Writing Round up
Nov. 28th, 2019 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseFor this month's #writingwednesday I posted snippets of things I've worked on during previous NaNoWriMos.
WiP: Sorceress Apprentice
“Sir,” the mayor said, approaching Emeri. “Would you do us the honour?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Emeri said. “If Bryony wishes.”
"Me?" Bryony felt the world spin, grasped for stability using every trick she'd learnt these past weeks. She and Emeri, dance the fire dance? This was something she'd dreamt of, of being the Festival's Queen, of dancing with The Sorcerer, of being The Sorcerer's Queen.
It was too much. A dream wasn't supposed to be real. What if wasn't like her fantasies, what if she trod in the fire, she wasn't that great a dancer, what if she embarrassed herself, what if she embarrassed Emeri, what if –
"Who else?" Emeri asked, his hand still outstretched.
She swallowed, placed her hand in his. He gave her a warm smile as he closed his fingers over hers. He understood how much it meant to her.
They made their way to the ritual fire and there was a smattering of applause and then silence as they took their places.
WiP: WRE
"Fancy a walk?" Romaine asked.
El nodded. "Want me to walk the wolf?"
"Would you? Thanks."
Romaine went upstairs to get ready, El saying she needed to use the toilet, tie up her hair, and find a coat.
A few minutes later she came to meet him, pushing the door which he'd left ajar open. She was wearing a grey hoodie with little ear sewn onto the hood and the slogan "I am a cat" across the front. Romaine, now in wolf form, snorted at the hiding in plan sight pun and then used his nose to nudge the collar and lead he'd found from a bottom drawer and put on the coffee table.
El put the collar on and the slip lead, a green and white striped hoped cord with a leather stopper which she didn't bother to adjust since he wouldn't be pulling at her, and a large loop at the other end for her to hold.
"Keys?" she asked. Romaine whined, having forgot about that and gestured to the key box.
El picked up his keys and slid them into her pocket alongside her own, clipped to a loop on her jeans. She pulled the door behind them and locked up. On the way out, they met Mrs Cavanaugh.
"Oh hello," Mrs Cavanaugh said."This must be that beautiful dog. Can I pet him?"
El glanced down at Romaine. He gave what passed for a nod and pulled forward a little.
"Sure," El said.
Mrs Cavanaugh crouched down and stroked Romaine's head between his ears. "Who's a lovely boy, yes you are, aren't you! So big and handsome. What's his name?"
El hesitated only for a moment. "Armand."
"Oh, that's lovely." Mrs Cavanaugh stood with only minor difficulty. "Where's his owner?"
"Romaine had to work," El improvised. "I said I'd walk Armand for him."
"It'll be nice for them having you around," Mrs Cavanaugh said approvingly. "Well have a good walk. I'm going to go and make a nice cup of tea."
As they walked to the park, El said, "Hope you didn't mind that."
Romaine lifted his nose and snuffled at the palm of her hand, reassuring her.
There were a few people in the park, an older couple walking hand in hand, a cyclist who went whizzing by wearing a hi-vis jacket, a young woman jogging. El took them along a curving path to a large patch of grass and slipped off the lead.
Romaine ran around, enjoying the freedom. He circled the grass, coming back to El frequently as an obedient dog would do. A woman in her thirties came along with her dog, some sort of Staffordshire cross. The dog sat down next to her owner, unsure what to make of Romaine. Some dogs were terrified of Wolves, knowing the difference between dog and Wolf, some went on the defensive, while others didn't seem to care.
"Is he friendly?" the woman asked.
"Yes," El said, the lead in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of her hoodie.
Romaine trotted over and rolled over, showing the dog his belly as sign of trust.
"Go on, Trixie," the woman coaxed. Reluctant, Trixie edged forward and sniffed at Romaine. He stayed still and, satisfied, Trixie wagged her tail.
Romaine and Trixie played for a while, he being careful of the dog's small size. While some might have disdained to interact with a dog, Romaine saw no difference than a human playing fetch with their pet, or an adult playing games with a child.
The woman whistled. "Come on, Trixie."
Trixie trotted back over, had her lead clipped to her collar. The woman said goodbye to El and headed off towards the north gate of the park. Romaine padded over to El, ready to leave also.
"You had fun?"
