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edenfallingA writing meme, gacked from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
askerian and chibirisuchan:
What's the last thing you wrote?
This, from "New Horizons," a canon-compliant, post-epilogue Ginny/Harry/Draco story that I'm writing foraskerian:
The Hotel Delphi -- a stupid, pretentious name if he'd ever heard one -- perched on a cliff right over picturesque azure water and a strip of white, pebbled shore. The rooms were spacious and bright, with comfortable beds, wide windows, and generous balconies. The sheets were satin-soft, the pillows shaped themselves to his head, and the house elves flitted in and out to bring him new alcohol with only the barest pops of displaced air. It was perfect.
Draco knocked back another shot of vodka and wished he were dead.
"'Go to Greece and have fun,' Pansy says," he muttered, flipping the empty shot glass from hand to hand. "Iris bloody left me. Left me! How is that, in any stretch of any idiot's imagination, conducive to fun?"
He threw the glass out the balcony door and over the rail; it crashed, musically, on the rocks below.
"Look out below!" he called, belatedly. Then he snapped his fingers. "Elf! I need an elf."
Was it any good?
I dunno, you tell me. *grin*
What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?
*digs through old folders* This writing exercise, from first grade. I'm not sure if I was six or seven; the paper isn't dated.
My leprechaun's name is Leppie. He is cute, sly, and quick. He can do magic.
One day Leppie was going to check on his gold when he heard a boy coming towards him. then he tried to get away but the boy caught him. So he offered him a pinch of snuff and the boy sneezed. he checked on his gold and it ws safe.
All typos are faithfully reproduced. I'm not sure what the underlining was about.
Write poetry?
Not for a couple years now, but I used to. I wrote very bad doggerel when I was young, which shifted to bad and soppy free verse in middle school. (I wanted to be 'poetic' and I had no idea how to end anything, or manage the tension between story and imagery.) I think some of my poetry from late high school and college holds up reasonably well, though my more religious pieces still tended to be a bit... overwrought and/or excessively personal in their imagery, such that they made no damn sense to anyone but me.
Angsty poetry?
Not anymore!
Most fun character you ever wrote?
I don't know. I don't categorize characters like that. I will say that Duo Maxwell in "Lemonade" and Kakashi in "The Way of the Apartment Manager" more or less wrote themselves, which is nice for me as a writer. Tom Riddle tends to write himself as well, but I don't think any readers would find him very fun.
Most annoying character you ever wrote?
Annoying to me or annoying to the reader? To the reader, I think it's a toss-up between Naruto and Colin Creevey.
To me... I think Ginny Weasley in "Secrets," or various people in original fiction. Probably Mellury du Treviez, from a space opera/sci-fi/fantasy trilogy I never got very far on. I have the three books loosely plotted, I've done some interesting world-building about at least six planets and a contentious interstellar society, and I've even written bits of the first book -- "The Temple of Dust" -- but... Mellury is one of those characters who is nearly impossible to pin down. Which is sort of intentional, since she's meant as a contrast to the other main character (Adam Cooper/Sand/Templar), who is one of the most inflexible people I've ever created, but it makes her very difficult to work with.
...
Someday I must get back to that story.
Best plot you ever wrote?
I don't understand the question. Do you mean the story with the most convolutions, or surprises, or tension, or what? Or do you mean the story where the events fit best with the theme and symbolism and character growth? Or what?
I think "An Ounce of Prevention" is the least episodic of my chaptered stories, though "Paint the Town," which is about the same length, has tighter internal coherence. (This is both because it's a one-shot and because it deals with a much shorter period of time.) On the other hand, "Paint the Town" is all over the place in POV terms, whereas "An Ounce of Prevention" is all Sakura all the time.
Coolest plot twist you ever wrote?
I don't do plot twists. At least, I don't think I do. Do I?
How often do you get writer's block?
This is a false question. The real question is, how often do I give in to writer's block? And the answer to that is, too often, because I am a lazy, self-indulgent bum and I often prefer to read other people's stuff rather than work on my own.
How do you fix it?
I either kick myself through it or wait until I feel more motivated. It depends on whether I have a deadline.
Do you type or write by hand?
Type. Otherwise I can't keep up with my thoughts.
Do you save everything you write?
Well, I save over old drafts, unless I want to hold a longish piece -- a few paragraphs, or a particularly nice sentence -- against possible future use. Those I often snip and put at the end of a file, or in a separate alternate scene file.
I do often save the finished rough draft and the revised final draft as separated files, though. I am fascinated by the revision process.
Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it?
If by 'abandoned' you mean 'left unfinished,' then yes, all the time. A story is generally still alive in my head until it's done. Even ones that I've left for dead have occasionally revived after several years... though this is less common with fanfiction than with original fiction.
What's your favorite thing that you've written?
"Finding Marea" and "The Sun and the Moon." With those, I really feel I hit what I was aiming for. In fanfiction, "Knives" also comes damn close to the Ideal Story that I was chasing -- you know, the shining dream that you never quite get down properly on the page. And I am quite fond of some of my later poetry. *grin*
What's everyone else's favorite thing that you've written?
Either "The Way of the Apartment Manager" or "Definitions of Romance."
Do you ever show people your work?
Only once it's finished (except in special circumstances). When it's finished, I want to show EVERYONE!
Who's your favorite constructive critic?
