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edenfalling"Drought" is a failed attempt at writing a ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
femgenficathon story -- I say 'failed' not because I think it's a bad story, but because it's only 650 words long, well short of the minimum length. It also doesn't quite fit the quote I'm working with.
Anyway. Temari backstory, in the vaguely pretentious faux-poetic style I seem to fall into when doing character studies, complete with heavy-handed symbolism. *sigh* I wish that weren't such an integral part of my 'voice' as a writer, but it keeps turning up over and over, and by this point I'm mostly resigned to it.
(Cross-posted here on ff.net.)
---------------------------------------------
Drought
---------------------------------------------
Flowers are an extravagance in Suna.
Temari's mother gardens anyway. She grows flowers beside her medicinal herbs, hangs decorative plants in the upstairs windows, and keeps a vase on the kitchen table, filled with a new bouquet each week. Temari's father complains about the waste of water, but he hides a smile in the corners of his eyes and Temari knows he loves the flowers because they make her mother happy. The garden is a splash of color against monotone sandstone walls and undyed cotton robes, a gesture of defiance against wind and sun and sand. If it were easy to grow flowers in Suna, there wouldn't be any point.
When Kankuro is born, Temari's father cuts a bouquet of roses and lets her carry them to the hospital. Her mother smiles and kisses her, and shows her the baby. Kankuro is wrinkled and red-faced, bald and ugly, but Temari promises to love him and protect him anyway. He's her little brother. It's an easy promise.
"Good girl," her mother says.
When Gaara is born, Temari's mother dies. Her blood gushes out and all the medic-nin in the village can't save her. There's no point in visiting the hospital. There's no point in cutting roses.
Her father brings her new little brother home, sets his cradle on the kitchen table, and slumps in a chair, drinking cup after cup of sake. Temari and Kankuro watch, silently, waiting. After a while, the baby starts crying. Sand curls up from his cradle and reaches toward the vase of flowers.
Temari's father pulls the vase away. "I gave her life to you, demon," he says. "Isn't that enough? Isn't it? You don't get anything else of hers! You don't get anything more!"
He smashes the vase on the kitchen floor. Then he walks upstairs, and Temari hears the smash of potted plants falling to the dusty, sun-baked street.
Gaara is still crying.
Kankuro clambers upstairs to watch their father. Temari picks up the big pieces of glass, careful not to cut her fingers. She picks up the fallen leaves and stems. She blots the water with a dishtowel, and sweeps the little pieces of glass into the dustbin.
Upstairs, her father yells at Kankuro. A door slams, and then a window. Kankuro wobbles downstairs and out the back door to the garden. For a moment Temari sees her father silhouetted against the stone wall, pulling herbs and flowers up by the roots. Then Kankuro closes the door.
Temari climbs up on a chair and looks down at her new little brother, who killed her mother. His eyes are pale green and his short, fine hair is red, a splash of color like roses... or like blood and bile and death.
In mid-wail, he stops to catch his breath, and blinks. His huge, cloudy eyes fix on her face. Sand curls up toward her, mimicking the flailing of his tiny, pudgy arm.
Sand brushes Temari's fingers, wraps around her palm, tickles her wrist, and Gaara smiles. When his face isn't crumpled from screaming, he's beautiful, not ugly like Kankuro was. She can see her mother in the shape of his eyes and the color of his hair.
"You took the flowers away," Temari says, as she touches Gaara's forehead, feeling the soft, fragile bone underneath. He took her mother away, and he's taking her father too. Maybe she should love him anyway -- she thinks that's what her mother would want -- but she can't. It's not easy, and she's not strong enough.
She'll protect him. That will have to do.
Outside, wind moans around the house, hurling fine-grained sand against the closed panes of the window. Her father curses, and Kankuro's voice rises in a plaintive wail. Temari shakes sand from her fingers and steps off the chair.
Gaara begins to cry again. Temari turns away.
Love is an extravagance in Suna.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
---------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, back in real life...
1. Ardis is doing well. The move to a specialist hospital went well, my dad arrived, and Vicky should be home by Friday. With a bit of luck, Dad and Ardis will be home by Monday, though their schedule is still uncertain.
2. I got a haircut. It's very nice not to have my bangs flopping into my eyes!
3. A couple days ago, my coworker JE was heckled by a group of teenagers. They slowed down as they drove past her and called out, "Ma'am, ma'am, you've dropped something! It's something bright!" She stopped and looked, and they said, "You dropped your smile!" and laughed like hyenas. She was not amused.
