Hard on the heels of the Swordspoint project finally being done, this morning I polished up posted the birthday ficlet (516 words) that I started last weekend. Here's a snippet:
One day, I remember it like it was yesterday, he came in all smiling and happy from a high-flyin' day at the horseraces, and afterwards tipped me a five-dollar gold piece.
"Are you sure?" I gasped. I'd never had that much money in my hand before.
He laughed. "I'm lucky today, and want to share that good luck with my friends. And you're a good friend to me, Belle, always have been."
I couldn't help it; I almost started to cry then and there. I told him he was like one of those magic princes in the stories my Meemaw used to tell, making wishes come true. Then his face became very serious.
"What would your wish be, Belle? If you could have anything?"
I'd have you, I thought, but had the good sense to not say it.
I have one more project to finish up, my last tolkien_weekly drabble, to be posted on Monday. I only have today and Sunday evening to work on it since I'll be away during my prime writing time, Saturday and Sunday, but I have something in mind to work with.
I have been struggling on with the art theft sequence, but it's all "And then they did this, and then they did that, and then they did something else," which is exceedingly frustrating. So I cheered myself up by jumping ahead and writing one of Trina's letters to Arthur after he's escaped to England (the Goldbergs, like their real-life counterparts, don't make up their minds to go into exile until it's too late):
Dear Arthur,
If this finds you at all, I hope it finds you well. Please note the new address. We have been moved into the second district, into more "suitable" accommodation. Daddy says that "suitable" is Nazi for "damp", but I think it means "cramped", myself. The size does make it much easier to heat, though, for which we are very thankful. You will be happy to hear that we are all alive and in reasonably good health, although Mummy persists in her Cassandra impression, moaning "I told you so! I told you so!" at every opportunity, and getting on everyone's last nerve.
Your friend Georg von Hardenstein turned up the other day. I think he was looking for you, but he very kindly brought us a chicken and a sack of coal, which means that the Chippendales have been spared for another week. (They will have to be sold or burnt eventually – Daddy calls it "Living from chair to mouth"). I told him you had gone to England, and he seemed disappointed and relieved all at the same time. He has been in Berlin, writing screenplays. Apparently they are all about hearty young peasant men, who climb mountains and wrestle bears, and win the hearts of flaxen-haired farmgirls with wide child-bearing hips, and then go off to fight for their country, telling their distraught sweethearts, "I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not Hitler more."
Speaking of love, I saw Ignaz Holatschek last week when he was home on leave. You had better prepare yourself for a shock - he asked me to marry him! I said, "Ignaz, dear, you do know I'm Jewish?" and he said "Yes, I had noticed, but they are sending me to the Eastern Front, and since that means I shall probably never see you again, I should like to marry you before I go." So I said that it wasn't very flattering to be told that only the prospect of imminent death made marriage to me bearable, and he said that wasn't what he meant. And I said I knew perfectly well what he meant, and that if he expected me to be grateful because he had Stooped to Conquer, he had another think coming. I think it could safely be said that we quarrelled, and now I wish we hadn't, because winter is coming and it's cold enough here in Vienna, so I dread to think what Stalingrad is like.
I have been struggling on with the art theft sequence, but it's all "And then they did this, and then they did that, and then they did something else," which is exceedingly frustrating. I know what you mean. It's hard sometimes...well, maybe more than sometimes.
Sorry if this sounds a bit picky but Stalingrad was well into the war; would someone in Austria be able to write to someone in England at that time? Or is she writing as an exercise, knowing she's never going to be able actually to post the letter.
I love this. The quiet irony is far more heartbreaking and chilling than more directly emotional writing.
And the thought of a, presumably, liberal writer, forced to write something like: "I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not Hitler more." Ouch! A reminder to be grateful we weren't born in North Korea!
I'm still working on the dynamics of the relationships after Chell's outburst. Here's a rough version. ------------------------------
“Do you really want to end it like this?” asked the Admiral, his eyes hard and cold as ice.
The First Officer was still on his knees beside Adrian. His eyes lowered and his head bowed. The courage of a moment ago had not failed him, but he accepted the authority of the man over him. “If that is your wish, sir.”
“You think what I’m doing is wrong?”
“I think,” Chell hesitated, the torrent of words and feelings had passed, leaving him to try to understand what had prompted it and why. “There are better ways than trying to hurt people. You said it earlier, sir. You understood why the Lieutenant would hate people. It’s because of what they’ve done to him. How can he not hate them? But he’s strong too. Like you. He refuses to give up who he is just because people find it inconvenient that he has a will of his own. ”
Silence descended as they stared at each other. There was no ship outside full of people, only the three of them facing a moment of truth.
Adrian said, “Do you really think I will do what you want without being forced?”
Chell looked down at him. “I think you’re both smart enough to find a way. You’re both Firsters after all.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Chell,” said the Admiral. “I'd think you were trying to manipulate us.”
And so the two Firsters close ranks against the non-Firster! Still, Chell seems bright enough to deal with that. I bet he does manage to broker a compromise.
