Ms. Wildstar looks up from her dinner of fantasy novel cast off generic "food" and grimaces. "Is that thunder?"
Xander cocks his head a listens for a minute. "Hail?"
Nekar shakes his head. "She's writing again. About time. Just be glad she's on the laptop and not that old keyboard that sounded like a herd of elephants on speed."
"What are elephants?" asks Xander. "Are they similar to those gun-toting camels we heard about in the interview with Marion Sipe?
"No. Nevermind. I forgot you were from another planet."
Xander sets is plate on the ground. "So are you."
"Yeah well, I've been around a lot longer than you." Nekar picks up one of the freshly fallen paper wads. "Anyone see any new discarded food scenes? I'm sick of this bad food joke crap we've been stuck with for months."
"I haven't read much of it yet. The wads keep falling. I almost got crushed by a 3k pile of words yesterday." Xander looks up warily. "Anyone find any armor? Maybe a helmet? I don't care if its fantasy or sci-fi, as long as it protects my head."
"Nope, sorry," Ms Wildstar says as she finishes off her meal. "It's mostly been arguments and heavy paragraphs of character thought. I think I found a ration bar if anyone wants one."
Nekar shakes his head. "I'm not that hungry." His eyes grow wide. "Xander! You're fading!"
"YES!" Xander performs a double fist pump, full on mentos grin and leaps into the air. "Our gracious and wonderfully talented writer has found a role for me in the rewrite! I'm back in!"
Nekar hurls a paper wad at Xander as he vanishes. "Suck up."
Showing posts with label victims of the knife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label victims of the knife. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Victims of the Knife: The search for Ms. Wildstar
Xander peers at the slowing stream of brain jello seeping down the side desk. "Quick! Our writer must be falling asleep. We need to get to her computer to search for that Indian's story."
"Thanks for the recap." Nekar rolls his eyes.
"Sorry, I though we might need one since it's been several days since our last entry. I tried to keep it subtle and quick."
"You call that subtle?" The older man shakes his head. "Whatever. We have work to do. Gather up all pins and thumbtacks you can find. We're going to need some footholds."
Xander nods and dashes off. Nekar sits on the paper-lined path, pondering the few glimpses he's had of the computer high above them. A scrap of paper catches his attention. His heart beats faster.
Xander rushes back up the path, his arms full of colorful tacks and a few bent straight pins. "What are you smiling about?"
Nekar points to the paper. "She loved me once. Ms. MC and I, we really had something."
"Yeah, and as I recall, you ended up wanting to kill each other, and at one point, you plucked out her eyes."
"She got new ones. Better ones."
"I know, they're around here somewhere. Locked away in a box, I hope." Xander shudders.
Nekar scowls and yanks a handful of tacks from Xander's arms. He slams the first one into the side of the wooden desk at waist height. "I can't believe our writer cut me so effectively from my novel. Every single scrap of me." He rests a booted foot on the first tack and reaches up to plant another. "I added conflict, tension and some excellent fight scenes, if I do say so myself."
"You're uhh, going to run out of tacks before you get much farther. Not to mention, how are you climbing upward and inserting tacks one handed? You would have taken them all, maybe put them in a bag of some sort, or even a pocket, so you had both hands free. Ever consider that this lack of planning issue you have might be part of the reason you got cut?"
"It wasn't my lack of planning." Nekar jumps to the ground. Paper flutters away from the immediate vicinity. "It was hers. It's all her fault. If she'd used any sort of outline, she would have seen-"
"That you were unnecessary from the start?"
Nekar's face turns red and his eyes narrow. He grabs Xander and throws the lanky youth to the ground, pinning him there with his much larger form. "Ever consider that you making random insults to instigate conflict was the reason you got cut?"
"It was an innocent observation!" Xander squirms.
"That's weak. You're a weak character. That's why your here."
"Yeah, well, we're both here. And it sucks. So unless you plan on plucking my eyes out too, we should concentrate on getting up that desk and saving Ms. Wildstar."