He nuzzled at her and she laughed.
WiP: Other
I did rebel NaNoWriMo in 2016 and wrote original fiction and fanfic, counting all the words towards my overall goal.
This snippet is from an original piece I've got some notes for but haven't written much of the story. This conversation is between a woman with healing abilities who accidentally healed the man who now finds himself unable to be the disability advocate he'd become.
"I suppose I should go back to marketing."
"Why?"
He shook his head. "Because I'm good at it."
"So?"
"I'd never have left it," he said, "except the accident gave me – an excuse, I suppose. And I reinvented myself. And now you've taken that from me."
She sighed, lowered her gaze. "I cannot apologise enough. I have told you over and over I always ask for consent, and would never have done this to you on purpose. Bodily autonomy is sacrosanct to me. It was an accident."
"Another accident," he said bitterly. "And now I have my old life back and I don’t want it!"
She moved to stand in front of him, gazed into his eyes. "Then reinvent yourself once more. What do you want to do?"
He hesitated only a moment. "I want to sing. I want to make music."
Her mouth opened into a surprised O. "And what is stopping you?"
"I'm not good enough." He gave a bitter laugh. "Do you know what it is to want something and have people belittle it?"
He didn't give her a chance to respond. He began listing the depreciative comments, angrier and more upset with each one he ticked off on his fingers. "I'm a musician but you're not good enough to be one. I'm a musician but you're just an amateur. I'm a musician but you should try recording jingles for radio shows or some shit. I'm a musician but you should be a record promoter!"
She let him rant. She'd never understood why people felt the need to interrupt at moments at like these. The more she dealt with pain, the more she realised that sometimes what people needed most of all was to be heard. It was only when she was sure he had finished, when he took a ragged breath, that she spoke.
"I'm sorry," she told him. "People will always try to steer you from your dreams. But you can't let them."
"But what if they're right?" He blinked rapidly, sniffed. "What if I fail? What if I'm not good enough?"
"Who cares? You can't succeed first time, every time. You can't get better without practice. There will always be someone better than you but that doesn't mean you aren't good at something." She placed her hands on his shoulders. He flinched but didn't pull away. What further harm could she do him now?
He considered her words, moistened his lips. "I'm not used to doing things I'm not already good at."
"Well that doesn't sound good for personal growth," she said. "I keep playing Sudoku. I suck at it, but I still get pleasure from it, and the thrill of actually completing a game is worth any frustration."
"You do know attempting to start a music career when you're not a sixteen year old with contacts in the record industry is nothing like dabbling in Sudoku?"
She smiled at the chiding tone. He'd regained his equilibrium. "I might have contacts. I know a lot of people – or so I'm told. I have my team who handle the details. I will help you, if you will allow me to. It is the least I can do."
Opening Paragraphs
I did rebel NaNoWriMo in 2016 and wrote original fiction and fanfic, counting all the words towards my overall goal.
This is from the start of a piece I wrote for an online challenge. I'm pleased with the descriptions since I always have to work harder at that aspect of writing; dialogue comes easier to me.
The ruins were unnerving even in the afternoon's warm glow, as abandoned dwellings often were. It would surely be more disturbing once night began to draw in and shadows crept along broken pillars and cracked walls. It was clear this had been a lavish home and it did not take much imagination to look at the grand entrance hall and imagine guests being greeted, their cloaks removed by servants and safely stowed away, drinks pressed into gloved hands.
The fireplace in what Alanna took to be either a dining room or large drawing room was huge. There were some soot stains on the granite and a few of the marble tiles on the surround were chipped, but otherwise it was in good condition. Dan was already happily reverting to his role as a forester and gathering supplies to make a fire.
Had there been a family who sat in front of this fire, exchanging pleasant stories of their day? Or a stern patriarch who ruled from the chair nearest the fire as if from a throne? There were no chairs left, no thick rugs or other elegant trappings of wealth, just a damaged table in one corner, covered in spiderwebs and mouse droppings.
It made sense to shelter here from the storm they could all see and sense coming, but Alanna was more disturbed by this place than she cared to admit. The history of it seemed to linger, haunting every inch of this abandoned mansion. If she closed her eyes she thought she could smell rich roasted meats and feel the warmth of dozens of candles as those assembled ate well and toasted each other across a long table filled with a feast that would please a king.