Go, Chell! You have a revolutionary idea, but sadly I don't think a tortured and abused crew will respond properly when command has maltreated them up till now; the change of mind won't be trusted. Perhaps someone new like Chell could take over.
I've had to up the target again, after writing 605 words just now, in which we find out what Campbell wanted Zack for.
Extract (we're in Campbell's office and two Military Police officers (MPs) are there too:
“I haven't seen him since yesterday morning,” Zack said. “He hasn't messaged me or anything since yesterday lunchtime.”
“I suppose that would be round about the time he gave his bodyguard the slip?” Campbell glanced at the MPs before continuing. “We know he took a considerable sum out of his bank account yesterday, and we know that usually if he's up to any kind of trouble, you're involved too. So just play along, and tell us what he's planning this time.”
“He's not up to anything. He'd have told me if he was.”
“How about his school friends?”
So the MPs could speak. Zack turned to look at the woman who was questioning him.
“Is there anyone he's mentioned being particularly close to? A best friend?”
“I'm his best friend.”
“A girlfriend, then?”
Zack shook his head. Rob would have told him if there was anyone else – lad or lass – that he was particularly good friends with. He would have done.
Sorry I've been so out of touch. I have been writing in fits and starts but not as much as I want to. Work has been absorbing pretty well everything at the moment as I am about to change jobs; so I have to finish up some projects and get others to a stage of handover. I'm afraid working lots of 12 hour days tends to dry up the creativity.
I am making progress on my Yuletide story, though - 1374 words at the moment; my guess is I have another 1000 to go. I can't say much about it though, or post any excerpts as it is supposed to be a secret. Suffice it to say I bounced for joy when I got my assignment, had a wonderful time re-reading an old favourite to find my inspiration (which came to me half way through the book), and it is progressing well (when I am not too tired to write). No luck writing anything else though, so I don't think I'm going to reach my target for picowrimo this year (which was to finish one story - done; write another in that series - not likely; and write my Yuletide offering - probably will manage that).
Those are hard conditions in which to write. That's very good going though to get one story done and to make such good progress on Yuletide. And yay for that; it makes it easier to have a great assignment.
Another 1519 words, and I think the second part of the short story is done. I'm fairly confident I'll complete the third and final part in November.
Would also be nice to get restarted on my stalled novel. The short story is set in the same universe, so I think there's a reasonable chance it'll have primed some new ideas, and some new motivation.
Sleight was beside himself with excitement, he alternated between playful laughter and a savage narrowing of the eyes. Charade tussled his hair and laughed, but away from him, I could see her bite her lip and wring her hands. I almost canceled the plan a dozen times, but Charade pleaded with me to let her try, and, however dangerous, I too thrilled at the prospect of retribution.
We picked a busy market day, the street full of traders, customers, merchants and their guards. The thugs stood outside an inn, drinking ale, belching, and shouting obscenities. Any passing woman would cross the road to avoid them, but most men wandered nearby without concern.
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ninetydegrees
Whee!
on 2009-11-27 10:44 am (UTC)I have one more project to finish up, my last
Re: Whee!
on 2009-11-27 11:22 am (UTC)Re: Whee!
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on 2009-11-27 01:46 pm (UTC)Re: Whee!
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on 2009-11-27 06:05 pm (UTC)Re: Whee!
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on 2009-11-27 07:57 pm (UTC)Re: Whee!
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on 2009-11-29 09:42 am (UTC)Re: Whee!
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on 2009-11-27 10:50 am (UTC)Dear Arthur,
If this finds you at all, I hope it finds you well. Please note the new address. We have been moved into the second district, into more "suitable" accommodation. Daddy says that "suitable" is Nazi for "damp", but I think it means "cramped", myself. The size does make it much easier to heat, though, for which we are very thankful. You will be happy to hear that we are all alive and in reasonably good health, although Mummy persists in her Cassandra impression, moaning "I told you so! I told you so!" at every opportunity, and getting on everyone's last nerve.
Your friend Georg von Hardenstein turned up the other day. I think he was looking for you, but he very kindly brought us a chicken and a sack of coal, which means that the Chippendales have been spared for another week. (They will have to be sold or burnt eventually – Daddy calls it "Living from chair to mouth"). I told him you had gone to England, and he seemed disappointed and relieved all at the same time. He has been in Berlin, writing screenplays. Apparently they are all about hearty young peasant men, who climb mountains and wrestle bears, and win the hearts of flaxen-haired farmgirls with wide child-bearing hips, and then go off to fight for their country, telling their distraught sweethearts, "I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not Hitler more."
