BPE has eaten my brain, which is a good thing, obviously, except I really wanted to use Pico to do some solid work on Music II. However, at least I am managing to stick to my goal of writing something every day.
"She didn't feel sorry for me!" said Arthur indignantly. "Well, not just sorry." "Of course," said Hardy, straight-faced. "She didn't feel sorry for you at all. Clearly she was seized by an uncontrollable passion that swept away all social distinctions, not to mention common sense. And who can wonder at it? Faced with your delectable self, what woman could resist that magnetic attraction? She had absolutely no reason to feel sorry for a penniless aspiring actor who'd just insulted a man who's got the ear of the Propaganda Minister. You'll never get a license to work in Germany now, you know. So it must be love." "You're getting cynical in your old age," said Arthur, crossly. "Just because you've never fallen in love doesn't mean everyone else is incapable of it." "Oh, I've fallen in love, all right," said Hardy. "Covered in bruises from head to toe, I am. Which is why I'm so cynical about the whole damn business. It doesn't mean a thing, Rosenthal. It's just a cruel bloody trick our bodies play on us, nothing more. Merely because some wench rubbed her lips against yours, you think the streets have turned to gold and the heavens are filled with angels singing. Well, take if from your Uncle Hardy, it ain't necessarily so."
BPE:
DILDO: You really hate him, don't you? So why don't you tell the press about how he tried to use you to get at me?
JIM: Tell the press? Are you crazy? I'd never – wait a minute, why are you so keen to get me to spill the beans about Tommy? Oh my God, you're not a journalist, are you? I deny everything. I was making it all up.
DILDO: I'm not a journalist.
JIM: Thank God for that.
DILDO: But I hate Tommy just as much as you do. More. Can I tell you a secret, Jim? Promise you won't tell Tommy?
JIM: I promise.
DILDO: Cross your heart and hope to die?
JIM spits on his fingers and draws them across his neck.
I got a bit more of the Mag7 ghost thingy (don't you love highly professional and literary terms?) done... it still doesn't know where it's going, but we're having a good time even if the boys aren't :)
It's here (http://sallymn.livejournal.com/431379.html)...
Boy, I don't know many fandoms. It took me a minute to figure out what Mag7 is. The dream Chris has is effectively eerie though and I like the way he comes out of it too.
More progress on the Adrian and Kali story. 1090 words. This is a snippet.
Bryce eyed the officer warily. He felt as if he’d just been abandoned, or thrown out with the garbage. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t care,” said Kali. “I just want to know what they’re going to do with Adrian.” She made a move to towards the exit.
The lieutenant’s words were rushed. “I’m supposed to show you to your cabins.” Now that the Admiral was gone, he had relaxed noticeably and there was an open, friendly expression on his face.
“Do you know what they’re going to do with him?”
“Just a routine exam in the medical unit. You’ll both be getting yours soon enough.”
“Do medical exams onboard your ship usually come with armed guards?” she asked with sarcasm.
“Not usually.” The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “But we heard your lieutenant was difficult. The Admiral doesn’t like people saying no to him. So he does things, never bothers to ask.”
Bryce said, “Well he’d better get used to it. Adrian says ‘no’ all the time.”
“You forget yourself, crewman,” the lieutenant said stiffly, “This isn’t your exploration ship anymore. You will refer to the lieutenant by his proper title at all times.”
“Course, sir. Sorry, sir.” Damned officers, thought Bryce. All the same. At least Adrian never insisted on his. The idea that the arrogant loner might be one of the better ones was a strange thought. This was not the ship with the gold-lined corridors of Bryce's dreams, though he was still hoping for the beautiful women.
“The name’s Lieutenant Sanderson. I’ll show you to your cabins.”
Is Adrian a surname, then? I've been reading it as a first name, but I can't imagine Bryce would use his first name when talking to an officer about him.
I don't like the sound of a "routine medical examination." That could cover all sorts of nasties...
This was not the ship with the gold-lined corridors of Bryce's dreams, though he was still hoping for the beautiful women. An optimist! The story seems to be moving well.