WiP: Sorceress Apprentice
“Sir,” the mayor said, approaching Emeri. “Would you do us the honour?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Emeri said. “If Bryony wishes.”
"Me?" Bryony felt the world spin, grasped for stability using every trick she'd learnt these past weeks. She and Emeri, dance the fire dance? This was something she'd dreamt of, of being the Festival's Queen, of dancing with The Sorcerer, of being The Sorcerer's Queen.
It was too much. A dream wasn't supposed to be real. What if wasn't like her fantasies, what if she trod in the fire, she wasn't that great a dancer, what if she embarrassed herself, what if she embarrassed Emeri, what if –
"Who else?" Emeri asked, his hand still outstretched.
She swallowed, placed her hand in his. He gave her a warm smile as he closed his fingers over hers. He understood how much it meant to her.
They made their way to the ritual fire and there was a smattering of applause and then silence as they took their places.
WiP: WRE
"Fancy a walk?" Romaine asked.
El nodded. "Want me to walk the wolf?"
"Would you? Thanks."
Romaine went upstairs to get ready, El saying she needed to use the toilet, tie up her hair, and find a coat.
A few minutes later she came to meet him, pushing the door which he'd left ajar open. She was wearing a grey hoodie with little ear sewn onto the hood and the slogan "I am a cat" across the front. Romaine, now in wolf form, snorted at the hiding in plan sight pun and then used his nose to nudge the collar and lead he'd found from a bottom drawer and put on the coffee table.
El put the collar on and the slip lead, a green and white striped hoped cord with a leather stopper which she didn't bother to adjust since he wouldn't be pulling at her, and a large loop at the other end for her to hold.
"Keys?" she asked. Romaine whined, having forgot about that and gestured to the key box.
El picked up his keys and slid them into her pocket alongside her own, clipped to a loop on her jeans. She pulled the door behind them and locked up. On the way out, they met Mrs Cavanaugh.
"Oh hello," Mrs Cavanaugh said."This must be that beautiful dog. Can I pet him?"
El glanced down at Romaine. He gave what passed for a nod and pulled forward a little.
"Sure," El said.
Mrs Cavanaugh crouched down and stroked Romaine's head between his ears. "Who's a lovely boy, yes you are, aren't you! So big and handsome. What's his name?"
El hesitated only for a moment. "Armand."
"Oh, that's lovely." Mrs Cavanaugh stood with only minor difficulty. "Where's his owner?"
"Romaine had to work," El improvised. "I said I'd walk Armand for him."
"It'll be nice for them having you around," Mrs Cavanaugh said approvingly. "Well have a good walk. I'm going to go and make a nice cup of tea."
As they walked to the park, El said, "Hope you didn't mind that."
Romaine lifted his nose and snuffled at the palm of her hand, reassuring her.
There were a few people in the park, an older couple walking hand in hand, a cyclist who went whizzing by wearing a hi-vis jacket, a young woman jogging. El took them along a curving path to a large patch of grass and slipped off the lead.
Romaine ran around, enjoying the freedom. He circled the grass, coming back to El frequently as an obedient dog would do. A woman in her thirties came along with her dog, some sort of Staffordshire cross. The dog sat down next to her owner, unsure what to make of Romaine. Some dogs were terrified of Wolves, knowing the difference between dog and Wolf, some went on the defensive, while others didn't seem to care.
"Is he friendly?" the woman asked.
"Yes," El said, the lead in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of her hoodie.
Romaine trotted over and rolled over, showing the dog his belly as sign of trust.
"Go on, Trixie," the woman coaxed. Reluctant, Trixie edged forward and sniffed at Romaine. He stayed still and, satisfied, Trixie wagged her tail.
Romaine and Trixie played for a while, he being careful of the dog's small size. While some might have disdained to interact with a dog, Romaine saw no difference than a human playing fetch with their pet, or an adult playing games with a child.
The woman whistled. "Come on, Trixie."
Trixie trotted back over, had her lead clipped to her collar. The woman said goodbye to El and headed off towards the north gate of the park. Romaine padded over to El, ready to leave also.
"You had fun?"
He nuzzled at her and she laughed.