Today that same group of idiots did the exact same song and dance to me.
I despise people who tell me to smile. It is sexism. Nobody does that to boys or men, just to girls and women. Because we have to be pretty, and we have to be cheerful, and we have to put up with fucking idiots like that and not loose our tempers, because that's not ladylike, and it's "not fair, we were only trying to cheer you up, can't you take a joke?" I hated my middle school gym teacher when he did that to me. I hated my orthodontist when he did that to me (and called me 'sweetie' even after I asked him to use my name). I am severely uncomfortable around the customer who, although otherwise nice, constantly tells me to cheer up and smile.
I have the right to be in a bad mood. I can put a frown or a neutral expression on my "pretty face." I am a real person, not a smiling plastic doll.
...
May they all rot in hell.
femgenficathon story -- I say 'failed' not because I think it's a bad story, but because it's only 650 words long, well short of the minimum length. It also doesn't quite fit the quote I'm working with.Anyway. Temari backstory, in the vaguely pretentious faux-poetic style I seem to fall into when doing character studies, complete with heavy-handed symbolism. *sigh* I wish that weren't such an integral part of my 'voice' as a writer, but it keeps turning up over and over, and by this point I'm mostly resigned to it.
(Cross-posted here on ff.net.)
---------------------------------------------
Drought
---------------------------------------------
Flowers are an extravagance in Suna.
Temari's mother gardens anyway. She grows flowers beside her medicinal herbs, hangs decorative plants in the upstairs windows, and keeps a vase on the kitchen table, filled with a new bouquet each week. Temari's father complains about the waste of water, but he hides a smile in the corners of his eyes and Temari knows he loves the flowers because they make her mother happy. The garden is a splash of color against monotone sandstone walls and undyed cotton robes, a gesture of defiance against wind and sun and sand. If it were easy to grow flowers in Suna, there wouldn't be any point.
When Kankuro is born, Temari's father cuts a bouquet of roses and lets her carry them to the hospital. Her mother smiles and kisses her, and shows her the baby. Kankuro is wrinkled and red-faced, bald and ugly, but Temari promises to love him and protect him anyway. He's her little brother. It's an easy promise.
"Good girl," her mother says.
When Gaara is born, Temari's mother dies. Her blood gushes out and all the medic-nin in the village can't save her. There's no point in visiting the hospital. There's no point in cutting roses.
Her father brings her new little brother home, sets his cradle on the kitchen table, and slumps in a chair, drinking cup after cup of sake. Temari and Kankuro watch, silently, waiting. After a while, the baby starts crying. Sand curls up from his cradle and reaches toward the vase of flowers.
Temari's father pulls the vase away. "I gave her life to you, demon," he says. "Isn't that enough? Isn't it? You don't get anything else of hers! You don't get anything more!"
He smashes the vase on the kitchen floor. Then he walks upstairs, and Temari hears the smash of potted plants falling to the dusty, sun-baked street.
Gaara is still crying.
Kankuro clambers upstairs to watch their father. Temari picks up the big pieces of glass, careful not to cut her fingers. She picks up the fallen leaves and stems. She blots the water with a dishtowel, and sweeps the little pieces of glass into the dustbin.
Upstairs, her father yells at Kankuro. A door slams, and then a window. Kankuro wobbles downstairs and out the back door to the garden. For a moment Temari sees her father silhouetted against the stone wall, pulling herbs and flowers up by the roots. Then Kankuro closes the door.
Temari climbs up on a chair and looks down at her new little brother, who killed her mother. His eyes are pale green and his short, fine hair is red, a splash of color like roses... or like blood and bile and death.
In mid-wail, he stops to catch his breath, and blinks. His huge, cloudy eyes fix on her face. Sand curls up toward her, mimicking the flailing of his tiny, pudgy arm.
Sand brushes Temari's fingers, wraps around her palm, tickles her wrist, and Gaara smiles. When his face isn't crumpled from screaming, he's beautiful, not ugly like Kankuro was. She can see her mother in the shape of his eyes and the color of his hair.
"You took the flowers away," Temari says, as she touches Gaara's forehead, feeling the soft, fragile bone underneath. He took her mother away, and he's taking her father too. Maybe she should love him anyway -- she thinks that's what her mother would want -- but she can't. It's not easy, and she's not strong enough.