Vicky (my sister) andlasultrix. I love everyone else who tells me where I'm screwing up, but I've relied on those two the longest.
Did you ever write a novel?
"The Way of the Apartment Manager" is about 74,000 words long, which is nearly half again as long as the NaNoWriMo goal, so... yes. *grin*
Have you ever written fantasy, sci-fi, or horror?
Yes to all three.
Ever written romance or teen angsty drama?
Teen angsty drama, yes. Romance... er, kinda-sorta. I mean, I write stories with love and sex in them, but I have yet to nail traditional genre romance to my own satisfaction.
What's one genre you have never written, and probably never will?
Traditional genre mystery. Also hard sf or proper cyberpunk, because I just do not care that much about technology or computers. Hmm. And contemporary political thrillers; I don't do those either.
How many writing projects are you working on right now?
My list, let me show you:
---------------------------------------------
Current Story List, 7/28/08
---------------------------------------------
Short Stories:
* The Three Sisters (Immish) -- 550
Renunciation -- 1,750
* Harvest (Ekanu) -- 9,250
Diplomacy (Ekanu) -- 1,700
The Painted Sky (Ekanu) -- 1,650
* Small Mysteries (Ekanu) -- 1,900
Chrysanthe -- 2,300
Deliverance -- 2,100
Chains -- 2,400
The Bird Woman of Shajento -- 1,750
The Heart of the Land -- 575
Blessed Are the Meek (Ironheart) -- 1,425
It Is Only a Door (Ironheart) -- 600
Novels:
* A Change of Season -- 21,850
The Lady Is the Tiger -- 2,850
The Sum of Things -- 21,450
Harry Potter:
*** Secrets -- ch. 12 (9,875), 3 more chs.
* New Horizons -- 700
Strange Likenesses -- ch. 6 (325), ?? more chs.
The Dragon Debacle -- 2,325
Naruto:
The Guardian in Spite of Herself -- ch. 13 (1,225), 15 (??) more chs.
Undertow -- 3,750
Angel Sanctuary:
The Transient and the Eternal -- 18 of 30 written; 8 partial; 18 posted
Ephemera -- 5,675
Debts -- ch. 2 (0), 4 more chs.
Enchanted Forest Chronicles:
An Honest Opinion -- 650
A Question of Familiarity -- 1,750
*** The Affairs of Dragons -- outlined
Other:
Lemonade (BtVS/GW/Naruto) -- ch. 15 (1,175), 6-7 more chs.
More or Less the Same (BtVS) -- ch. 5 (400)
Twilight (Strange & Norrell) -- 100
Game Theory (Yu-Gi-Oh!) -- 400
Eyes of Stone (Black Jewels) -- 1,150
Please note that I have left off most of my unfinished original fiction, because otherwise this list would be at least twice as long!
Do you want to write for a living?
No. I would like to write professionally, but I want a more reliable source of income as my 'for a living' job.
Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper?
Only if church newsletters count.
Have you ever won an award for your writing?
Not that I know of.
Ever written something in script or play format?
Yes, for an outreach program in junior high. It was called "Because of Bill," and it was very earnest and preachy and blinkered and stupid, and that's all I'm ever going to tell you about it.
What is your favorite word?
Next question, please!
Do you ever write based on yourself?
To the extent that I check myself to make sure that yes, it does seem possible that a human being might react to such and such a situation in this or that way, given circumstances XYZ and personality traits ABC; and to the extent that all my writing will inevitably reflect my worldview; then yes, of course I write based on myself.
Do I write self-inserts? Not really. Even when I tried -- with Anna Metzger, from "More or Less the Same" -- it didn't work out in practice. Anna decided she wanted to be her own person, took the few cosmetic tweaks I'd given her, and ran with them. By this point, though we share a very similar family background, I don't think anyone would mistake us for each other.
Which of your characters most resembles you?
Anna Metzger, for obvious reasons. Except for the part where she's a vampire and has no conscience. *grin*
Where do you get ideas for your characters?
'Where do you get your ideas?' is the stupidest and most useless question ever. Next question, please!
Do you ever write based on your dreams?
Yes. I often have relatively lucid story-style dreams. Of course, they're still dreams and they need a lot of tweaking to make them conform to waking logic, but they're a lovely jumping-off point. And even if you can't get stories from them, you can often get a vivid image or two.
Do you prefer happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers?
Bittersweet endings.
Have you ever written anything based on an artwork you've seen?
Yes, a few photo prompts for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets.
Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
I'm always concerned about spelling and grammar.
Ever write something entirely in chatspeak?
I didn't write chatspeak even when I was using chat programs.
Does music help you write?
No. It's distracting. Music with words is even worse.
Are people surprised and confused when they find out you write well?
Not that I've noticed.
Quote something you've written.
Here is the beginning of a science fiction story I've been picking at off and on (mostly off) for the past five or six years.
---------------------------------------------
Deliverance
---------------------------------------------
Jenny woke muzzily, fumbling for the travel clock and nearly knocking it off the motel chair. She hated mornings. She particularly hated mornings so early they were still night, when she was stuck on a camp bed in a tiny room with four men. Two of whom snored. Loudly.
She wove her way to the bathroom, stumbling over the instrument cases and electronics, and turned on the light. She left the door open; if she had to suffer, the guys could damn well suffer with her. Jenny propped herself on the counter and stared at her ever-present notepad.
