a high school couple to be like that; they went to every dance together, they rarely fought, and they were even planning when they wanted to get married after college. Dad seemed like the perfect gentleman… until I was born. I mean, sure, the relationship became tense because of the fact that they were a military couple, but they still acted the same way they did in high school. Yet, during their wedding anniversary, she went into labor and… well, there I was, in her arms, the bright light from the window eclipsing any sorrow that was in Mom’s life. She was the happiest she ever was; even happier than the day she met Dad… and that day, something snapped inside of him. He didn’t know about the pregnancy; he wasn’t there the minute I was born. I don’t remember how Mom kept the pregnancy a secret, but bottom line, I was born, and Dad didn’t like it. Of course, you guys needn’t worry. Though the abuse would normally go to the child because the abuser would think of the child as the wedge between husband and wife, in a strange and somewhat stupid twist, he blamed Mom for all of this and that was when the blissful happiness they shared ended in shattered glass and loud screams.

Abuse was the only thing that made the relationship alive in a sick manner. Those nights with me in the cradle, Mom would be pushed into the mirror and slapped at repeatedly until she passed out. The sickening smell of his breath was what made her choke and cough; and the smell that tainted his breath was the smell of evil. Burnt heads of cigars would scatter across the floor, as it if were Satan’s rose petals. Screams and unnecessary apologies came from Mom as Dad would continue to beat her. Holes in the drywall would mark which child has the worst father in Kansas history. It was all a blurred routine; the screams would turn into cries, the cries would turn into moans, and the moans would be ended by one swing to keep Mom asleep for the night. Not even as a baby did I respond; instead, I closed my eyes and hoped that it was all just a nightmare. As for me, Dad and I never talked nor bonded. He didn’t even want me in this world, so there was no point in getting anywhere near him. So instead, I just curled into the blankets and never bothered to do anything; the amalgam of noises made in those fights and the sounds of ambulances were my music to lull me to sleep. And that was how my infant years carried on.

By the time I was 4, things became too heated for their own good. The reason why was because this time, I could actually see the fights. And as always, they would end with Dad being sedated at the sight of Mom unconscious from bleeding cuts, beating bruises, and burn marks from his cigars. Knuckle would connect with face, swearwords and lies would rip is mouth open in his screaming fit, and tears would stain Mom’s cheeks even in her sleep. She knew she could never escape him, for he was too strong; with being a man from the military lifestyle and once being a martial artist, he was strong and powerful. Kids would always consider looking up to fathers like that and calling them the greatest, but I was opposite of that logic. He was a giant and powerful like a king, yes, but that didn’t mean it was a good thing. He was bold as brass to treat his wife like that and I guess that’s where I get his cleverness and strength; and that’s a sin I shall bear as only a forgotten memory as well as the fights that brought the house to life. By day, it’s a quiet, little white house on the neighborhood, but by night, it is casted in horror’s spotlight. How I could be able to watch the fights without getting caught was easy; since I was a small boy back then, I would hide behind the shriveled fronds of wilted potted ferns Dad forgot to throw out. But instantly, I knew I would regret doing so considering how much blood would be shed each night.

Punch after punch, Dad would keep this action up until the most miserable cry for mercy would be let out. But even then, he would keep releasing all unneeded wrath with anything of his choosing: empty alcoholic bottles, brown or green glass, books, broken legs off of a table, or even just his bare, bloodied fists. Booze that clashed with the evil in his breath would smell like flowers as sweet as it could be to him. The very sight was disturbing enough to hug my knees and cringe as my stomach would writhe and lock to avoid vomiting; but at the same time, it was addicting. A child would never include pain in his or her world; at the age of 4, the world to any child would be nothing but princesses or pirates, dwarfs and happily ever after. But for me, it was unhappily ever after. It was horror or agony, blood and a flurry of sweat that emphasized the horror to a level healthy to Dad. That and screams. But I never considered Mom’s screams hers; in my mind, the only screams I could hear were my own. All it would take for Dad to prepare for such sheer rage was either a gulp of rum or a few tokes here and there. The essence of stiff smoke and sickening alcohol was the house’s main scent until the stench of blood and sin came along with.