566 new words today, in which we finally get to meet Zoe, along with a minor character who's completely new to this story. Two extracts:
Zoe stayed on late after work, helping Mr Hussain with the month-end accounts. Visitors to Harrogate frequently expressed surprise that something so old fashioned as a bookshop-coffee house could stay in business, much less turn a small profit. The business had been run by the family for three generations, the mortgage had long-since been paid off, and the owner lived upstairs with his wife and two lodgers.
Money was always tight, but Mr Hussain was a fair and understanding employer, adjusting Zoe's hours to fit in with her other job, and with the times she needed to attend meetings with Zack's teachers. In return, she helped with his administration: not that he couldn't manage it by himself, but he liked someone to talk to as they worked into the small hours making the books balance.
Once the shop had exclusively sold real paper books. Now it mostly sold books-on-file, but it was also the place collectors went to first if they were looking to add to their libraries. The coffee was still real – Mr Hussain prided himself on that – and it was still served in real cups and saucers with milk-substitute and sugar-equivalent in matching jugs and bowls. The shop also provided a news-feed on an unobtrusive screen in one corner as well as a messaging service for those who did not take their notepad with them on every journey.
***
The front of the house was in darkness as Zoe approached it. Sliding her chip-card into the reader, she noted that the door was locked, but not alarmed. A tiny voice of optimism deep in her subconscious wondered if Dad had finally come home, but she knew it was far more likely that Zack had not gone out tonight after all. When – if – Dad did come back, he would come and find her at work. He wouldn't wait for her in a darkened house, or even wait for her in the house with Zack. He wasn't coming back anyway. He'd have come back long ago, were he still alive.
Zoe kept up the pretence that he might come back for two reasons. One was Zack. The other was the knowledge that, should their father be declared dead, the Army had every right to order them to find alternative accommodation away from the base, and to replace their share of Dad's salary and fuel allowance with a much less generous Dependant's Pension, payable only until Zack turned sixteen.
***
Zoe owes a lot to how I remember Bobby from The Railway Children, although she's a little older and there's no Mother on the scene.
I also wrote a little about my progress so far here (http://stevie-carroll.livejournal.com/2052.html).
I read your note on rewriting, it sounds a lot like your craft has improved and you're finding better solutions to the problems that stumped you while being able to stay with your original inspiration. I like the detail of the real coffee in the real cups and saucers.
Ah, life off-base. It sounds as if Zoe has a pretty hard life, holding down two jobs and keeping an eye out for her baby brother. Since this is a story - and since there's a Railway Children influence - I'm clinging to the hope that her dad will come back eventually :-)
I got an inkling yesterday about where my dtc story was going wrong, way too plot heavy for one thing, so I spent the day picking it apart, re-writing and actually doing a very rough outline of where I'm going. Today I did 500 words, a short excerpt below. Of course that means I neglected Harry Beldon, but he's not the reason I'm doing pico anyway so he'll have to be a bit patient :)
Can Sergei handle the clean-up? Waverly wants you back as soon as possible."
"Can't fly out until the ice fog lifts. Two, three days maybe. We're expecting a heatwave, it should go up to minus 35 or 36."
Napoleon shivered sympathetically. "How cold is it now?"
"Not too bad, somewhere in the upper fifties" Illya said nonchalantly. "Did you know when it's this cold your spit freezes before it hits the ground?"
"That's ridiculous."
"Your breath comes out as a cloud of ice and stays in the air for three or four minutes. Makes it easy to trail people."
"Illya."
"When the fog is really thick, a tunnel opens behind you when you walk."
Napoleon was laughing now. "Just how much of Sergei's vodka did you drink?"
Another loud yawn. "Not enough. I can't be the only cold weather specialist at Uncle. You're CEA, next New Year I want to do my birdwatching in a warm climate."
LOL at Illya's teasing! Still, that temperature is scary; exposed skin can lose feeling and get damaged before they realise it. Where are they (Siberia? Antarctic?) and why? :-)
I made substantial progress on this week's tolkien_weekly drabble (since I'm the Mod-du-Jour, and therefore knew what the new prompt was going to be). I'm feeling fully confident that I'll be able to polish it into shape on schedule. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to work on the Swordspoint ficlet, but I'm offering that pleasant task to myself as a treat this week.