It had been a weird dream, even for her. One of the aliens, a hideous, blue-gray blobby thing, had attacked her parents in their yard, and she'd put out its eyes with a garden rake. It bled rivers, drowning everyone in the neighborhood. What good was its death? And then people had raised their arms to her in supplication and chanted. Chanted two verses of a song, actually, in perfect rhyme and scansion. Odd. Very odd.
Jenny shrugged. Never look a gift song in the face, she reminded herself, and scribbled the verses.
Sister Jenny, we are troubled
And our hearts are sore afraid
Of the monsters in the bubbles
And their never-ending raids
Sister Jenny, you're a woman
Sometimes fallen, sometimes raised
Oh, deliver us from sorrow
And the monsters and their raids!
Looking over the verses, she snorted. "Sore afraid" her left foot. Who said things like that anymore? Definitely one of her weird pieces. It felt right, though; it wanted her to finish it. Fine, then, she'd pick at it, but now she needed to haul the guys out of bed and pack up. They had a ferry to catch, before day came and brought the monsters out to hunt.
---------------------------------------------
The gig was good. They ran through their old hits, a few long jams, and some things they were trying out for the next album. She even squeezed in an acoustic version of 'Desolation' -- Henry was feeling charitable -- and the audience was with her all the way, ready to get quiet and raise their lighters when she asked. They cheered in the right places, sang along when Jenny whipped them up, and danced for hours.
Jenny grinned at Joe as she and Muhammad helped him pack the instruments, the amps, and all the other tour paraphernalia. "Great crowd," she said. "Let's remember this place, hey?"
"So why are you telling me? You know my mind's a sieve," Joe said, smiling back. "Take it up with Henry; he got us the gig."
"You just don't want to admit you pull all our strings," she shot back. "There we go, all done." Slapping Joe's saxophone case, she pushed to her feet and wandered over to Henry, who was directing the club staff as they shifted the equipment out to Muhammad's van.
"Hey, fearless leader," she said, grabbing his shoulder. "Can I steal you for a minute?"
"If you have to. What's on your mind?" Henry waved the staff onward and walked back to the tiny stage. "Nothing wrong, I hope."
Jenny shrugged. "No. I just wanted to make sure you remember this place. It's the best crowd we've had in weeks."
"I'm not stupid, Jen," Henry said, his eyebrows drawing down tight in his patented 'God-give-me-patience' expression. "We did manage for a couple years without you."
Jenny pressed her lips together for a second. Dumb. She wasn't a teacher anymore -- the guys weren't six or seven -- but old habits died hard. "Yeah, but who co-wrote your gold album songs?" she asked, letting her tone take the sting out of the words.
"Okay, you're a genius, whatever." Henry slapped her on the back, casually. Just another one of the boys here, that's all, just another part of the band. "Speaking of which, have you scribbled anything lately?"
Jenny shook her head. "Not since our free week on Venice. I've been piecing out one of those drippy 'I'll die without you' things, but that's about it -- I can't clear my head enough to hear anything new when we're playing the same old shit every night. We don't get enough down time on tour."
"Oh, tell me about it," Henry groaned, running his hands through his thick, dark hair. "I can't wait until we're back on Aberstyth. Fuck this island-hopping!"
"I am so with you."
---------------------------------------------
It was good to be home. She was dead on her feet, but it was good to be home. Jenny dropped her suitcase and bags in the foyer of the two bedroom apartment and knocked on Elena's door. "I'm back," she called. "Just thought I should tell you before I sleep for a week."
The door popped open and Elena Bachz, petite and dark-haired, braced herself against the frame. "Jen? Cool! But I thought your tour was supposed to go another week."
"Travel board cancelled all boats to Judea after the latest attacks, so we said fuck it and came home. Nothing else to do, you know?"
"Oh," Elena said, sagging slightly. "Of course. I should have realized."
Jenny waved a limp hand. "Not your fault. Nobody's fault. Stupid aliens."
"Technically, you know, we're as much aliens as they are," Elena said, slipping out of her room to fetch Jenny's suitcase. Wonderful Elena. "They might even have found Oceanus first, and just been farther away so their colony ships arrived later."
"Don't care," Jenny said, fumbling with her doorknob. "We're here now, we fixed it up our way, and we aren't fucking lab rats or big game or whatever the hell they think we are."
"Lord only knows what they think," Elena said, opening the door and giving Jenny a gentle push toward the bed. "That's why they're aliens, I guess."
"Fucking monsters," Jenny muttered, collapsing over her quilt. "Cut off our tour, make us travel at night, never let me get any sleep until I'm home..."
"That's right, they're doing it all to get you." Elena rolled the suitcase in front of Jenny's closet, and tugged the other woman's shoes off. "Phew, your socks reek."
Jenny snored softly, too close to sleep to bother responding.
Elena grinned. "Someday, I'm going to dye your hair while you're like this, and sell the pictures to some tabloid -- see Jen Argent of Soul Cake Tuesday, now with new punk attitude! You really need to learn to sleep on boats."
She brought the other bags into the bedroom, let herself out, and closed the door.
---------------------------------------------
"Mary Magdalene, Mother of Sorrows, pray for us now and in our hour of need."
Jenny crossed herself and relaxed on the wooden pew, studying the painted woman behind the tray of wavering candles. She might not agree with the dogma of her childhood, she might be furious with the state of the world, and she might not be able to rationally justify herself, but she was fairly certain that something outside the physical world existed, some soul that held things together.