Nekar gives him one last long glare and lets Xander up. "Fine. Get me a bag for these damned thumbtacks, Plan-ahead-boy, and let's go."
to be continued
"Thanks for the recap." Nekar rolls his eyes.
"Sorry, I though we might need one since it's been several days since our last entry. I tried to keep it subtle and quick."
"You call that subtle?" The older man shakes his head. "Whatever. We have work to do. Gather up all pins and thumbtacks you can find. We're going to need some footholds."
Xander nods and dashes off. Nekar sits on the paper-lined path, pondering the few glimpses he's had of the computer high above them. A scrap of paper catches his attention. His heart beats faster.
Xander rushes back up the path, his arms full of colorful tacks and a few bent straight pins. "What are you smiling about?"
Nekar points to the paper. "She loved me once. Ms. MC and I, we really had something."
"Yeah, and as I recall, you ended up wanting to kill each other, and at one point, you plucked out her eyes."
"She got new ones. Better ones."
"I know, they're around here somewhere. Locked away in a box, I hope." Xander shudders.
Nekar scowls and yanks a handful of tacks from Xander's arms. He slams the first one into the side of the wooden desk at waist height. "I can't believe our writer cut me so effectively from my novel. Every single scrap of me." He rests a booted foot on the first tack and reaches up to plant another. "I added conflict, tension and some excellent fight scenes, if I do say so myself."
"You're uhh, going to run out of tacks before you get much farther. Not to mention, how are you climbing upward and inserting tacks one handed? You would have taken them all, maybe put them in a bag of some sort, or even a pocket, so you had both hands free. Ever consider that this lack of planning issue you have might be part of the reason you got cut?"
"It wasn't my lack of planning." Nekar jumps to the ground. Paper flutters away from the immediate vicinity. "It was hers. It's all her fault. If she'd used any sort of outline, she would have seen-"
"That you were unnecessary from the start?"
Nekar's face turns red and his eyes narrow. He grabs Xander and throws the lanky youth to the ground, pinning him there with his much larger form. "Ever consider that you making random insults to instigate conflict was the reason you got cut?"
"It was an innocent observation!" Xander squirms.
"That's weak. You're a weak character. That's why your here."
"Yeah, well, we're both here. And it sucks. So unless you plan on plucking my eyes out too, we should concentrate on getting up that desk and saving Ms. Wildstar."
Nekar gives him one last long glare and lets Xander up. "Fine. Get me a bag for these damned thumbtacks, Plan-ahead-boy, and let's go."
to be continued
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
What is our dear writer doing?
Nekar taps his foot on the paper lined path and glares upward. "We've been standing here, waiting and waiting for a month and half. What the hell is our dear writer doing?"
"She's at her computer a lot, she'd got to be writing, right?" Xander peers above the piles of crumpled paper to the desk looming above them.
"You'd think, but no one new has arrived since that indian that took off with Ms. Wildstar meandered toward us. I think she's working and that ooze flowing down from the desk is brain jello flavored."
"She's gone?"
Nekar shakes his head. "Uh, yeah. That indian is a zombie, a free-agent. You know, not bound to stay in place, frozen, just waiting for the next scene to be written."
"Oh crap." Xander glances down the path to the spot he'd last seen Ms. Wildstar. Empty. No visible tracks in the dust.
"Exactly. Who knows where he's taken her." Nekar takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "We need to find some pages of whatever story he came from. We don't know if he's a murderer, a savage or one of those misunderstood emotional wrecks. He could have killed her by now."
"Right. Pages. But his story isn't down here. It's up there." Xander points to the faint glow of the computer high above them. "We'll have to search the hard drive. Do you know how to do that?"
"We'll figure it out together. Our writer has been falling asleep at her computer late at night. We'll wait until then and move in."
"Got it. Now, I've got to piss."
Nekar frowns at the younger man. "We don't talk about that. It's something everyone does but no one wants to read about."
"I know, but it's been six weeks. It's going to be an epic stream. I'll meet up with you later."
to be continued...
"She's at her computer a lot, she'd got to be writing, right?" Xander peers above the piles of crumpled paper to the desk looming above them.
