Day 29

[vilakins.livejournal.com]

Here's today's prompt for you to post your updates and any excerpts and thoughts etc in comments.

Comments

[vilakins.livejournal.com]

I've revised my story and sent it off to beta, but I doubt it will be back and posted before the wend of the month. It'll only be a couple of days though, and I'll post a link here when I've done it.

[azdak.livejournal.com]

Congratulations! You've hit your Pico target splat in the bullseye, and with two days still to go! I see you managed to keep it under 10,000 words, as well.

I suspect the "wend of the month" is a typo, but it sounds like a wonderfully medieval expression for the turning of one month into another and I wish it was in widespread use.

[kalinda001.livejournal.com]

That's great! Can't wait to read it.

[nineveh-uk.livejournal.com]

Well done! (I assume your idiosyncratic target was a words-per-day calculation?)

[sallymn.livejournal.com]

Am envious... you managed more words than I did, but then you posted more days than me.

Congrats!!

[stevie-carroll.livejournal.com]

Go you! Looking forward to reading the finished story.

[elmey.livejournal.com]

Congratulations! I'm really looking forward to reading it. This picowrimo thing really works doesn't it.

[forodwaith.livejournal.com]

Way to go! I"m looking forward to reading the whole thing.

[tawek.livejournal.com]

Fantastic! Congratulations!

[akane42me.livejournal.com]

Congratulations!
I'll be looking forward to reading the whole story!

[azdak.livejournal.com]

I've had another go at the heist scene. We're getting there...

"It's his art collection they're after, the driver said so," opined a more informed individual, nodding in the direction of the van. The word spread instantly.
"... a whole house full of valuables. Paintings and statues and whatnot..."
"... degenerate? I should say so!..."
"... shouldn't be allowed...."
"... always thought that it was an unfortunate policy to allow so many important works of art to be concentrated in the hands of Jewish...."
"... some remarkably fine pieces..."
"... makes you sick just to look at that stuff ..."
"... years of investment in the arts..."
"... whole rooms with nothing but statues of naked ladies..."
"... worth a small fortune, I should think..."
"... millions of shillings..."
"... a king's ransom..."
Having had their hopes raised to such a pitch, the crowd was disappointed when two of the Goldberg servants came tottering through the front door, carrying only a single painting. It was swaddled in blankets for protection, and Mr Goldberg hovered over it in an agony of concern, like a mountainous mother hen.

[kalinda001.livejournal.com]

Crowds...bleah.

Very nice commentary scene showing the prejudices of the crowd and nice contrast at the end when it finally comes out.

[vilakins.livejournal.com]

I see Mr Goldberg is quite an actor himself! :-)

[sallymn.livejournal.com]

That's very well done, managing to get a lot of atmosphere and tension through the scraps and torn bits of dialogue.

And I love the image "like a mountainous mother hen." :)

[stevie-carroll.livejournal.com]

Getting there indeed. Some great bits of commentary in there.

[elmey.livejournal.com]

That dialogue really works well. And I'm joining the crowd that likes "mountainous mother hen", it's easy to visualize.

[akane42me.livejournal.com]

I've got a lot of catching up to do with Music II and BPE on Pico.
Looking forward to it!

[kalinda001.livejournal.com]

Finished the scene between Adrian, the Admiral and Chell. Here's the final version.
Adrian and Kali, Part 15 (http://kalinda001.livejournal.com/327417.html?#cutid1)

Working on the aftermath.

[azdak.livejournal.com]

It's an awfully tough deal to negotiate, given that neither side really has anything to offer that can't be instantly withdrawn.

Did a meme today...

[sallymn.livejournal.com]

Ten micro ficlets, 132 words in all...

They're here (http://sallymn.livejournal.com/438276.html)

Re: Did a meme today...

[azdak.livejournal.com]

Those are hilarious! And it's amazing how much story can be extracted from so few words. Most of the time you didn't need anything like 15!

[stevie-carroll.livejournal.com]

I managed to write 619 words yesterday on the train yesterday, in which Campbell takes Zack for a cup of tea in the mess hall before his next lesson is due to start.

Extract:

“His school lets him go out drinking?” Campbell wondered if he had worried excessively over catching the boys in a nightclub.