WiP: Other
I did rebel NaNoWriMo in 2016 and wrote original fiction and fanfic, counting all the words towards my overall goal.
This snippet is from an original piece I've got some notes for but haven't written much of the story. This conversation is between a woman with healing abilities who accidentally healed the man who now finds himself unable to be the disability advocate he'd become.
"I suppose I should go back to marketing."
"Why?"
He shook his head. "Because I'm good at it."
"So?"
"I'd never have left it," he said, "except the accident gave me – an excuse, I suppose. And I reinvented myself. And now you've taken that from me."
She sighed, lowered her gaze. "I cannot apologise enough. I have told you over and over I always ask for consent, and would never have done this to you on purpose. Bodily autonomy is sacrosanct to me. It was an accident."
"Another accident," he said bitterly. "And now I have my old life back and I don’t want it!"
She moved to stand in front of him, gazed into his eyes. "Then reinvent yourself once more. What do you want to do?"
He hesitated only a moment. "I want to sing. I want to make music."
Her mouth opened into a surprised O. "And what is stopping you?"
"I'm not good enough." He gave a bitter laugh. "Do you know what it is to want something and have people belittle it?"
He didn't give her a chance to respond. He began listing the depreciative comments, angrier and more upset with each one he ticked off on his fingers. "I'm a musician but you're not good enough to be one. I'm a musician but you're just an amateur. I'm a musician but you should try recording jingles for radio shows or some shit. I'm a musician but you should be a record promoter!"
She let him rant. She'd never understood why people felt the need to interrupt at moments at like these. The more she dealt with pain, the more she realised that sometimes what people needed most of all was to be heard. It was only when she was sure he had finished, when he took a ragged breath, that she spoke.
"I'm sorry," she told him. "People will always try to steer you from your dreams. But you can't let them."
"But what if they're right?" He blinked rapidly, sniffed. "What if I fail? What if I'm not good enough?"
"Who cares? You can't succeed first time, every time. You can't get better without practice. There will always be someone better than you but that doesn't mean you aren't good at something." She placed her hands on his shoulders. He flinched but didn't pull away. What further harm could she do him now?
He considered her words, moistened his lips. "I'm not used to doing things I'm not already good at."
"Well that doesn't sound good for personal growth," she said. "I keep playing Sudoku. I suck at it, but I still get pleasure from it, and the thrill of actually completing a game is worth any frustration."
"You do know attempting to start a music career when you're not a sixteen year old with contacts in the record industry is nothing like dabbling in Sudoku?"
She smiled at the chiding tone. He'd regained his equilibrium. "I might have contacts. I know a lot of people – or so I'm told. I have my team who handle the details. I will help you, if you will allow me to. It is the least I can do."
Opening Paragraphs
I did rebel NaNoWriMo in 2016 and wrote original fiction and fanfic, counting all the words towards my overall goal.
This is from the start of a piece I wrote for an online challenge. I'm pleased with the descriptions since I always have to work harder at that aspect of writing; dialogue comes easier to me.
The ruins were unnerving even in the afternoon's warm glow, as abandoned dwellings often were. It would surely be more disturbing once night began to draw in and shadows crept along broken pillars and cracked walls. It was clear this had been a lavish home and it did not take much imagination to look at the grand entrance hall and imagine guests being greeted, their cloaks removed by servants and safely stowed away, drinks pressed into gloved hands.
The fireplace in what Alanna took to be either a dining room or large drawing room was huge. There were some soot stains on the granite and a few of the marble tiles on the surround were chipped, but otherwise it was in good condition. Dan was already happily reverting to his role as a forester and gathering supplies to make a fire.
Had there been a family who sat in front of this fire, exchanging pleasant stories of their day? Or a stern patriarch who ruled from the chair nearest the fire as if from a throne? There were no chairs left, no thick rugs or other elegant trappings of wealth, just a damaged table in one corner, covered in spiderwebs and mouse droppings.
It made sense to shelter here from the storm they could all see and sense coming, but Alanna was more disturbed by this place than she cared to admit. The history of it seemed to linger, haunting every inch of this abandoned mansion. If she closed her eyes she thought she could smell rich roasted meats and feel the warmth of dozens of candles as those assembled ate well and toasted each other across a long table filled with a feast that would please a king.