God was as good a name as any for that sense.
But you couldn't deal with something that vast, couldn't comprehend something that paid attention to every atom in the universe. So Jenny prayed to the saints, and mostly to Mary Magdalene, the patron saint of the colony. Most Catholic churches had a Magdalena chapel, and even officially non-denominational people often had an icon or a small shrine somewhere in their houses or apartments.
Oceanus was still harsh and new, even six generations from landing, and while colonists were practical, they weren't above a bit of superstition. These days, since the aliens landed eight years ago, people grabbed whatever safeguards they could.
They were afraid, they were under attack, and they wanted to be delivered.
"Oh, deliver us from sorrow and the monsters and their raids. Sister Jenny, we are troubled and our hearts are sore afraid..."
Jenny shook her head, stopping the murmur of rhythmic words. That damn song wanted to be written, wanted to be born, but she had no idea what came after those two verses. She didn't even have the ghost of a tune for Henry to start playing with. And really, 'Sister Jenny'? She wasn't Catholic anymore, let alone a nun. She was no saint, to be prayed to.
...But Mary Magdalene was.
"Magdalena, we are troubled
And our hearts are sore afraid
Of the monsters in the bubbles
And their never-ending raids.
Magdalena, be thou with us
Sometimes fallen, sometimes raised
Oh, deliver us from sorrow
And the monsters and their raids!"
Yeah. That was it. That was right.
Humming to herself, Jenny lit a candle, nodded to the sad-eyed painting, and walked into the twilit air of Stowe-on-Aberstyth. She had rehearsal with the boys in an hour, and she probably ought to eat something first.
---------------------------------------------
"Have you heard, Jen?" Muhammad asked as she walked into his soundproofed basement studio, fitting her flute together for the rehearsal.
"Heard what? Brian has another new girl?" Brian flipped her the bird without bothering to look up from his keyboard.
Muhammad shook his head, dark eyes gleaming with excitement. "No -- they caught a troupe of the aliens down in the Fire Islands -- on Fuego, I think. Or maybe Hino. They were out hunting, and someone shot down their skimmer. It landed in a town and the people caught them before they could radio for help or self-destruct the machine. We caught them, Jen! Didn't just kill them, we caught them."
Jenny leaned against the tiled wall in shock, flute sliding loosely through her hand until a key snagged on her fingers. "You're kidding."
"Strange as it may seem for Muhammad to be serious, he's telling the truth," Henry put in from his stool, for once not noodling on his guitar or making notations on his music sheets. "It was on the news just now -- the Fire Island Authority chairwoman confirmed the capture, and the aliens are being shipped to Canaan on Judea for study." He grinned, teeth shining white against his close-cropped beard. "This time, we get to dissect them."
Jenny closed her eyes. "Dissection."
"Yes," said Henry. "An eye for an eye, isn't that how it goes? And when we figure out what makes them tick, we can go after the bubbles and exterminate them like the fucking animals they are. Extinction, end of the line, no second chances." His voice slashed through the soundproofed room like a dissonant chord.
"Jesus, Henry. Don't talk dirty," Brian said after a moment.
Henry blew air through loose lips, dismissing objections. "Sanitizing a viral outbreak, then -- whatever. The point is that we're not running anymore. Now we can turn around and hunt them like rabbits."
"Hunting," said Jenny, staring at the backs of her eyelids. "My God, Henry, they're alien monsters, but they're still people. They think, they talk, they invented starflight, just like us. Maybe they're all sociopaths or maybe they just can't see that we're the same as they are, but that doesn't give us any right to sink to their level! We're supposed to be better than that."
"And the bleeding heart strikes again," Joe muttered, tuning his bass. "Not everything in the universe needs you to feel its pain, Jen."
"That's not what I meant and you know it. It's a matter of decency, of basic ethics, that's all. What I feel about the aliens has nothing to do with it," Jenny said. "They could kill my parents in front of me and it still wouldn't change what's right and what's wrong."
"That's awfully cold, Jen," said Muhammad, but he smiled to show it wasn't meant as harshly as it might sound. "Come on, lighten up -- all we know is that somebody's going to study them. Nobody said Henry's right about how the scientists are going to try figuring the monsters out. Now can we stop arguing and start rehearsal?" He twirled his drumsticks in one hand and clicked the high-hat by way of punctuation.
Jenny and Henry glanced at each other; after a second, Henry shrugged. "Whatever. Let's start with 'Lucky That Way' -- I have a couple thoughts on mixing it up for live performances -- and move on to the stuff Jen and I wrote during the tour. We only have two songs so far, and they each need some serious kinks worked out, but I'd like to have a new album ready within six months. The planet's trending away from bubblegum pop and we should take advantage."
Jenny set her flute on its stand, grabbed a cordless microphone, and got ready to sing.
---------------------------------------------
To be continued...
and stolen fromchibirisuchan:
Quote something from one of my stories at me. (What are the quotes or scenes that were the most memorable to you?)
askerian and chibirisuchan:What's the last thing you wrote?
This, from "New Horizons," a canon-compliant, post-epilogue Ginny/Harry/Draco story that I'm writing for
askerian:The Hotel Delphi -- a stupid, pretentious name if he'd ever heard one -- perched on a cliff right over picturesque azure water and a strip of white, pebbled shore. The rooms were spacious and bright, with comfortable beds, wide windows, and generous balconies. The sheets were satin-soft, the pillows shaped themselves to his head, and the house elves flitted in and out to bring him new alcohol with only the barest pops of displaced air. It was perfect.