"You'd think, but no one new has arrived since that indian that took off with Ms. Wildstar meandered toward us. I think she's working and that ooze flowing down from the desk is brain jello flavored."
"She's gone?"
Nekar shakes his head. "Uh, yeah. That indian is a zombie, a free-agent. You know, not bound to stay in place, frozen, just waiting for the next scene to be written."
"Oh crap." Xander glances down the path to the spot he'd last seen Ms. Wildstar. Empty. No visible tracks in the dust.
"Exactly. Who knows where he's taken her." Nekar takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "We need to find some pages of whatever story he came from. We don't know if he's a murderer, a savage or one of those misunderstood emotional wrecks. He could have killed her by now."
"Right. Pages. But his story isn't down here. It's up there." Xander points to the faint glow of the computer high above them. "We'll have to search the hard drive. Do you know how to do that?"
"We'll figure it out together. Our writer has been falling asleep at her computer late at night. We'll wait until then and move in."
"Got it. Now, I've got to piss."
Nekar frowns at the younger man. "We don't talk about that. It's something everyone does but no one wants to read about."
"I know, but it's been six weeks. It's going to be an epic stream. I'll meet up with you later."
to be continued...
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Fanfic attack
Ms. Wildstar nods toward the young man who has paused up the paperwad-lined path to examine an excerpt. "When did we drop into a western?"
Xander cocks his head and takes in the sight of the native american man in dusty, well-worn pants, shirt, vest and obligatory cowboy boots. "No idea. What the hell is a western?"
"Sorry, I forgot you've never technically been to Earth." Ms. Wildstar's brow furrows. "But we're on Earth, so you have. But your character hasn't, but you are right now... and you are your character." She rubs her temples. "All this thinking hurts."
Nekar slips out of the shadows. "I don't care where he's from. Does he have any weapons? These Barthromian slingshots are worthless."
"I think he has a knife. Maybe a gun." Xander sighs. "Probably only has a few bullets though. Look at him, he's got nowhere to store ammo."
"He's got pretty long, black hair. I want to go run my fingers through it." Ms. Wildstar smiles dreamily.
Nekar rips the adverb from her lips. "We don't even know this guy. Besides, I thought you were seeing Xander."
"Yeah. I thought so too." Xander glares at the wistfully gazing young woman beside him.
"But, but, he's so handsome and wild and can't you just see the social angst and emotional baggage he's carrying? I must go soothe him." She runs toward him like a horrible cliche about magnets being drawn together.
"I need to pack more emotional baggage," Xander mumbles to himself.
"Wouldn't help." Marin jumps down from a nearby pile of paper.
Nekar whips out his slingshot. "I thought you were dead."
"Hardly. Just forgotten about for awhile." He laughs at the slingshot. "No need for that. I'm just here to conveniently deliver some infodump."
"Oh. In that case, carry on." Nekar puts his slingshot away.
"Our dear creator..."
"She's making you say that, isn't she?"
Marin nods and plows on as if he can't stop. "Went through a fanfic writing binge a few years ago. I ran into that fellow in my adventure behind the desk. Must have taken him all this time to amble--those western folks like to amble, meander, and wander, you know--out here from the black void. He taught me the ways of the dustbunnies that allowed me to escape mostly unharmed. Though there's this nervous twitch thing...
A thunderous racket blasts from the almighty desktop.
"Right, moving on. She found that playing with an established world and characters allowed her to concentrate on improving other aspects of her writing, such as believable dialogue, conveying a setting, incorporating senses, and experimenting with short stories since she'd really only written novels before."
Xander leaps back into the conversation before Marin can draw another deep breath. "But if he came from a fanfic, why is he here?"
"Oh, he's not from the fanfic." Marin laughs wickedly. "He's an original character created by that thunder making puppeteer up there when she considered turning one of her fanfics into an original piece. It didn't pan out so she chalked it up to a learning experience and abandoned the project after the first chapter."
Nekar sees his own terror reflected on Xander's face. "But that means he's an incomplete character and he's been wandering around here for over a year. He's a zombie!"
"Yes, he is." Marin laughs in assorted evil adverbial ways. He leaps back up onto the paper pile and disappears.