“They're not supposed to.” Hemmings sipped at his tea, having not touched the chocolate at all. “But some of the parents, they think lads will be lads, and they kicked up a fuss about the amount of detentions their kids were getting. So now the school just lets them away with it. It's a hell of a security risk: I keep telling Rob he shouldn't go with them if he wants to stay safe.”

The boy took after his father; Campbell had to stop himself from smiling at Hemmings' attitude.

“That club the other night: didn't you think that was a security risk?”

“He was with me, wasn't he? I can look after the two of us.” Hemmings fixed Campbell with a steely stare. “You saw that I can.”

And then I wrote 686 today while I was waiting for everyone else in the house to wake up so we could do breakfast and tidying up type things. Zack is starting to follow up on his suspicions.

Extract:

The images were distorted, and the colours seemed all wrong, but Zack recognised the bank machine close to the Base's main gates. It was the one he and Rob used if they needed money for one of their escapades, but didn't want to be traced by their transactions. The date in the corner was yesterday's, and that was Rob walking up to the machine, but where was his backpack? And hadn't he been wearing a different T-shirt under his jacket when Zack last saw him?

“It's fake,” Zack said. “Someone's faked Rob taking the money out yesterday.”

“You can't just fake a vid-record like making a vid-show. Those things are tamper-proof. They have to be, or it wouldn't be possible to use them as evidence in criminal cases.”

“I don't know how they've done it. I don't care how they've done it. That record's been faked, and Rob's in danger.”

There's another clue in that recording, so now I just have to decide how and when Zack works it out.

[elmey.livejournal.com]

You've really done a lot of work this month--nice time management too. Getting up early is dedication!

Hemmings is Zack, yes? Or am I confused. For some reason he sounds older than usual in that passage.

[elmey.livejournal.com]

It got to be so late last night by the time I was going to post, that I was nodding off in front of the computer. So I'm here early (for me) today.
My dtc story is almost done, I'm working on the end which should have a certain amount of sentiment, but right now just seems too sentimental. The rest of it is very dependent on dialogue, I've put it aside for a couple of days so that I can look at it with a fresh eye when I fine tune it.

I finished my MFU ep review (http://elmey.livejournal.com/13342.html), it is pure wank with no squee, so not safe for casual audience ;)

Since I put my story aside, I decided to play a bit more with a Harry Beldon:

"Illya!" Harry Beldon's voice boomed over the intercom. Still smarting from the lost argument against the standardization of UNCLE offices worldwide, he refused to accommodate himself to the microphones and the soundproof metal walls and shouted at the same volume he'd used to summon his subordinates through drywall and plaster.

Illya winced and turned down the sound on his desk speaker. It had been an uncharacteristically late and over-indulgent night. "Yes sir?"

"Solo just called in from Tempelhof. The fog has grounded all flights out today. You might as well go pick him up and bring him back here."

[azdak.livejournal.com]

Well done for almost finishing!

And I do like Harry Beldon, bellowing through office walls. Especially when Illya has a hangover.

[nineveh-uk.livejournal.com]

Not done any serious writing this weekend - too busy, too tired, that's what this stage of term does for one. But this evening I _did_ sit down and not only edit the previous ficlet, but have a bash at another "it's a short, fun idea, might as well write it now as put it off" piece. Not quite finished - though I think there could be only a para. or so to go (if I'm lucky), but quite pleased with 472 words in an hour and a quarter.

It was in fact the first occasion on which Harriet had spoken in public since her trial, and the inch-deep carpets, excessive gilding, and faint smell of coffee that permeated the building had gone a good way to quell the sense of being back in the dock.

[vilakins.livejournal.com]

This sounds interesting. I hope you'll post a link to the finished story.

[tawek.livejournal.com]

Doh! For yesterday, I gave the correct figure for the amount written (2632), but did some double-counting for my grand total. This means that, despite writing 1411 words today, my grand total has hardly inched forward at all.

Still, it is progress. I've nearly completed part 3, and as the total written is 1300 less than I thought, that means the story is bloating less than I feared, perhaps to 13000 or so. If later, I can prune a further thousand or two, that'd be even better.



For my extract, I'll give the start of part 3:


It always sticks in the throat, when scarred thugs are slapping clubs against their hands, as you count out your protection money. But it feels a lot better if the coin was previously stolen from their master.