Draco knocked back another shot of vodka and wished he were dead.
"'Go to Greece and have fun,' Pansy says," he muttered, flipping the empty shot glass from hand to hand. "Iris bloody left me. Left me! How is that, in any stretch of any idiot's imagination, conducive to fun?"
He threw the glass out the balcony door and over the rail; it crashed, musically, on the rocks below.
"Look out below!" he called, belatedly. Then he snapped his fingers. "Elf! I need an elf."
Was it any good?
I dunno, you tell me. *grin*
What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?
*digs through old folders* This writing exercise, from first grade. I'm not sure if I was six or seven; the paper isn't dated.
My leprechaun's name is Leppie. He is cute, sly, and quick. He can do magic.
One day Leppie was going to check on his gold when he heard a boy coming towards him. then he tried to get away but the boy caught him. So he offered him a pinch of snuff and the boy sneezed. he checked on his gold and it ws safe.
All typos are faithfully reproduced. I'm not sure what the underlining was about.
Write poetry?
Not for a couple years now, but I used to. I wrote very bad doggerel when I was young, which shifted to bad and soppy free verse in middle school. (I wanted to be 'poetic' and I had no idea how to end anything, or manage the tension between story and imagery.) I think some of my poetry from late high school and college holds up reasonably well, though my more religious pieces still tended to be a bit... overwrought and/or excessively personal in their imagery, such that they made no damn sense to anyone but me.
Angsty poetry?
Not anymore!
Most fun character you ever wrote?
I don't know. I don't categorize characters like that. I will say that Duo Maxwell in "Lemonade" and Kakashi in "The Way of the Apartment Manager" more or less wrote themselves, which is nice for me as a writer. Tom Riddle tends to write himself as well, but I don't think any readers would find him very fun.
Most annoying character you ever wrote?
Annoying to me or annoying to the reader? To the reader, I think it's a toss-up between Naruto and Colin Creevey.
To me... I think Ginny Weasley in "Secrets," or various people in original fiction. Probably Mellury du Treviez, from a space opera/sci-fi/fantasy trilogy I never got very far on. I have the three books loosely plotted, I've done some interesting world-building about at least six planets and a contentious interstellar society, and I've even written bits of the first book -- "The Temple of Dust" -- but... Mellury is one of those characters who is nearly impossible to pin down. Which is sort of intentional, since she's meant as a contrast to the other main character (Adam Cooper/Sand/Templar), who is one of the most inflexible people I've ever created, but it makes her very difficult to work with.
...
Someday I must get back to that story.
Best plot you ever wrote?
I don't understand the question. Do you mean the story with the most convolutions, or surprises, or tension, or what? Or do you mean the story where the events fit best with the theme and symbolism and character growth? Or what?
I think "An Ounce of Prevention" is the least episodic of my chaptered stories, though "Paint the Town," which is about the same length, has tighter internal coherence. (This is both because it's a one-shot and because it deals with a much shorter period of time.) On the other hand, "Paint the Town" is all over the place in POV terms, whereas "An Ounce of Prevention" is all Sakura all the time.
Coolest plot twist you ever wrote?
I don't do plot twists. At least, I don't think I do. Do I?
How often do you get writer's block?
This is a false question. The real question is, how often do I give in to writer's block? And the answer to that is, too often, because I am a lazy, self-indulgent bum and I often prefer to read other people's stuff rather than work on my own.
How do you fix it?
I either kick myself through it or wait until I feel more motivated. It depends on whether I have a deadline.
Do you type or write by hand?
Type. Otherwise I can't keep up with my thoughts.
Do you save everything you write?
Well, I save over old drafts, unless I want to hold a longish piece -- a few paragraphs, or a particularly nice sentence -- against possible future use. Those I often snip and put at the end of a file, or in a separate alternate scene file.
I do often save the finished rough draft and the revised final draft as separated files, though. I am fascinated by the revision process.
Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it?
If by 'abandoned' you mean 'left unfinished,' then yes, all the time. A story is generally still alive in my head until it's done. Even ones that I've left for dead have occasionally revived after several years... though this is less common with fanfiction than with original fiction.
What's your favorite thing that you've written?
"Finding Marea" and "The Sun and the Moon." With those, I really feel I hit what I was aiming for. In fanfiction, "Knives" also comes damn close to the Ideal Story that I was chasing -- you know, the shining dream that you never quite get down properly on the page. And I am quite fond of some of my later poetry. *grin*
What's everyone else's favorite thing that you've written?
Either "The Way of the Apartment Manager" or "Definitions of Romance."
Do you ever show people your work?
Only once it's finished (except in special circumstances). When it's finished, I want to show EVERYONE!
Who's your favorite constructive critic?
Vicky (my sister) and
lasultrix. I love everyone else who tells me where I'm screwing up, but I've relied on those two the longest.Did you ever write a novel?
"The Way of the Apartment Manager" is about 74,000 words long, which is nearly half again as long as the NaNoWriMo goal, so... yes. *grin*
Have you ever written fantasy, sci-fi, or horror?
Yes to all three.
Ever written romance or teen angsty drama?