She'll protect him. That will have to do.
Outside, wind moans around the house, hurling fine-grained sand against the closed panes of the window. Her father curses, and Kankuro's voice rises in a plaintive wail. Temari shakes sand from her fingers and steps off the chair.
Gaara begins to cry again. Temari turns away.
Love is an extravagance in Suna.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
---------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, back in real life...
1. Ardis is doing well. The move to a specialist hospital went well, my dad arrived, and Vicky should be home by Friday. With a bit of luck, Dad and Ardis will be home by Monday, though their schedule is still uncertain.
2. I got a haircut. It's very nice not to have my bangs flopping into my eyes!
3. A couple days ago, my coworker JE was heckled by a group of teenagers. They slowed down as they drove past her and called out, "Ma'am, ma'am, you've dropped something! It's something bright!" She stopped and looked, and they said, "You dropped your smile!" and laughed like hyenas. She was not amused.
Today that same group of idiots did the exact same song and dance to me.
I despise people who tell me to smile. It is sexism. Nobody does that to boys or men, just to girls and women. Because we have to be pretty, and we have to be cheerful, and we have to put up with fucking idiots like that and not loose our tempers, because that's not ladylike, and it's "not fair, we were only trying to cheer you up, can't you take a joke?" I hated my middle school gym teacher when he did that to me. I hated my orthodontist when he did that to me (and called me 'sweetie' even after I asked him to use my name). I am severely uncomfortable around the customer who, although otherwise nice, constantly tells me to cheer up and smile.
I have the right to be in a bad mood. I can put a frown or a neutral expression on my "pretty face." I am a real person, not a smiling plastic doll.
...
May they all rot in hell.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 07:51 pm (UTC)One thing though. XD "as she touches the raw, bruised tattoo on Gaara's forehead." Gaara didn't have that mark until after Yashamaru betrayed him, when he managed to make the sand do it for him. Before that, I'm pretty sure he was entirely scar-free.
As for those guys, if they do it again, you should throw something at their heads. Perhaps mud or something like that. >_> I think like you, it's so goddamn annoying and patronizing. We'll smile when we feel like smiling, assholes. Now stop it with your well-meaning nosiness. ~__~
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 08:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 10:23 pm (UTC)--Willowgreen, currently sitting in the aiport in Portland, Maine
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 10:40 pm (UTC)The trick is learning how to do a good psychotic smile...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 11:04 pm (UTC)Maybe they think that saying "You're pretty" is enough of a compliment to soften the 'play by gender appearance stereotypes, OR ELSE' implications of their words, but it's really, really not, especially since "You're pretty" is also part of that same set of gender stereotypes.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 11:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 11:14 pm (UTC)...
May they all rot in hell.
Oh my God. We shared days today.
Thank you for taking my side. *headdesk*
I'm going to come back and read your fic when I'm in a better mood, because I anticipate enjoying it and I would like to. :)
Thanks.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-16 11:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 06:06 am (UTC)Though... never by a pack of teenagers from the back of a car, and not as part of a retarded pick-up line. Those are new ones.
-- Guile
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-18 11:09 pm (UTC)It's still really, really rude and annoying, though. *grumble*
(I am of two minds about pickup lines and people hitting on me from their cars. On the one hand, it's nice to know I look good. On the other (and weightier) hand, it's tacky, and wolf whistles from the open window of a car don't happen because people like me; they just like my body. *sigh*)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-20 09:11 pm (UTC)And I finally got the chance to read the fic. I liked it very much. I thought you did an excellent job capturing Temari's grief, but also the strength that is so evident in her.
She'll protect him. That will have to do.
This line was chilling. Especially in light of what Gaara becomes.
I think the fic is very good.
I'm still trying to finish up my fic for the ficathon. I'm jealous you're done. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-21 08:32 pm (UTC)And I only wish I were done with my femgenficathon story. I have four failed attempts so far (with four different characters in four different fandoms, even -- I am indecisive like an indecisive thing), and "Drought" is the only one of those that made it to completion. The others just suck, and are not going anywhere. This one, I like; it's just not long enough. I'd need to add 350 words, and there's nowhere to put them without padding the story and losing any impact it has. :-(
I'm going to keep trying next week. I can usually write pretty fast when I have enough motivation (ie, a deadline), so I'm not too worried about having something done by mid-August. :-)