Well, if you find it embarrassing, it's not cause you're not good at it.
Thanks! I think--or at least hope--that I'm getting better at it, but I'm not where I want to be yet. I'm trying to get past the formulaic and into the character-revealing, while at the same time trying to figure out what the hell to call the body parts that's neither too coy nor too shocking for a readership that by and large isn't as comfortable with nice blunt Anglo-Saxon terms as I've become from reading fanfic. An issue I dodged in the above drabble, largely because I was already well above 100 words, but also because I still haven't made up my mind.
Thanks for the question mark catch, Deb!
Heyer probably did mention it, or something similar to it, and there was certainly something in the book I'm reading (Life in Wellington's Army, by Antony Brett-James) about Wellington's camp bed, and how he slept in his clothes for months at a time while on campaign.
The people who managed to survive and thrive under Peninsular War living conditions? Hella tough. I don't know that I could've made it.
Aw...Crush Guy wrote me a murder from La Tep's challenge.
How much do I love him?(Although, not helping the get-over-it plan.) I gave it to him...he's not stalking us.
Only I would think this a sweet gesture, right?
“I hope you’re sitting down for this.”
The gun felt heavy in his hand. Warm. His shoulder felt leaden with the pistol’s unfamiliar weight. His ears rang with the pistol’s unfamiliar snap. Already his own words were drowned out inside his head by the noise.
It had a surprisingly light kick, he thought. Such a small thing, packed with such life-changing force. It slipped from his fingers and thumped on the unpadded carpet.
He’d been thinking about that line – I hope you’re sitting down for this – for weeks. Rehearsed it in the shower, in the car that morning, once more outside the doorway before he squared his shoulders and pushed, nearly stumbling, into that squalid room.
Maybe it would have been easier if he’d actually caught her in the act, he thought. But it didn’t matter. He knew, knew, what she’d done. Knew it in his heart like he knew the sun would go down at the end of this day and the next. Even as his body shook with a cocktail of righteous fury and adrenaline, his brain ran down scenarios of what was coming next. Soon enough, someone would call the police.
For the next few minutes, at least, he’d enjoy the novelty of freedom.
He couldn’t bear to look at the body, suddenly empty of her-ness as it slumped in the ratty overstuffed chair. He couldn’t bear the patterns of blood on the upholstery and the wall, almost matching the tacky floral patterns underneath both. He couldn’t bear the thought that she’d been holed up in such a certifiably low-rent place, hungrily indulging her affections after he’d practically begged her for just a taste of the same.
a chunk of drabble
Seated in front of the computer at work. Headphones on. Heavy thumping bass, ballistic drums, razor wire guitar riffs. In the groove, fingers nimble on the keyboard. This is why I love this job, I can settle into my own world and look at all I've accomplished at the end of the day.
Sudden grip on my shoulder, shadow swooping down on me. Heat and breath and something moving. I react automatically.
Thankfully the yearly reviews were two weeks ago. Elbowing one's project manager hard in the belly does not lead to glowing write-ups in the folder. But, hey, my team leader knows to stand out of arm's reach.
Ah, the poetry tour went down succesfully, and I'm ready to return to the columns again. It was WONDERFUL to see so many people out in California!
About the column:
As I've been readying the next installment of "How to Succeed As A Failing Writer" for its return in a week or two, it's occurred to me that I'd like to know what YOU want me to write about, so now's your chance--please send me questions about writing to victor@quantumredhead.com, and I'll try to answer some every few weeks. I can't guarantee the answers will be good, but, eh, we'll see. 8)
Please put the phrase "Failing Writer" in the subject line, so I can filter it all to the correct mailbox.
See you soon!
Remind me that it's OK to write a shitty first draft.
Oh man, Susan, is it ever okay to write a shitty first draft.
It's just frustrating. I usually don't have this much trouble even getting close to what I'm looking for. I'm just plowing through and making notes to myself about what I want the scene to accomplish so I'll know how to edit it. And what really sucks is this is coming just days after I was totally in the zone. I changed POV characters--a totally necessary change, I think--and the whole thing ground to a screeching halt on me and has been limping along ever since. And I don't even think it's that I don't understand the character or anything. It's just not working.
Well, leave those notes and let the scene simmer until you can attack it later in a few days. Some time away can work wonders.
Not really a big believer in time away. Not in cases like this, anyway. Time away makes a rusty writer. It's not like I'm dealing with writer's block or stress in other parts of my life. It's just a tough scene, and I feel like all I'm putting down is the bare skeleton of what happens. I'm going to have to layer in everything else--the emotion, the sensory details, everything. And I'm not good at that kind of editing. But I need to learn.
What about this? It sounds like you were "in the zone" writing from another character's POV. Can you continue the story in the POV you're working well in, and come back to this difficult part later on? You may fall into that character's POV more naturally at a different part in the story, and while "inhabiting" that character this tough scene may not be as tough. Just a thought.