Teen angsty drama, yes. Romance... er, kinda-sorta. I mean, I write stories with love and sex in them, but I have yet to nail traditional genre romance to my own satisfaction.
What's one genre you have never written, and probably never will?
Traditional genre mystery. Also hard sf or proper cyberpunk, because I just do not care that much about technology or computers. Hmm. And contemporary political thrillers; I don't do those either.
How many writing projects are you working on right now?
My list, let me show you:
---------------------------------------------
Current Story List, 7/28/08
---------------------------------------------
Short Stories:
* The Three Sisters (Immish) -- 550
Renunciation -- 1,750
* Harvest (Ekanu) -- 9,250
Diplomacy (Ekanu) -- 1,700
The Painted Sky (Ekanu) -- 1,650
* Small Mysteries (Ekanu) -- 1,900
Chrysanthe -- 2,300
Deliverance -- 2,100
Chains -- 2,400
The Bird Woman of Shajento -- 1,750
The Heart of the Land -- 575
Blessed Are the Meek (Ironheart) -- 1,425
It Is Only a Door (Ironheart) -- 600
Novels:
* A Change of Season -- 21,850
The Lady Is the Tiger -- 2,850
The Sum of Things -- 21,450
Harry Potter:
*** Secrets -- ch. 12 (9,875), 3 more chs.
* New Horizons -- 700
Strange Likenesses -- ch. 6 (325), ?? more chs.
The Dragon Debacle -- 2,325
Naruto:
The Guardian in Spite of Herself -- ch. 13 (1,225), 15 (??) more chs.
Undertow -- 3,750
Angel Sanctuary:
The Transient and the Eternal -- 18 of 30 written; 8 partial; 18 posted
Ephemera -- 5,675
Debts -- ch. 2 (0), 4 more chs.
Enchanted Forest Chronicles:
An Honest Opinion -- 650
A Question of Familiarity -- 1,750
*** The Affairs of Dragons -- outlined
Other:
Lemonade (BtVS/GW/Naruto) -- ch. 15 (1,175), 6-7 more chs.
More or Less the Same (BtVS) -- ch. 5 (400)
Twilight (Strange & Norrell) -- 100
Game Theory (Yu-Gi-Oh!) -- 400
Eyes of Stone (Black Jewels) -- 1,150
Please note that I have left off most of my unfinished original fiction, because otherwise this list would be at least twice as long!
Do you want to write for a living?
No. I would like to write professionally, but I want a more reliable source of income as my 'for a living' job.
Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper?
Only if church newsletters count.
Have you ever won an award for your writing?
Not that I know of.
Ever written something in script or play format?
Yes, for an outreach program in junior high. It was called "Because of Bill," and it was very earnest and preachy and blinkered and stupid, and that's all I'm ever going to tell you about it.
What is your favorite word?
Next question, please!
Do you ever write based on yourself?
To the extent that I check myself to make sure that yes, it does seem possible that a human being might react to such and such a situation in this or that way, given circumstances XYZ and personality traits ABC; and to the extent that all my writing will inevitably reflect my worldview; then yes, of course I write based on myself.
Do I write self-inserts? Not really. Even when I tried -- with Anna Metzger, from "More or Less the Same" -- it didn't work out in practice. Anna decided she wanted to be her own person, took the few cosmetic tweaks I'd given her, and ran with them. By this point, though we share a very similar family background, I don't think anyone would mistake us for each other.
Which of your characters most resembles you?
Anna Metzger, for obvious reasons. Except for the part where she's a vampire and has no conscience. *grin*
Where do you get ideas for your characters?
'Where do you get your ideas?' is the stupidest and most useless question ever. Next question, please!
Do you ever write based on your dreams?
Yes. I often have relatively lucid story-style dreams. Of course, they're still dreams and they need a lot of tweaking to make them conform to waking logic, but they're a lovely jumping-off point. And even if you can't get stories from them, you can often get a vivid image or two.
Do you prefer happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers?
Bittersweet endings.
Have you ever written anything based on an artwork you've seen?
Yes, a few photo prompts for
15minuteficlets.Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
I'm always concerned about spelling and grammar.
Ever write something entirely in chatspeak?
I didn't write chatspeak even when I was using chat programs.
Does music help you write?
No. It's distracting. Music with words is even worse.
Are people surprised and confused when they find out you write well?
Not that I've noticed.
Quote something you've written.
Here is the beginning of a science fiction story I've been picking at off and on (mostly off) for the past five or six years.
---------------------------------------------
Deliverance
---------------------------------------------
Jenny woke muzzily, fumbling for the travel clock and nearly knocking it off the motel chair. She hated mornings. She particularly hated mornings so early they were still night, when she was stuck on a camp bed in a tiny room with four men. Two of whom snored. Loudly.
She wove her way to the bathroom, stumbling over the instrument cases and electronics, and turned on the light. She left the door open; if she had to suffer, the guys could damn well suffer with her. Jenny propped herself on the counter and stared at her ever-present notepad.
It had been a weird dream, even for her. One of the aliens, a hideous, blue-gray blobby thing, had attacked her parents in their yard, and she'd put out its eyes with a garden rake. It bled rivers, drowning everyone in the neighborhood. What good was its death? And then people had raised their arms to her in supplication and chanted. Chanted two verses of a song, actually, in perfect rhyme and scansion. Odd. Very odd.