White would rip from Mom’s bloodied flesh in the aftermath of the fighting. Choked coughs and cries were louder that the static on a busted stereo Dad would keep in their room. Her auburn hair would spill over her eyes, casting her frightened green stare into a shadow for her benefit. I always thought of that as a way of keeping her from seeing the horrible man she married for the rest of the night, at least. Blood would always be dried at the corners of her mouth from when she coughed up mouthfuls of it when Dad strangled her. Her airway shut down as her head bucked back and forth and his grip got tight enough to shrink her neck. His grimy nails dug into the flesh of her neck and he only stopped when her face was as pale as a ghost’s face. Her eyes would roll into the back of her skull when all life was blocked from her throat until Dad let go. Nevertheless, he would still let his fists smash into her stomach and he’d twist her arms around even when they’re broken just to make her vomit up blood. I could never name one time he would apply leniency on her; Dad was never weak, not even when he sweated so much, he could’ve flooded us all out of the house. Red handprints on her cheek from where he would slap her made me feel the stinging pain for her. He would pull her hair and place his free hand back on her throat when all life came back to her. He would either strangle her with his hands or his old, black belt he never put on. When he wasn’t using the belt to choke her, he would instead crack it like a whip at her and it would leave angry, stinging marks on her stomach as he shouted one swearword over and over again. Eventually, her entire bloodied skin would shiver as the moonlight shone on her weakened body that was beaten into numbness while Dad sat back and lit a cig. No matter how heartless he sounded, I didn’t stand up to him, for I was afraid that the bloodied, scratched leather would soon land on my skin. Besides, even though he was sedated when Mom was quivering and whimpering while spit ran down her chin and her nails dug into the thin sheets, he was at least sedated, so there wasn’t any need for a 4 year-old to scream and cry about how awful his father was.

I would finally be able to sneak back into my room and shut the door when Dad came closer to Mom and rubbed her cheek. Sure, now he was being romantic. He claimed that he didn’t want Mom to leave him, but if he thought that, then why was it that he’d beat her senseless with his unloved son watching in the shadows? He would lean closer to her face and drink her mouth’s essence in an apologetic rhythm. Yet, just when the first moan would drip into the air when he caressed the hair out of her face, that was when he’d hit her one last time. That was when he would shut the door with a black eye marking her face to end the tragic night of abuse and to prove there would be more to come. That was the only night I saw the making up end, and every night, it ended that way. Yet, after the first time, I always closed my door to block that image away. With having nothing more than a mattress placed upon a rotting bed post and a grey dresser, those were the only things that actually made my room a bedroom. All I would do was lock myself in my room and read the beer-stained Bible and use my rusted crucifix as a bookmark. Those were the only two gifts I ever got from Dad, and now, I think you all understand why I am such a hopeless Christian. Even as a kid when the fanciest word I ever said was “God”, Christianity was my escape from my father’s hellish, haunting shadow that was casted not in my direction, but in Mom’s. Despite how fearless I can seem at times, as you could expect, I was so… afraid. I was so fragile back then. All those fights, all that rage and zero sympathy, every night, my day would end with me crying and fondling myself to sleep after worrying if Mom was dead.

Yet, all that came to a close one day when I was 6. Walking into the kitchen, that was the first time I heard Mom shout at Dad and her shouting was anything but unnecessary apologies for bringing me into the world. No, they were a mixture of swearing and insulting and flat-out yelling. The reason why this happened was because Dad realized something: Mom was pregnant. Yes, she was pregnant with Katie, so at least some light would be shed in her world. But, when I overheard, I was really shaking in my shorts about it, knowing that Dad would be crazy enough to kill Mom if he didn’t want any children. Yet, I did overhear Dad say the words “Leave it”. At that point, I was near tears because I didn’t know if I was the “it” he was talking about, but from seeing Mom’s belly larger than last month, I was then worrying about my future sister. He balled his hands into fists and prepared to beat her, but this time, she slapped him and kneed his stomach. As he fell in unexpected pain, she stepped back and started screaming. In an instant, he had enough of this. As usual, his hand tangled in her hair and he started beating her back repeatedly, but this time was different. This time, Mom fought back. She heaved him by the waist and slammed him against the fridge. His punches were countered with hers; his face was contorted in squinted anger at his once-helpless wife. That chilled morning, something snapped inside my head too. For all my little self’s drawing away, I realized I snuck closer to a dropped skillet pan, a pan that’s heavy enough to maybe even kill someone from just one blast to the head. Curiously holding it, the whole neighborhood stood in front of the window where the truth was revealed to them. All those years of Mom saying that she got those scars and wounds because of her so-called clumsiness were finally proven as a lie, the lie I was too afraid to admit about. This is where Dad’s cleverness is proven real; he was smart enough to keep the dreaded fights in the bedroom where no one would notice. Yet then, feeling humiliated and exposed, he threw Mom through the window, causing everyone to scream in fright. Her eyes were wide open, not doing anything not because of her numbness, but knowing she could die in the front yard in a sudden flash. But finally, after 6 years of watching this torture, it would end now. Dad fell to the ground with the mark from the skillet showing through his buzz cut. Mom finally got up and hugged me for protecting her. It takes a lot to stand up to such an abusive man like Stephen Knight.