Ms. Wildstar reaches out to pet the newcomer's hair. He turns to her, revealing vacant eyes and a seductive smile. She screams.
to be continued...
Xander cocks his head and takes in the sight of the native american man in dusty, well-worn pants, shirt, vest and obligatory cowboy boots. "No idea. What the hell is a western?"
"Sorry, I forgot you've never technically been to Earth." Ms. Wildstar's brow furrows. "But we're on Earth, so you have. But your character hasn't, but you are right now... and you are your character." She rubs her temples. "All this thinking hurts."
Nekar slips out of the shadows. "I don't care where he's from. Does he have any weapons? These Barthromian slingshots are worthless."
"I think he has a knife. Maybe a gun." Xander sighs. "Probably only has a few bullets though. Look at him, he's got nowhere to store ammo."
"He's got pretty long, black hair. I want to go run my fingers through it." Ms. Wildstar smiles dreamily.
Nekar rips the adverb from her lips. "We don't even know this guy. Besides, I thought you were seeing Xander."
"Yeah. I thought so too." Xander glares at the wistfully gazing young woman beside him.
"But, but, he's so handsome and wild and can't you just see the social angst and emotional baggage he's carrying? I must go soothe him." She runs toward him like a horrible cliche about magnets being drawn together.
"I need to pack more emotional baggage," Xander mumbles to himself.
"Wouldn't help." Marin jumps down from a nearby pile of paper.
Nekar whips out his slingshot. "I thought you were dead."
"Hardly. Just forgotten about for awhile." He laughs at the slingshot. "No need for that. I'm just here to conveniently deliver some infodump."
"Oh. In that case, carry on." Nekar puts his slingshot away.
"Our dear creator..."
"She's making you say that, isn't she?"
Marin nods and plows on as if he can't stop. "Went through a fanfic writing binge a few years ago. I ran into that fellow in my adventure behind the desk. Must have taken him all this time to amble--those western folks like to amble, meander, and wander, you know--out here from the black void. He taught me the ways of the dustbunnies that allowed me to escape mostly unharmed. Though there's this nervous twitch thing...
A thunderous racket blasts from the almighty desktop.
"Right, moving on. She found that playing with an established world and characters allowed her to concentrate on improving other aspects of her writing, such as believable dialogue, conveying a setting, incorporating senses, and experimenting with short stories since she'd really only written novels before."
Xander leaps back into the conversation before Marin can draw another deep breath. "But if he came from a fanfic, why is he here?"
"Oh, he's not from the fanfic." Marin laughs wickedly. "He's an original character created by that thunder making puppeteer up there when she considered turning one of her fanfics into an original piece. It didn't pan out so she chalked it up to a learning experience and abandoned the project after the first chapter."
Nekar sees his own terror reflected on Xander's face. "But that means he's an incomplete character and he's been wandering around here for over a year. He's a zombie!"
"Yes, he is." Marin laughs in assorted evil adverbial ways. He leaps back up onto the paper pile and disappears.
Ms. Wildstar reaches out to pet the newcomer's hair. He turns to her, revealing vacant eyes and a seductive smile. She screams.
to be continued...
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Tyler attacks
Xander leans over to Ms. Wildstar and points down the row of paper. "Look, it's someone new."
A boy, maybe fourteen years old, wearing blue jeans and t-shirt ambles towards them.
"Hey, kid, what's your name?" Ms. Wildstar stands and pulls Xander up with her. She whispers, "Something about him doesn't look right. Get your slingshot."
"I don't have it." He eyes the boy. "November is over. You and Nekar said to stay armed all November. We're over halfway into December. I got sick of carrying that stupid rusty slingshot around."
"You idiot!" She glances up at the desk looming over them. "Haven't you heard her? She's resumed her regular writing sounds. She's here again, not toting her computer off to those write-in things she kept mumbling about. That means she's either cleaning up those stories or done with them."
Ms. Wildstar backs into the wall of paper. The thin edges of the sheets press into her back. "We've got to get out of here!"
Xander spins around. "What about your slingshot, Ms. Always Prepared?"