Jenny shrugged. Never look a gift song in the face, she reminded herself, and scribbled the verses.
Sister Jenny, we are troubled
And our hearts are sore afraid
Of the monsters in the bubbles
And their never-ending raids
Sister Jenny, you're a woman
Sometimes fallen, sometimes raised
Oh, deliver us from sorrow
And the monsters and their raids!
Looking over the verses, she snorted. "Sore afraid" her left foot. Who said things like that anymore? Definitely one of her weird pieces. It felt right, though; it wanted her to finish it. Fine, then, she'd pick at it, but now she needed to haul the guys out of bed and pack up. They had a ferry to catch, before day came and brought the monsters out to hunt.
---------------------------------------------
The gig was good. They ran through their old hits, a few long jams, and some things they were trying out for the next album. She even squeezed in an acoustic version of 'Desolation' -- Henry was feeling charitable -- and the audience was with her all the way, ready to get quiet and raise their lighters when she asked. They cheered in the right places, sang along when Jenny whipped them up, and danced for hours.
Jenny grinned at Joe as she and Muhammad helped him pack the instruments, the amps, and all the other tour paraphernalia. "Great crowd," she said. "Let's remember this place, hey?"
"So why are you telling me? You know my mind's a sieve," Joe said, smiling back. "Take it up with Henry; he got us the gig."
"You just don't want to admit you pull all our strings," she shot back. "There we go, all done." Slapping Joe's saxophone case, she pushed to her feet and wandered over to Henry, who was directing the club staff as they shifted the equipment out to Muhammad's van.
"Hey, fearless leader," she said, grabbing his shoulder. "Can I steal you for a minute?"
"If you have to. What's on your mind?" Henry waved the staff onward and walked back to the tiny stage. "Nothing wrong, I hope."
Jenny shrugged. "No. I just wanted to make sure you remember this place. It's the best crowd we've had in weeks."
"I'm not stupid, Jen," Henry said, his eyebrows drawing down tight in his patented 'God-give-me-patience' expression. "We did manage for a couple years without you."
Jenny pressed her lips together for a second. Dumb. She wasn't a teacher anymore -- the guys weren't six or seven -- but old habits died hard. "Yeah, but who co-wrote your gold album songs?" she asked, letting her tone take the sting out of the words.
"Okay, you're a genius, whatever." Henry slapped her on the back, casually. Just another one of the boys here, that's all, just another part of the band. "Speaking of which, have you scribbled anything lately?"
Jenny shook her head. "Not since our free week on Venice. I've been piecing out one of those drippy 'I'll die without you' things, but that's about it -- I can't clear my head enough to hear anything new when we're playing the same old shit every night. We don't get enough down time on tour."
"Oh, tell me about it," Henry groaned, running his hands through his thick, dark hair. "I can't wait until we're back on Aberstyth. Fuck this island-hopping!"
"I am so with you."
---------------------------------------------
It was good to be home. She was dead on her feet, but it was good to be home. Jenny dropped her suitcase and bags in the foyer of the two bedroom apartment and knocked on Elena's door. "I'm back," she called. "Just thought I should tell you before I sleep for a week."
The door popped open and Elena Bachz, petite and dark-haired, braced herself against the frame. "Jen? Cool! But I thought your tour was supposed to go another week."
"Travel board cancelled all boats to Judea after the latest attacks, so we said fuck it and came home. Nothing else to do, you know?"
"Oh," Elena said, sagging slightly. "Of course. I should have realized."
Jenny waved a limp hand. "Not your fault. Nobody's fault. Stupid aliens."
"Technically, you know, we're as much aliens as they are," Elena said, slipping out of her room to fetch Jenny's suitcase. Wonderful Elena. "They might even have found Oceanus first, and just been farther away so their colony ships arrived later."
"Don't care," Jenny said, fumbling with her doorknob. "We're here now, we fixed it up our way, and we aren't fucking lab rats or big game or whatever the hell they think we are."
"Lord only knows what they think," Elena said, opening the door and giving Jenny a gentle push toward the bed. "That's why they're aliens, I guess."
"Fucking monsters," Jenny muttered, collapsing over her quilt. "Cut off our tour, make us travel at night, never let me get any sleep until I'm home..."
"That's right, they're doing it all to get you." Elena rolled the suitcase in front of Jenny's closet, and tugged the other woman's shoes off. "Phew, your socks reek."
Jenny snored softly, too close to sleep to bother responding.
Elena grinned. "Someday, I'm going to dye your hair while you're like this, and sell the pictures to some tabloid -- see Jen Argent of Soul Cake Tuesday, now with new punk attitude! You really need to learn to sleep on boats."
She brought the other bags into the bedroom, let herself out, and closed the door.
---------------------------------------------
"Mary Magdalene, Mother of Sorrows, pray for us now and in our hour of need."
Jenny crossed herself and relaxed on the wooden pew, studying the painted woman behind the tray of wavering candles. She might not agree with the dogma of her childhood, she might be furious with the state of the world, and she might not be able to rationally justify herself, but she was fairly certain that something outside the physical world existed, some soul that held things together.
God was as good a name as any for that sense.
But you couldn't deal with something that vast, couldn't comprehend something that paid attention to every atom in the universe. So Jenny prayed to the saints, and mostly to Mary Magdalene, the patron saint of the colony. Most Catholic churches had a Magdalena chapel, and even officially non-denominational people often had an icon or a small shrine somewhere in their houses or apartments.
