trinityofone (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trinityofone) wrote2005-04-17 09:38 am
trinityofone) wrote2005-04-17 09:38 am
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So last night I got almost no schoolwork done. I didn't read the book I was supposed to read, I didn't watch the movie I was supposed to watch. But...I finished the third section of my novel! And started the fourth! Yay! No more epistolary crap! ...Well, not until part 6, anyway.
This sucker's getting long. 64,359 words, 247 pages. And I'm only a third done! This is going to need a major edit, yo.
Lately I've been frustrated by what a solitary pursuit writing is: you do something clever (or maybe I should say "clever") and there's no one there to say, "Dude, that's clever." So here's my favorite bit of what I wrote last night.
*************
Note: This part is set in April 1994
It was quarter to ten when they heard James on the stairs, dragging his feet like Marley with his chains and money-boxes. At any other hour of any other day, Emily’s first instinct would have been to leap to her feet—whether to run to open the door or rush to hide herself away in her room she wasn’t quite sure, but still, the impulse would’ve been for action. Not tonight, though. Not now.
“What’s going on?” James asked, stumbling into the apartment to find Megan and Emily with their eyes riveted to the TV. “Shh!” whispered Megan. “I’ll tell you at the commercial.”
He didn’t have long to wait. He walked to the fridge to get a soda and by the time he had popped the tab, the television was on mute and the two girls were turning to each other and squeeing. “Did you see that?” said Megan. “They totally love each other! They were going to have mad passionate stakeout sex!”
Emily, though no less excited, took a more reflective approach. “I don’t know...”
“Come on!” enthused Megan. “‘If that’s iced tea it must be love’? I’m not hallucinating! You heard it, too!”
“I think he said ‘could,’” said Emily, tentatively. “‘Could be love.’ But still,” she recanted, taking in Megan’s fierce expression, “I’m sure they’d be getting together right now if it weren’t for Tooms being on the loose, prowling Maryland for raw human livers to eat.”
James, not without reason, scoffed. “Listen to you two. You’re ridiculous.”
“We’re ridiculous?” Megan’s eyes were narrowed with glinting Gaelic fury, yet she was clearly enjoying herself. “We’re not the ones drinking Crystal Pepsi.” She let this comment hang, unadorned, for emphasis.
James smacked his lips. “Please. You guys can watch and dream as much as you like, but they’re not going to ‘get together.’” The soda he was holding thankfully restrained him from making air quotes. “That’s totally misinterpreting the point of the show. Mulder’s on a quest for the truth, not for booty.”
“But booty is truth,” said Megan, nearly straightfaced. “And truth booty.”
*************
Um, you're allowed to say, "Dude, that's dorky," too. That may be more appropriate.
Now I'm off (hopefully) to have yummy buckwheat pancakes with my Godmother. When I return, I shall do work. Probably.
This sucker's getting long. 64,359 words, 247 pages. And I'm only a third done! This is going to need a major edit, yo.
Lately I've been frustrated by what a solitary pursuit writing is: you do something clever (or maybe I should say "clever") and there's no one there to say, "Dude, that's clever." So here's my favorite bit of what I wrote last night.
*************
Note: This part is set in April 1994
It was quarter to ten when they heard James on the stairs, dragging his feet like Marley with his chains and money-boxes. At any other hour of any other day, Emily’s first instinct would have been to leap to her feet—whether to run to open the door or rush to hide herself away in her room she wasn’t quite sure, but still, the impulse would’ve been for action. Not tonight, though. Not now.
“What’s going on?” James asked, stumbling into the apartment to find Megan and Emily with their eyes riveted to the TV. “Shh!” whispered Megan. “I’ll tell you at the commercial.”
He didn’t have long to wait. He walked to the fridge to get a soda and by the time he had popped the tab, the television was on mute and the two girls were turning to each other and squeeing. “Did you see that?” said Megan. “They totally love each other! They were going to have mad passionate stakeout sex!”
Emily, though no less excited, took a more reflective approach. “I don’t know...”
“Come on!” enthused Megan. “‘If that’s iced tea it must be love’? I’m not hallucinating! You heard it, too!”
“I think he said ‘could,’” said Emily, tentatively. “‘Could be love.’ But still,” she recanted, taking in Megan’s fierce expression, “I’m sure they’d be getting together right now if it weren’t for Tooms being on the loose, prowling Maryland for raw human livers to eat.”
James, not without reason, scoffed. “Listen to you two. You’re ridiculous.”
“We’re ridiculous?” Megan’s eyes were narrowed with glinting Gaelic fury, yet she was clearly enjoying herself. “We’re not the ones drinking Crystal Pepsi.” She let this comment hang, unadorned, for emphasis.
James smacked his lips. “Please. You guys can watch and dream as much as you like, but they’re not going to ‘get together.’” The soda he was holding thankfully restrained him from making air quotes. “That’s totally misinterpreting the point of the show. Mulder’s on a quest for the truth, not for booty.”
“But booty is truth,” said Megan, nearly straightfaced. “And truth booty.”
*************
Um, you're allowed to say, "Dude, that's dorky," too. That may be more appropriate.
Now I'm off (hopefully) to have yummy buckwheat pancakes with my Godmother. When I return, I shall do work. Probably.
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Did you really lose a lot of stuff? No poetry, right?
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