picowrimo | Pico, Day 23

Well, I wrote a little more, and then, when I was discussing the story with a friend, she made a suggestion which solves one of my problems! Thing is, I was trying to figure out how to insert the Jack backstory into the Rose-frontstory, and my friend pointed out that really, one is a sequel to the other. So instead of figuring out how to combine them, I need to separate them completely, write the Jack story as the first story, and the Rose story as the second story. It will be a lot more coherent that way. Yay!

So this is what I wrote today:

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 15

Romana got so annoyed at me asking her what she was making that she locked herself in her room and hasn't come out. Oops. She's still working on whatever-it-is, though.

In the meantime, I've been going through old mission logs, to see if I can find any clues about... whatever is so fishy. Problem is, I won't know what it is until I see it. And I might not see it in the first place.

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 16

Bored. Bored. Bored. If I ever become the head of the Time Agency, I will require all reports to be written more... creatively. As witty autobiographies. Or even poetry.

Romana is still hammering away in her room.

Noah's Ghost, Personal Log, Mission Day: 17

Oh. Oh. No wonder Romana was so smug. She's built a Zero Point Module. ZPMs were supposed to be able to tap the quantum foam to produce incredibly powerful, incredibly stable, incredibly long lasting power sources - and until now, I thought they were incredibly mythical, too. I mean, who would believe someone could make a power source that would last for thousands of years? Yet she called it primitive and barely adequate; apparently her people were into stellar engineering, and used a stabilized black hole to power their spacetimecraft. Fine. I'm just going to quietly boggle over the ZPM.

And then start worrying about what we're up against, if something like a ZPM is considered to be "barely adequate".

152 words so far today (which might be the extent of them). I did a little editing, continued the scene a bit and went back and inserted a tiny scene between two with Sherlock and John. Here it is ~

***

The flat was quiet, the street nearly so. Red jumped from the table to the chair to the carpet. He walked to the window, pressed his nose against the glass. The reflections of the traffic lights changed from amber to red in the windows over the road. Red stood on his hind feet, pressed his front paws against the glass. Through the balcony railing, the glow of the traffic lights shone green in the dark windows. Red butted his head against the glass.

I wrote some two pages in the early morning - Archer and Ianto's conversation has grown beyond my original plan, but that's okay - which I still have to type up. Morgen perhaps. Today's snippet is part of what I typed up yesterday. My time-frame has been totally messed up by the heat, the household chores and a death in the family. *sigh*

Excerpt:

Archer is still not convinced. “I was shown extensive files of Torchwood survivors when they sent me Massaro. I don’t remember your name.”

“You can’t sir, ‘cos it isn’t really my name,” Ianto is relieved that he can tell the captain something that is one hundred per cent true. “My name was changed, for security reasons. It’s safer so.”

“For whom?” Archer asks in suspicion.

“For me,” Ianto says. “I was officially declared dead and only revived a year or so ago.”

“Then you must have had a lot to catch up,” Archer comments.

Ianto shrugs indifferently. “It comes in handy to have a photographic memory.”

Couldn't resist editing the Fic Corner story rather than getting restarted on Jade Dragon, so wrote another 150 words on that & am going to try to lay it aside for now. Otherwise day has been a complete write off; plumbers have made an utter mess of my bedroom and I think I've used a lot of creative energy on just being furious; now I'm exhausted.

Around 370 new words today, and Rupert is still reading his letter and has learned that there is art at the cousins' house that he really ought to inspect:

Rupert wanted to visit. Not only did he want to see the painting for himself and meet his cousins in person, he also wanted to learn how their farm was run. He thought he'd also like to hear more about the lad with access to the photocopier – the older brother of Natasha's best friend – who produced a punk fanzine and sometimes also made posters for local pub-bands.

Then there were the ponies. Natasha and David each had several of their own: riding ponies, brood mares, and young-stock, and had supplied him with carefully drawn out pedigrees for the whole of the family's current herd. Natasha herded the hill sheep on horseback, although David preferred to round them up with his dogs from the ground – he'd won several trophies in his age group at local sheepdog trials and was hoping to compete against adults the following year.

101 words written tonight! I'm hoping to have some time this weekend to really sit down again and do some editing and filler. This story is probably very near completion, but since I work on it in fits and starts, I don't really see the big picture.

no subject

no subject

A Matter of Time

no subject

no subject

no subject