Oceanus was still harsh and new, even six generations from landing, and while colonists were practical, they weren't above a bit of superstition. These days, since the aliens landed eight years ago, people grabbed whatever safeguards they could.
They were afraid, they were under attack, and they wanted to be delivered.
"Oh, deliver us from sorrow and the monsters and their raids. Sister Jenny, we are troubled and our hearts are sore afraid..."
Jenny shook her head, stopping the murmur of rhythmic words. That damn song wanted to be written, wanted to be born, but she had no idea what came after those two verses. She didn't even have the ghost of a tune for Henry to start playing with. And really, 'Sister Jenny'? She wasn't Catholic anymore, let alone a nun. She was no saint, to be prayed to.
...But Mary Magdalene was.
"Magdalena, we are troubled
And our hearts are sore afraid
Of the monsters in the bubbles
And their never-ending raids.
Magdalena, be thou with us
Sometimes fallen, sometimes raised
Oh, deliver us from sorrow
And the monsters and their raids!"
Yeah. That was it. That was right.
Humming to herself, Jenny lit a candle, nodded to the sad-eyed painting, and walked into the twilit air of Stowe-on-Aberstyth. She had rehearsal with the boys in an hour, and she probably ought to eat something first.
---------------------------------------------
"Have you heard, Jen?" Muhammad asked as she walked into his soundproofed basement studio, fitting her flute together for the rehearsal.
"Heard what? Brian has another new girl?" Brian flipped her the bird without bothering to look up from his keyboard.
Muhammad shook his head, dark eyes gleaming with excitement. "No -- they caught a troupe of the aliens down in the Fire Islands -- on Fuego, I think. Or maybe Hino. They were out hunting, and someone shot down their skimmer. It landed in a town and the people caught them before they could radio for help or self-destruct the machine. We caught them, Jen! Didn't just kill them, we caught them."
Jenny leaned against the tiled wall in shock, flute sliding loosely through her hand until a key snagged on her fingers. "You're kidding."
"Strange as it may seem for Muhammad to be serious, he's telling the truth," Henry put in from his stool, for once not noodling on his guitar or making notations on his music sheets. "It was on the news just now -- the Fire Island Authority chairwoman confirmed the capture, and the aliens are being shipped to Canaan on Judea for study." He grinned, teeth shining white against his close-cropped beard. "This time, we get to dissect them."
Jenny closed her eyes. "Dissection."
"Yes," said Henry. "An eye for an eye, isn't that how it goes? And when we figure out what makes them tick, we can go after the bubbles and exterminate them like the fucking animals they are. Extinction, end of the line, no second chances." His voice slashed through the soundproofed room like a dissonant chord.
"Jesus, Henry. Don't talk dirty," Brian said after a moment.
Henry blew air through loose lips, dismissing objections. "Sanitizing a viral outbreak, then -- whatever. The point is that we're not running anymore. Now we can turn around and hunt them like rabbits."
"Hunting," said Jenny, staring at the backs of her eyelids. "My God, Henry, they're alien monsters, but they're still people. They think, they talk, they invented starflight, just like us. Maybe they're all sociopaths or maybe they just can't see that we're the same as they are, but that doesn't give us any right to sink to their level! We're supposed to be better than that."
"And the bleeding heart strikes again," Joe muttered, tuning his bass. "Not everything in the universe needs you to feel its pain, Jen."
"That's not what I meant and you know it. It's a matter of decency, of basic ethics, that's all. What I feel about the aliens has nothing to do with it," Jenny said. "They could kill my parents in front of me and it still wouldn't change what's right and what's wrong."
"That's awfully cold, Jen," said Muhammad, but he smiled to show it wasn't meant as harshly as it might sound. "Come on, lighten up -- all we know is that somebody's going to study them. Nobody said Henry's right about how the scientists are going to try figuring the monsters out. Now can we stop arguing and start rehearsal?" He twirled his drumsticks in one hand and clicked the high-hat by way of punctuation.
Jenny and Henry glanced at each other; after a second, Henry shrugged. "Whatever. Let's start with 'Lucky That Way' -- I have a couple thoughts on mixing it up for live performances -- and move on to the stuff Jen and I wrote during the tour. We only have two songs so far, and they each need some serious kinks worked out, but I'd like to have a new album ready within six months. The planet's trending away from bubblegum pop and we should take advantage."
Jenny set her flute on its stand, grabbed a cordless microphone, and got ready to sing.
---------------------------------------------
To be continued...
and stolen from
chibirisuchan:Quote something from one of my stories at me. (What are the quotes or scenes that were the most memorable to you?)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-29 04:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-30 03:41 am (UTC)On the other hand, Kakashi mostly wrote himself, which means something in my subconscious glommed onto him with both hands, and the minute I had the initial idea for "Lemonade" it began to feel inevitable rather than a pipe dream, so... maybe they're more characteristic than I think they are. *shrug*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-29 08:31 pm (UTC)but when it comes to yoru hp character scketches. i wouldnt'evne be able to choose. it's jsuthat-oen was the first springingto mind now and it brought back the thought of 'hey i haven't read that in ages, where is that?"
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-30 03:45 am (UTC)I should find another community like
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-30 12:18 pm (UTC)and yes i did get confused after that. at oen poitn i went so faras to wonder if ou had ritten it or someone else...