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Feb. 17th, 2007 01:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lenora_roseSo, I was supposed to buckle down as of Wednesday and work on my essay in earnest.
Which is why I got to write the scene where Ketan discovers that he's been sleeping right next to a dessicated corpse for some days running.
I knew this character was stoic. But really, would your reaction be to give the corpse your blanket, too, because he clearly needs it more? (Okay, it's also to avoid the scene when the snarky thirteen year old sees it...)
The most amusing thing for me as a writer, however, is that the corpse's name (given to him many drafts ago, and many years ago) is Dirk.
And he's blond. And an archer.
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In other news, i think i finally udnerstand why Mark Knopfler snuck a slow bit into "That's What it is". Because I don't think anyone could keep dancing that way for the whole length without the stretch.
It's helped by the fact that on this mix, it follows Cannibals - which is a fun warm-up.
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Sentences I am not allowed to leave intact in my Faerie Queene essay. Though I want to:
"He mentions it{The aspect of the poem I'm writing about} in his letter to Ralegh, which is now included as introduction to the poem itself in almost every edition, because one can never read a work without actually checking ahead of time what the author intended to do, regardless of how plainly stated it is within the work itself. Over and over again."
_____________________________________
I've been wanting to dso this again for a while.
These are so totally in no particular order. Not by which ones I like best, not by which oens I'm workign on or most likely to work on; not by length of project. Though I did notice the first three have a very similar pattern.
Bird of Dusk
When the doorbell rang, Harry thumbed the pause button, which made James D., intent on the game, jump and swear.
(Unnamed Disco Dracula story.)
When Mary came back from Mexico, her first stop was the disco.
(Unnamed Werewolf story.)
I'd been travelling the wilderness for a good many weeks when my walking stick grumbled at me, "If you're not going anywhere in particular, Huw, you might veer westward. That's where I'd like to go."
The Serpent Prince
Most men came before the High Dame of Germaine with admiration and lust. I approached her chair with contempt and scarce-veiled hatred.
Soldier of the Road (I'm not totally happy with this as it is a weather report, but it's also a state-of-mind report, so I've let it stand until something better calls.)
The wind scoured across my cheeks and spat the dust of the road into my eyes. Brown leaves rattled across the ground in front of my steed. The earth had that dead look that comes when autumn has been stretching on too long. The only gladness I knew was that the sun lay on the horizon. I felt this autumn to my marrow, but at least I had my implacable skin to hide the ruins.
(Unanamed apocalyptic SF story.)
I stirred awake grudgingly, in the room given to me by my kidnappers. I'd been dreaming of the voices of my parents.
The Blood Rose (A novella)
The Sorceress of the Rose had lived many previous lifetimes. She had grown from a cub, matured, and died - all but once long before old age - and each time as a power and an inspiration among the felian people.
She still wore the body of a child.
Blood of the Woods (Title subject to desuckification without notice)
Zhared watched the camp from his meagre shelter, and wished they had settled themselves nearer the brink of the woods. The grain was ripe with summer's end, but it did not shelter him as closely as the oaks could; nor could it stop a gunshot.
(Untitled story about Sen Mandoray.)
On the shore of the ocean, in the airy light of dawn, we danced for the Lady. We had come, the maidens of our rookery and the youngest of the wives, casting our seal's pelts into a heap, and Tor the Lady's Highest stood with us.
The Bacchae (A short story)
Kevin Down lived his life as if he were inches from being a streetrat. It was really the only option; his father's money came with too many obligations, and his sister Lizzie might be willing to endure some of them for the sake of her beloved College, but Kevin would not compromise.
I've also just noticed that my Viable Paradise story is NOT on this computer anywhere. Which is okay as I have hard copy of the first draft and the second will be a total rewrite. And, I know the new first line.
It used to be that all my stories'd start "So I went out walking that day..."
Not so much, the last while.
Which is why I got to write the scene where Ketan discovers that he's been sleeping right next to a dessicated corpse for some days running.
I knew this character was stoic. But really, would your reaction be to give the corpse your blanket, too, because he clearly needs it more? (Okay, it's also to avoid the scene when the snarky thirteen year old sees it...)
The most amusing thing for me as a writer, however, is that the corpse's name (given to him many drafts ago, and many years ago) is Dirk.
And he's blond. And an archer.
_____________________________________
In other news, i think i finally udnerstand why Mark Knopfler snuck a slow bit into "That's What it is". Because I don't think anyone could keep dancing that way for the whole length without the stretch.
It's helped by the fact that on this mix, it follows Cannibals - which is a fun warm-up.
_____________________________________
Sentences I am not allowed to leave intact in my Faerie Queene essay. Though I want to:
"He mentions it{The aspect of the poem I'm writing about} in his letter to Ralegh, which is now included as introduction to the poem itself in almost every edition, because one can never read a work without actually checking ahead of time what the author intended to do, regardless of how plainly stated it is within the work itself. Over and over again."
_____________________________________
I've been wanting to dso this again for a while.
These are so totally in no particular order. Not by which ones I like best, not by which oens I'm workign on or most likely to work on; not by length of project. Though I did notice the first three have a very similar pattern.
Bird of Dusk
When the doorbell rang, Harry thumbed the pause button, which made James D., intent on the game, jump and swear.
(Unnamed Disco Dracula story.)
When Mary came back from Mexico, her first stop was the disco.
(Unnamed Werewolf story.)
I'd been travelling the wilderness for a good many weeks when my walking stick grumbled at me, "If you're not going anywhere in particular, Huw, you might veer westward. That's where I'd like to go."
The Serpent Prince
Most men came before the High Dame of Germaine with admiration and lust. I approached her chair with contempt and scarce-veiled hatred.
Soldier of the Road (I'm not totally happy with this as it is a weather report, but it's also a state-of-mind report, so I've let it stand until something better calls.)
The wind scoured across my cheeks and spat the dust of the road into my eyes. Brown leaves rattled across the ground in front of my steed. The earth had that dead look that comes when autumn has been stretching on too long. The only gladness I knew was that the sun lay on the horizon. I felt this autumn to my marrow, but at least I had my implacable skin to hide the ruins.
(Unanamed apocalyptic SF story.)
I stirred awake grudgingly, in the room given to me by my kidnappers. I'd been dreaming of the voices of my parents.
The Blood Rose (A novella)
The Sorceress of the Rose had lived many previous lifetimes. She had grown from a cub, matured, and died - all but once long before old age - and each time as a power and an inspiration among the felian people.
She still wore the body of a child.
Blood of the Woods (Title subject to desuckification without notice)
Zhared watched the camp from his meagre shelter, and wished they had settled themselves nearer the brink of the woods. The grain was ripe with summer's end, but it did not shelter him as closely as the oaks could; nor could it stop a gunshot.
(Untitled story about Sen Mandoray.)
On the shore of the ocean, in the airy light of dawn, we danced for the Lady. We had come, the maidens of our rookery and the youngest of the wives, casting our seal's pelts into a heap, and Tor the Lady's Highest stood with us.
The Bacchae (A short story)
Kevin Down lived his life as if he were inches from being a streetrat. It was really the only option; his father's money came with too many obligations, and his sister Lizzie might be willing to endure some of them for the sake of her beloved College, but Kevin would not compromise.
I've also just noticed that my Viable Paradise story is NOT on this computer anywhere. Which is okay as I have hard copy of the first draft and the second will be a total rewrite. And, I know the new first line.
It used to be that all my stories'd start "So I went out walking that day..."
Not so much, the last while.