Snippet of tolkien_weekly drabble (may be subject to change):
How Faramir would have loved this wood! Boromir smiled, imagining him under these shimmering trees, his face suffused with joy as he breathed deeply of their scent, pausing to hear the whispers in the rustling leaves.
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2009-11-08 08:54 am (UTC)"She didn't feel sorry for me!" said Arthur indignantly. "Well, not just sorry."
"Of course," said Hardy, straight-faced. "She didn't feel sorry for you at all. Clearly she was seized by an uncontrollable passion that swept away all social distinctions, not to mention common sense. And who can wonder at it? Faced with your delectable self, what woman could resist that magnetic attraction? She had absolutely no reason to feel sorry for a penniless aspiring actor who'd just insulted a man who's got the ear of the Propaganda Minister. You'll never get a license to work in Germany now, you know. So it must be love."
"You're getting cynical in your old age," said Arthur, crossly. "Just because you've never fallen in love doesn't mean everyone else is incapable of it."
"Oh, I've fallen in love, all right," said Hardy. "Covered in bruises from head to toe, I am. Which is why I'm so cynical about the whole damn business. It doesn't mean a thing, Rosenthal. It's just a cruel bloody trick our bodies play on us, nothing more. Merely because some wench rubbed her lips against yours, you think the streets have turned to gold and the heavens are filled with angels singing. Well, take if from your Uncle Hardy, it ain't necessarily so."
BPE:
DILDO: You really hate him, don't you? So why don't you tell the press about how he tried to use you to get at me?
JIM: Tell the press? Are you crazy? I'd never – wait a minute, why are you so keen to get me to spill the beans about Tommy? Oh my God, you're not a journalist, are you? I deny everything. I was making it all up.
DILDO: I'm not a journalist.
JIM: Thank God for that.
DILDO: But I hate Tommy just as much as you do. More. Can I tell you a secret, Jim? Promise you won't tell Tommy?
JIM: I promise.
DILDO: Cross your heart and hope to die?
JIM spits on his fingers and draws them across his neck.
JIM: Stick a needle in my eye. You can trust me.
no subject
on 2009-11-08 10:32 am (UTC)BPE is shaping up really well. Jim is showing signs of humanity. :-)
(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-08 02:08 pm (UTC)I'm starting to warm up to Music II. I like the interaction between Arther and Hardy.
And another great BPE snippet.
no subject
on 2009-11-08 10:46 pm (UTC)I'm a bit worried about Dildo though. Once Jim says "you can trust me"....
BPE is such fun to read.
(no subject)
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Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-11 03:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-14 09:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-08 11:28 am (UTC)It's here (http://sallymn.livejournal.com/431379.html)...
no subject
on 2009-11-08 11:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-08 10:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-08 02:02 pm (UTC)Bryce eyed the officer warily. He felt as if he’d just been abandoned, or thrown out with the garbage. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t care,” said Kali. “I just want to know what they’re going to do with Adrian.” She made a move to towards the exit.
The lieutenant’s words were rushed. “I’m supposed to show you to your cabins.” Now that the Admiral was gone, he had relaxed noticeably and there was an open, friendly expression on his face.
“Do you know what they’re going to do with him?”
“Just a routine exam in the medical unit. You’ll both be getting yours soon enough.”
“Do medical exams onboard your ship usually come with armed guards?” she asked with sarcasm.
“Not usually.” The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “But we heard your lieutenant was difficult. The Admiral doesn’t like people saying no to him. So he does things, never bothers to ask.”
Bryce said, “Well he’d better get used to it. Adrian says ‘no’ all the time.”
“You forget yourself, crewman,” the lieutenant said stiffly, “This isn’t your exploration ship anymore. You will refer to the lieutenant by his proper title at all times.”
“Course, sir. Sorry, sir.” Damned officers, thought Bryce. All the same. At least Adrian never insisted on his. The idea that the arrogant loner might be one of the better ones was a strange thought. This was not the ship with the gold-lined corridors of Bryce's dreams, though he was still hoping for the beautiful women.
“The name’s Lieutenant Sanderson. I’ll show you to your cabins.”
no subject
on 2009-11-08 07:02 pm (UTC)I don't like the sound of a "routine medical examination." That could cover all sorts of nasties...
(no subject)
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on 2009-11-08 10:58 pm (UTC)An optimist!