Now in present day, Katie and I were safe and not only did we escape Kansas Hell, we left Minnesota Limbo and descended into California Heaven. Looking down at the ashes near my boots, my forehead lifted itself from my knee as I stopped the flashback when I left Dad. I did that in case some tears were going to be squeezed out; looking closer at the ground could keep any tearlines to form. Luckily, my eyes were dry throughout the whole flashback. My chest heaved as I felt like Dad was behind me. I hadn’t seen him for years, and thankfully, I wanted it to stay that way. The ending was something I left out until now. The ambulance drivers put Mom in a bloodstained stretcher while the police put Dad in chains. They knelt down to my level, shook my hand, and said that I was a very brave child for going through all of that. I simply nodded and feigned a quick smile. But then the officer let go of my arms, for he knew I wanted to look at my Dad one last time before leaving him eventually. Mom didn’t come up with that idea since she soon fell unconscious, but the ambulance drivers said they would tell the nurses to suggest moving to Minnesota to Mom when she was sedated with medical care. I first came to Mom and kissed her forehead, hoping that she would come back a happier woman. Then, I grasped her hand and slowly removed her wedding ring, knowing she wouldn’t need it. Swiftly, I pulled out a yo-yo string I found on the ground one day, looped it through the ring, and tossed it onto Dad’s chest, whispering my regards to Satan before turning away and heading back into my house one last time.

An ending like that was far from happily ever after, I thought, but now I was happy. I had a great mother, a smart and sassy little sister, and great friends that I honestly consider brothers. I mean, sure, remembering such a past is tough, but I always get through it. Yet, the reason that my friends never comforted me about it was because I never told them. I didn’t tell Katie either, nor did I talk about it to Mom; but she does know about the time I saved her. And a sunset later, when she finally came home from the hospital, the other thing that made her smile was that I was asleep in my bed with the phone in my hand. The reason it made her smile was because she knew I cared about her, and that’s why when she sat on the bed, she smiled and said that she was the proudest she ever was of me. To this day, for the safety of her mind, I figured best not to tell anyone about such a father. If I told Katie, she’d never be the way she was; and if I told the guys, they would never look at me the same way ever again. For the best interest of them, I forgot it.

Yet, when I heard crunching footsteps race by me without the runner noticing me, I looked at the gun and knew that it would come in handy.

So, what do you think? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 23:47, February 18, 2011 (UTC)

Thanks! I was honestly tearing up while writing this. I'm guessing that you feel really bad and sympathetic for Kendall right now. I definietly know I am. Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 23:56, February 18, 2011 (UTC)

Really? Well, before I ask my question, I will say that this BTR fic is, at times, hard to write because when I write something like that and it happens to Kendall, I instantly start sheding one or two tears. It's hard to treat your fave character like a punching bag. Oh yeah, my question is: which character did he remind you of and can you describe your character's personality? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 00:02, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

Well, to me, I never considered Kendall much of a mama's boy, but I do know that Kendall does have a tight mother-son relationship with her; he's really the protective one of the family; he's protective over his mother, his little sister Katie, and his friends who he considers brothers. And, BTW, the last sentence kinda hints that a ghost from the past is back (wink, wink). Also, another question, which part did you find most frightening: the abuse Mrs. Knight dealt with all those years of her standing up to her husband? Also, if you got, like, teary-eyed at some point, which part did, and if not, which part would be tearjerking to others? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 00:21, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