Speaking of love, I saw Ignaz Holatschek last week when he was home on leave. You had better prepare yourself for a shock - he asked me to marry him! I said, "Ignaz, dear, you do know I'm Jewish?" and he said "Yes, I had noticed, but they are sending me to the Eastern Front, and since that means I shall probably never see you again, I should like to marry you before I go." So I said that it wasn't very flattering to be told that only the prospect of imminent death made marriage to me bearable, and he said that wasn't what he meant. And I said I knew perfectly well what he meant, and that if he expected me to be grateful because he had Stooped to Conquer, he had another think coming. I think it could safely be said that we quarrelled, and now I wish we hadn't, because winter is coming and it's cold enough here in Vienna, so I dread to think what Stalingrad is like.
no subject
on 2009-11-27 10:57 am (UTC)I know what you mean about writing action bits. Can you give the heist a twist, like having Rosen report it in tough-guy or noir style?
(no subject)
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on 2009-11-27 01:50 pm (UTC)I have been struggling on with the art theft sequence, but it's all "And then they did this, and then they did that, and then they did something else," which is exceedingly frustrating.
I know what you mean. It's hard sometimes...well, maybe more than sometimes.
(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-27 07:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-27 08:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-28 07:26 am (UTC)And the thought of a, presumably, liberal writer, forced to write something like: "I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not Hitler more." Ouch! A reminder to be grateful we weren't born in North Korea!
(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-29 09:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-27 01:44 pm (UTC)------------------------------
“Do you really want to end it like this?” asked the Admiral, his eyes hard and cold as ice.
The First Officer was still on his knees beside Adrian. His eyes lowered and his head bowed. The courage of a moment ago had not failed him, but he accepted the authority of the man over him. “If that is your wish, sir.”
“You think what I’m doing is wrong?”
“I think,” Chell hesitated, the torrent of words and feelings had passed, leaving him to try to understand what had prompted it and why. “There are better ways than trying to hurt people. You said it earlier, sir. You understood why the Lieutenant would hate people. It’s because of what they’ve done to him. How can he not hate them? But he’s strong too. Like you. He refuses to give up who he is just because people find it inconvenient that he has a will of his own. ”
Silence descended as they stared at each other. There was no ship outside full of people, only the three of them facing a moment of truth.
Adrian said, “Do you really think I will do what you want without being forced?”
Chell looked down at him. “I think you’re both smart enough to find a way. You’re both Firsters after all.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Chell,” said the Admiral. “I'd think you were trying to manipulate us.”
“I wouldn’t dare, sir.”
Adrian said, “You would.”
no subject
on 2009-11-27 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-27 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-27 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-28 03:08 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-27 06:14 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-27 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-27 08:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-27 07:49 pm (UTC)I've had to up the target again, after writing 605 words just now, in which we find out what Campbell wanted Zack for.
Extract (we're in Campbell's office and two Military Police officers (MPs) are there too:
“I haven't seen him since yesterday morning,” Zack said. “He hasn't messaged me or anything since yesterday lunchtime.”
“I suppose that would be round about the time he gave his bodyguard the slip?” Campbell glanced at the MPs before continuing. “We know he took a considerable sum out of his bank account yesterday, and we know that usually if he's up to any kind of trouble, you're involved too. So just play along, and tell us what he's planning this time.”
“He's not up to anything. He'd have told me if he was.”
“How about his school friends?”
So the MPs could speak. Zack turned to look at the woman who was questioning him.
“Is there anyone he's mentioned being particularly close to? A best friend?”
“I'm his best friend.”
“A girlfriend, then?”
Zack shook his head. Rob would have told him if there was anyone else – lad or lass – that he was particularly good friends with. He would have done.
no subject
on 2009-11-27 09:36 pm (UTC)So no one has any clues on where to start looking. How will they find the phone in the old loos?
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on 2009-11-27 08:23 pm (UTC)I am making progress on my Yuletide story, though - 1374 words at the moment; my guess is I have another 1000 to go. I can't say much about it though, or post any excerpts as it is supposed to be a secret. Suffice it to say I bounced for joy when I got my assignment, had a wonderful time re-reading an old favourite to find my inspiration (which came to me half way through the book), and it is progressing well (when I am not too tired to write). No luck writing anything else though, so I don't think I'm going to reach my target for picowrimo this year (which was to finish one story - done; write another in that series - not likely; and write my Yuletide offering - probably will manage that).
no subject
on 2009-11-27 09:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
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Posted byno subject
on 2009-11-28 07:13 am (UTC)I'm fairly confident I'll complete the third and final part in November.
Would also be nice to get restarted on my stalled novel. The short story is set in the same universe, so I think there's a reasonable chance it'll have primed some new ideas, and some new motivation.
Sleight was beside himself with excitement, he alternated between playful laughter and a savage narrowing of the eyes. Charade tussled his hair and laughed, but away from him, I could see her bite her lip and wring her hands. I almost canceled the plan a dozen times, but Charade pleaded with me to let her try, and, however dangerous, I too thrilled at the prospect of retribution.
We picked a busy market day, the street full of traders, customers, merchants and their guards. The thugs stood outside an inn, drinking ale, belching, and shouting obscenities. Any passing woman would cross the road to avoid them, but most men wandered nearby without concern.
no subject
on 2009-11-28 08:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
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