We had needed a base, and the boarded up old shop was as good a place as any. For several days, we agonized over how to explain how we could afford it. Charade came up with the solution. With an ever-changing string of disguises, and comings and goings at all times of the day or night, to our neighbours we were the resting place of a small army of grooms, cooks, chandlers and other craftsmen. They never saw more than three of us, but to their eyes, we were never the same three.

With a place to sleep, a dozen caches around the city, and the money to buy rope, grapples, and other necessary tools, we had everything we needed. My first task had been to plunder the strongboxes of Chatrock and Marshroud. When they blamed each other, I thrilled at the sweet revenge. But when news came of a dozen deaths, including three innocents, we sat for an hour, white-faced.

For a while, I contemplated simple thievery. Cutting the purse of a merchant, stealing a silver candlestick, might incur the wrath of that 'taker, but it never killed anyone. Then I imagined Mr Chastable, pale faced, examining a broken shutter, and traipsing through his inn to find what had been stolen. In penance for the thought, I had Charade slip a silver coin through the slot in the Shrine of Justice.

[vilakins.livejournal.com]

An exciting and dangerous world! Is this a novel?

[akane42me.livejournal.com]

That thump you heard was me, falling off the Pico wagon back after my last posting on the 19th. I mangaged to find my way back, and have written my way 1015 words closer to my goal.
If anyone wants to read it, I posted half of it on yesterday's comments because it's too long to put here in its entirety. Here's the second half:
----

A hobbit from TransGlobal - A surreal calmness crept across Esai’s frontal lobe as he tried to make sense of the woman’s answer. He plainly heard the confusion and worry in her voice. That, at least, he understood. And something else. She sounds afraid, he thought. She was a hell of an actress. Esai rubbed his forehead and let her babble. Keep the line open.

Now she was asking him, “Mr. Case, are you’re Ned’s boss?”

I’m his partner.

The involuntary words nearly spoke themselves. He turned away from NP. “No, I’m,” – he stopped. Have you lost your mind, he asked himself. “Karen.” He hesitated, thinking what to say to pass Ned’s test. It’s Hooper. He’s not married.

NP held his phone up. A phone number and address displayed on the screen. Esai recovered his bearings.

“So Karen, you’re married to Ned?”

A soft choke. A snuffle. A whisper. “Please help us.”

Esai leaned closer to NP’s phone, reading the GPS output. “Karen, are you calling from Bowden Road?”

“Yes, I’m at home.”

“Am I supposed to come there?”

“I, oh, no, the detective said I have to leave, I can’t -”


Detective? Esai stood up, frowning, and asked her, “What detective?” He was moving and NP was following him, out of the bedroom, down the hall, through the living room,

“From the police.”

Down the hall, through the living room. “What police?”

She ignored his question, hurrying the words. “But the number, in the book, in the secret room, I think Ned left it for me, to call you -”

They were outside now. Esai jangled the keys impotently at the car door, his hands suddenly useless. NP took them and pushed him aside, sliding into the driver’s seat. Esai ran around the front of the car, yanking the passenger door open, getting in.

“Karen. Listen to me. I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t talk to the police.”

NP was pulling Esai’s gun from the glove compartment, checking the load, dropping it into the cup-holder in the console between them, starting the car, and fishing his phone from his pocket, calling it in. Esai strained to catch her chopped words from the phone’s little speaker over the noise of the car’s motor starting up.

“He went away...roses…digging…room under the…in the room, he’s in the room.”

He’s in the room. Esai wanted to scream at her. “Let me talk to him. Get him.”

“He’s dead, Ned is dead, the police are -”

Esai nearly dropped the phone. Her voice kept talking, and he was saying Karen, Karen, Karen.

Backing out of the driveway, pulling onto the street, NP continued speaking into his own phone, then listening and answering in tight, over-calm words. Reported dead. Woman. No. Wife. Yes. No. Unknown. Local police. Yes. He punched at the car’s GPS, and a female robot voice said twenty minutes.

Then NP smashed his foot on the gas pedal, and the car screeched, speeding to Bowden Road.

[azdak.livejournal.com]

Gosh, this is exciting. Good old NP, being calm under pressure and doing the right thing in spite of all his anger at Esai. And Esai thinking it's a test, and then finding out Ned is dead.