To tell you the straigh-up truth, I cried throughout the whole thing. I mean, a love being shattered, a little boy going to extreme measures to save his mother, and how what should be a love for his father being replaced with hatred really had me emotional. Err, would you like me to tell you this secret about this part of the story? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 01:11, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

Okay! Well, the reason the last sentence mentioned someone running past Kendall and him saying the gun will come in handy is because... that runner is his father! Yep, he's back and he wants to kill them all (Mrs. Knight, Katie, Kendall's three best friends, and Kendall), but this time, Kendall knows what he must do: he has to kill his father. Whaddaya think? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 01:30, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

Thanks! Even though I don't want to spoil much, I just couldn't resist the urge to tell you that. When writing that childhood past thing, I just thought, "Hey, Crystal, I've got an idea: let's bring Stephen Knight back and have Kendall face him." And well, I'm still happy that you like that idea. But, of course, when you read it once it's published, expect Kendall to be rather reluctant; I mean, he's never done the act of honor killing before, and he wonders if this'll either be a deed for saving his friends or a sin for killing a family member. Yet, I won't tell you if he kills him or not, but I'm glad that surprised you. I'm a very dark and dramatic 13 year-old girl, aren't I? XD Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 01:38, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

Thanks! Uhh, getting off topic for a sec, I'm running for Featured User. Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 01:47, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

No, I have not, but I will when I get time. Well, I best be heading off now, but before I leave, I will ask of you this: d'you think you could vote for me, please? Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 01:57, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

Thank you! Oh, I also found this vid of Erin Sanders (Camille) and Kendall Schmidt (you obviously know who he plays) winking at the camera 3 times. Thought you'd like that. Bye! Barbie... eat your heart out.♥ 02:12, February 19, 2011 (UTC)

New Character That Can Be Used In Story
I've been practicing my drawing skills and I drew a character that anyone can use for their Total Drama competition story. Her name is Chealsea but you can change her name if you want to she's a cheerleader. She loves music, art, acting, animals, soccer, tennis, baseball and basketball. I got inspired to create her but following SprinkleMist's how-to-draw thing so yeah I drew her in my style. Anyone is free to use her and can modify her in anyway so yeah it's also my first time drawing a character in TDI style. LandryC 03:35, February 23, 2011 (UTC)

Not as old as you think
Hi, LandryC, “Old Man of the Wiki” here. I saw on your User page that you described yourself as “a little too old” to be watching Total Drama. You’re actually not as odd as you think, since TD does draw a fair number of young adult viewers. Older people might watch it with their children, as this allegedly kids’ show is really a “kids of all ages” show that is clearly designed to be watchable by the whole family.

Although we have no children, my wife and I are longtime animation fans, and we appreciate good writing. When TDI first aired in the States, I watched it every week with my wife (then 42 years old) and my mother (then 73). We recorded the episodes and later played them for a friend (then 64) who doesn’t get pay TV. She loved it, too, pronouncing it “addictive”.

(I will admit, though, that my mother lost interest after the first season. She’d seen one fart joke too many—the prevalence of bathroom humor is one of the most solid indications that TD targets a young demographic—and she’d had all she could take of Chris.)

I grant that you are, indeed, one of the oldest registered users here on the wiki. Indeed, you might be as high as #3. We do have a few college-age kids here, but I don’t know if any of them have hit 20 yet, and they were probably all in high school when they joined. As far as I know, there are two adults on the site: Sprink is in his mid-20s, and I recently turned 51. (I’m called “the wiki elder” for a reason.)

In fact, I might well be the world’s—yes, the world’s—oldest TD fanfic writer. I haven’t written a lot of stories, but everything I’ve posted here has been well received. If you’re interested, my User page has links to all my stories.

Among other things, I’ve written two highly acclaimed short stories. One was the Featured Story last June (becoming the first short story to be so honored), and the other currently has a slight lead in this month’s voting after several months as a "bridesmaid". Gideoncrawle I have a song to sing, O!  Sing me your song, O!  A wandering minstrel, I-- 04:42, February 23, 2011 (UTC)