The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
But maybe bad example, as I still laugh about the retarded girl attempting suicide from jumping from a one-story building.
I feel your pain, erika. *lip bite* I broke up with a boy I never liked that much, when I was in (I think) the 10th grade. Right around that time, I got grounded, and had to miss a party at my friend's house. The jilted boy took a few too many
aspirin,
or said he did, and started putting on that he was suicidal (he was fine, and really and truly was only attentionidal). Boy-I'd-Always-loved heard about it, and said, "Why didn't he just jump out the first story window?" I laughed altogether too hard for some tastes, and got the glare of disapproval from my more tight-arsed friends.
...suddenly recalling the "I'll go stick my head in a microwave" conversation.
Which was erika again, wasn't it? You crack-addled black-humorist, you.
Yeah.
Maybe it's the brain damage.
Is it any wonder I cling to crime drama? Oh, and Rescue Me that makes 9/11 jokes all the time about how Tommy only found his cousin's...I think, pinky finger.
That poor woman lived only to answer "What's wrong with your face?" hundreds of times for weeks.
She only thought life sucked before...
Anyone who reads this is gonna tell I thought this plot up at the last second. I suck at plot.
Susan--what if you use Alex's POV? Since he's the one to bring her the news, since he knew Sebastian, and had his own impression of his commander (?) is married, or at least paired, and would have an impression of him as a husband, and would definitely have an impression of her, compared to his own Helen. It might give the reader a step away, to observe her through his eyes.
It doesn't have to be all Alex, of course, but he might be a useful POV for part of it.
A heart drabble.
What You Do To Me
It's beating: slow, even, regular.
You touch me, a light touch, more companionable than anything else. The beats stay regular, but something under my ribcage tells me the speed is up a bit.
Lips to the hollow of my throat, and away goes the regularity; the vagrant brush of the tip of your tongue behind one ear, and farewell, evenness.
Jangling like something wants out, something wants in, something demanding explanation, slamdancing all over the spectrum. I know, after so many years together, that it will be hours before that beat is slow again, or even again, or regular again.
Susan--what if you use Alex's POV? Since he's the one to bring her the news, since he knew Sebastian, and had his own impression of his commander (?) is married, or at least paired, and would have an impression of him as a husband, and would definitely have an impression of her, compared to his own Helen. It might give the reader a step away, to observe her through his eyes.
Well, I was planning to do the whole thing from Jack and Anna's POVs, unless I just had to do a little from my pseudo-villain George's to make his motivation clear. Partly because it's a convention of the genre, and partly because I'm a natural-born POV minimalist, I guess. Also, I tend to write a lot of secondary characters, and if I let Alex have a say, there's no reason to leave out Helen and Beatriz and Juana and Dan and Lt. O'Brian and Captain Murray and the nice French captain and James and Lucy and Lady Windham and Anna's cousin Jamie and Jack's sister Molly and the woman Jack would've most likely married if he'd never enlisted whom I'm thinking of calling Jill except I'm afraid it's too corny and....
It'd get kinda messy.
(FWIW, Alex is a major and Sebastian was a captain, and yes, Helen is Alex's wife. Total army brat. I'd love to do her story, except that'd presumably mean killing Alex, and I like him too.)
Heart
She'd expected to feel something - an instant lifting perhaps, or the sensation of surety settling down on her shoulders.
But nothing - no notification from afar that her problem was solved.
She watched him unwrap the precious package with roughened hands sun dark against the white linen. His touch was patient, respectful, and his brow furrowed.
There it was. Now she knew the truth - he showed her the death of innocence, grace and beauty. She could see it in the red turning to brown, in the silent stillness.
"So this is it, you say?"
"Yes, your majesty. The girl is dead."
ita, wow. Fairy tales now, the very darkest tales humans can tell. And you've taken that character who's usually just a cipher and made him the focus for once, real and reactive. I like it a lot.
And Deb, guh. Mmmm, ah. Yes. Suddenly steamy in here? Or is that just me?
Also with the "Hey, ita, that rocked."
And a drop of my own.
The Easiest Way (heart drabble)
It's not through the ribs. Common mistake, that. Without the proper tools (garden shears, hacksaw, that sort of thing) it can take ten, fifteen minutes to get through the bones.
No, it's through the stomach. A quick slice under the ribcage, and you can just slide your hand through, reach up and grab it. Pull, slice again, and bob's your uncle. Hot, juicy, and ripe from the vine.
Hold still, now.