The story seems to be moving well.
(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-08 06:53 pm (UTC)566 new words today, in which we finally get to meet Zoe, along with a minor character who's completely new to this story. Two extracts:
Zoe stayed on late after work, helping Mr Hussain with the month-end accounts. Visitors to Harrogate frequently expressed surprise that something so old fashioned as a bookshop-coffee house could stay in business, much less turn a small profit. The business had been run by the family for three generations, the mortgage had long-since been paid off, and the owner lived upstairs with his wife and two lodgers.
Money was always tight, but Mr Hussain was a fair and understanding employer, adjusting Zoe's hours to fit in with her other job, and with the times she needed to attend meetings with Zack's teachers. In return, she helped with his administration: not that he couldn't manage it by himself, but he liked someone to talk to as they worked into the small hours making the books balance.
Once the shop had exclusively sold real paper books. Now it mostly sold books-on-file, but it was also the place collectors went to first if they were looking to add to their libraries. The coffee was still real – Mr Hussain prided himself on that – and it was still served in real cups and saucers with milk-substitute and sugar-equivalent in matching jugs and bowls. The shop also provided a news-feed on an unobtrusive screen in one corner as well as a messaging service for those who did not take their notepad with them on every journey.
The front of the house was in darkness as Zoe approached it. Sliding her chip-card into the reader, she noted that the door was locked, but not alarmed. A tiny voice of optimism deep in her subconscious wondered if Dad had finally come home, but she knew it was far more likely that Zack had not gone out tonight after all. When – if – Dad did come back, he would come and find her at work. He wouldn't wait for her in a darkened house, or even wait for her in the house with Zack. He wasn't coming back anyway. He'd have come back long ago, were he still alive.
Zoe kept up the pretence that he might come back for two reasons. One was Zack. The other was the knowledge that, should their father be declared dead, the Army had every right to order them to find alternative accommodation away from the base, and to replace their share of Dad's salary and fuel allowance with a much less generous Dependant's Pension, payable only until Zack turned sixteen.
Zoe owes a lot to how I remember Bobby from The Railway Children, although she's a little older and there's no Mother on the scene.
I also wrote a little about my progress so far here (http://stevie-carroll.livejournal.com/2052.html).
no subject
on 2009-11-08 11:13 pm (UTC)I like the detail of the real coffee in the real cups and saucers.
(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-08 11:24 pm (UTC)I hope there's no one bad lurking in the house. I'm glad Zoe's noted the darkness and I hope she'll be careful.
(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-09 04:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-11 03:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-08 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-08 09:19 pm (UTC)Since this is a story - and since there's a Railway Children influence - I'm clinging to the hope that her dad will come back eventually
Now that would be telling ;-)
no subject
on 2009-11-08 10:40 pm (UTC)I got an inkling yesterday about where my dtc story was going wrong, way too plot heavy for one thing, so I spent the day picking it apart, re-writing and actually doing a very rough outline of where I'm going. Today I did 500 words, a short excerpt below. Of course that means I neglected Harry Beldon, but he's not the reason I'm doing pico anyway so he'll have to be a bit patient :)
Can Sergei handle the clean-up? Waverly wants you back as soon as possible."
"Can't fly out until the ice fog lifts. Two, three days maybe. We're expecting a heatwave, it should go up to minus 35 or 36."
Napoleon shivered sympathetically. "How cold is it now?"
"Not too bad, somewhere in the upper fifties" Illya said nonchalantly. "Did you know when it's this cold your spit freezes before it hits the ground?"
"That's ridiculous."
"Your breath comes out as a cloud of ice and stays in the air for three or four minutes. Makes it easy to trail people."
"Illya."
"When the fog is really thick, a tunnel opens behind you when you walk."
Napoleon was laughing now. "Just how much of Sergei's vodka did you drink?"
Another loud yawn. "Not enough. I can't be the only cold weather specialist at Uncle. You're CEA, next New Year I want to do my birdwatching in a warm climate."
no subject
on 2009-11-08 10:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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on 2009-11-08 11:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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on 2009-11-09 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-09 05:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
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on 2009-11-09 02:24 am (UTC)Snippet of
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on 2009-11-09 04:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Posted by