picowrimo | Day 7 (Team July)

Wow! You are accomplishing all sorts of things!

Demanding times ahead for them both, but Arvedui sounds patient. (No one examined different cultural expectations before they settled on this marriage, did they? No exchange of CVs and job descriptions.)

I have no doubt that you are thinking about things in the back of your mind even in the midst of chores.

Why does your arm hurt?

Oh dear, no update for most of the week! Partly that's because I wasn't managing any writing, but largely because it's been raining and therefore my phone line hasn't been working.
Anyway, in respect of the not writing, today was a Cambridge NaNo group write-in so I went along to that and the muse returned unto me. I clocked up 1700 words at the write-in plus several more this evening, bringing my total for July so far to

Ah, but which bit to snippet.... How about the bit I'm not really sure on the flow of (plus surrounding context):

"Today's third traitor," deSalle said, "is surely the youngest yet." The bundle of rags that stumbled on contained a girl, her blonde hair tangled and matted, her features gaunt and yet her expression defiant. She looked at the camera.
"Oh god!" Catherine whimpered. "Anna!" There was no mistaking her even in that state, even with the malnutrition and the bruises.
Catherine's gut churned. She thought she would throw up. She wanted to run but was frozen to the spot. She couldn't even look away as she desperately wished for a miracle, for some intervention to save her friend.
The soldiers pushed the three victims together on the stage. They stepped back, drew their guns. 'Please god, now,' Catherine thought, ' stop them now.'
Three loud retorts. Three wet thuds. Three bodies in pools of blood.
Catherine ran. She wasn't sure how she'd got out of the room, let alone the house. She knew only running and the urge to scream, bottled up for fear of being heard. She ran out past the rail cutting. She ran past the factories. She ran deep into the woods. Finally she let out her scream.
"Bastards!" she yelled. "Evil, sadistic bastards!" She collapsed to her knees. "Why?" she cried. "Why her?" She slumped to the ground, pounding her fist in the mud.
She sobbed until she could sob no more, curled up under a bush. "You'll pay for this," she croaked. "You will." She had no idea how she meant to follow through on that promise, but it gave her strength just to make it. She sat up. "Death to all Arcturans!" she muttered, then looked around. She was definitely alone. "Death to all Arcturans!" she shouted.

My arm hurts because I have no patience--I started lugging things around when no one jumped at my first request . It's not like it was urgent, a little judicious nagging would have gotten everything done sooner or later ;) Just muscle strain I hope.

It's too hot to think, so I'm doing a little more research instead.

I don't know about the context, but the flow of this is fine; tense and dramatic.

Here goes..... my first snippet to this comm..... so embarassed. BE GENTLE.

The young boys toes scrunched. His feet felt the damp of the woodland beneath, the earth that his father had taught him to love. Mikael's undernourished fingernails gripped as hard as they could into the bark of the towering pine. He heard his father's booming, once reassuring, voice still echo in his ears.
"RUN!"

Edited 2012-07-08 00:11 (UTC)

Heh. This rings very true :)

Oh that's awkward. Though given his track record, it's pretty incredible that Julia reckons Edward can sort it. Testament to how good a b.s'er he really is.

Oh, I understand that. I'm lucky I haven't fallen out of any windows because I can't wait for anyone to assist (spot?) when I'm ready to hang things in high places. Some liniment and some rest and research and all should be well, then. (But, if it's too hot to think, perhaps it is too hot to lug? Just a thought...:-D)

Firiel is going to have to step up to the plate. Maybe this new role in her life is what she needs, even if it has an inauspicious start!

Milton just got his daughters to take down dictation ;-)

Three loud retorts. Three wet thuds. Three bodies in pools of blood.

That's chilling. The briefest and most effective description of an execution I've read for some time. And it shows the roots of Catherine's extremism.

Welcome! I am intrigued by this snippet. I am guessing Mikael's father is no longer here and that a dreadful catastrophe has taken place.

The situation is deteriorating fast. How much time has passed since Catherine last saw Anna?

The action flowed fine from my view.

You packed a lot into a few lines, vivid description, background information and action! Looking forward to more.

Ah, good. Trying to shift out of the mood of the long scene into something less intense.

Wishing

wiseheart a good week off and plenty of relaxation. You've done sterling work keeping going for a month and a half. And welcome to

elmey!

Now that having been said - my contributions to Pico are likely to tail off a little because I HAVE COMPLETED THE SECOND DRAFT! Did a sprint today and wrote several scenes and thousands of words. I am absolutely exhausted :)

And now for the last extract. Rewind back to 1914. Eva's teacher Shandlin (the guy with the mother) has opinions on Yeats as a poet.

Don't Hold Back, Tell Us How You Really Feel

And of course Mina wanted everything clearly explained and solemnly repeated Eva's every word until it was all Eva could do not to tell her to go away. And then she went away and Eva folded open the dratted thing, just to get it over with -

"Aha, Miss Downey! Loitering in the corridor, I see. This place charges good money to eradicate habits like that, surely?"

Oh go away you too, Mr Shandlin!

"I'm reading a book," Eva said abruptly, just about remembering to add, "sir." Oh she wished he would stop hovering around like a vulture.

"Well I can see that. What is it?"

"Yeats." Eva said. It was the first writer who came into her head. Hopefully that would shut him up.

"Yeats!" he exclaimed. "Oh dear. I really expected better of you. Do you not find him uncommonly irritating? Nothing but self-indulgent, jejune fantasies of kings and roses and unrequited love. I'm fed up of unrequited love: it's boring. It's like reading Swinburne after drinking cheap wine and getting a ferocious headache from the two together. He's nearly fifty and he's still drivelling on with that nonsense. And what's with the 'odorous twilight'? For God's sake if his twilight is beginning to stink that badly, he should open a window, no? Tread softly, my foot. I wish he'd tread on a banana skin."

Mr Shandlin stopped abruptly, perhaps surprised at his own vehemence. Eva could not resist a smile, which made him look slightly sulky.

[...]

Then - oh thank God! - he moved off down the corridor, almost tripping up on a holdall bag badly propped up against the wall. With an exclamation of annoyance, he started to kick it about.

"Why - must - there - be - stuff - everywhere?" he lamented, the bag skidding down the corridor in advance of his foot.

"I think that's Phyllida Smithson's games uniform." Eva called after him.

He turned his head one last time. "It's stuff and it's in my way."

With that parting shot, he disappeared behind the double doors.

Edited 2012-07-08 01:27 (UTC)

The dirt iritated the skin betweween his talons.

Well, hoping to connect a number of the dots fairly soon, but not all.

I've been banging away at it and it is moving forward.

Welcome, and don't worry--this is a great place to try things out; we're all struggling writers :)

I like the way this evokes a sense of panic, the loss of comfort in what was familiar.

Some tricky bits are coming together for John and for me!

My "used to go out with a doc" file is getting bulkier every day I'm on this place :)

Unfortunately I only have cats and that'll be the day :D

Yeah cats are beautiful but they would turn up their noses at such vulgarities as dictation!

Day 7 (Team July)

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Gone till November

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