Ms. Wildstar checks her nametag and lets out a relieved sigh. "Hey, that's not my name. Thankfully. That would be horrible."
"I'm beginning to see why you got cut," he mutters. "Concentrate! Where is your slingshot?"
"I used it on a boy with a weird silver pinky finger a couple weeks ago."
"You never told me about that."
"What, are you jealous or something? I killed him, just like we're supposed to do."
"Of course not."
The boy is hunched over, reading a passage from on a crumpled paper.
"Is the slingshot a one time use sort of thing?"
She blushes "Not is used correctly."
"Why the hell are you blushing at at time like this?"
"It's what I do. Character flaw, or something." She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.
"Seriously? Pouting now?"
"Oh shut up. I wasn't written at the same skill level as you, Mr. Smarty Pants."
Xander resists for a second but then glances at his name tag. "That would just be cruel." He shakes his head. "Really though, what are we going to do about that kid?"
"Hello there. My name is Tyler. Have you seen my story? I seem to have been seperated from it when I fell from the almighty desktop." He looks wistfully to the dark desktop high above them.
"Okay, that was creepy," Xander whispers. "He was over there, and suddenly he's right here."
"Victim of a story with missing scenes. He's able to jump ahead in time." She smiles at Tyler. "I think I saw your story over there. How about we help you find it?"
Tyler regards her with empty eyes. "That would be nice. Thank you."
Xander and Ms. Wildstar fall into step a few yards behind Tyler. "Why are you being nice to him?"
"I'm not. Go get Nekar."
"You'll be all right with Tyler alone?"
"I'll smile a lot at him. It's what I do best."
"Right." Xander lopes off though the paper lined paths.
"So, Tyler, what is your story called?"
"Sidewalking."
"I remember her talking about that. Bicycle on a sidewalk right?"
"Yes! You've read it?"
"Uh. Yeah. Of course. It's right here." She opens up a still bright white wad of discarded story. Go in and have a look."
He climbs up the crinkled side and into the opening at the top. "This is it! You found it!"
"I'll let you in on a little secret. The way to get back into your story is to read it a couple of times."
Tyler goes silent. Ms. Wildstar taps her foot. "Where are they?"
Xander comes runing down the path with Nekar, carrying a crate of adverbs, close behind. "Where is he?"
She nods to the paper wad. "In there."
"Good job," says Nekar. "I'll take it from here. You kids go on now. You don't what to be around for this."
"He's right." Ms. Wildstar takes Xander's hand and leads him away. Behind them they hear Nekar scale the paper wad with his crate in hand.
They both turned around for a moment. At the top, Neker pauses and draws out a handful of words. He hurls them at the boy inside. Sharply follows deadly and pointedly. "Take that you half-formed NaNo cast off."
Nekar pulls another handful of words from his crate. They turn away.
Xander cringed. "What's he going to do?"
"Haven't you ever read his character bio sheet?"
"No, why?"
She smiles. "He's an assassin."
A boy, maybe fourteen years old, wearing blue jeans and t-shirt ambles towards them.
"Hey, kid, what's your name?" Ms. Wildstar stands and pulls Xander up with her. She whispers, "Something about him doesn't look right. Get your slingshot."
"I don't have it." He eyes the boy. "November is over. You and Nekar said to stay armed all November. We're over halfway into December. I got sick of carrying that stupid rusty slingshot around."
"You idiot!" She glances up at the desk looming over them. "Haven't you heard her? She's resumed her regular writing sounds. She's here again, not toting her computer off to those write-in things she kept mumbling about. That means she's either cleaning up those stories or done with them."
Ms. Wildstar backs into the wall of paper. The thin edges of the sheets press into her back. "We've got to get out of here!"
Xander spins around. "What about your slingshot, Ms. Always Prepared?"
Ms. Wildstar checks her nametag and lets out a relieved sigh. "Hey, that's not my name. Thankfully. That would be horrible."
"I'm beginning to see why you got cut," he mutters. "Concentrate! Where is your slingshot?"
"I used it on a boy with a weird silver pinky finger a couple weeks ago."
"You never told me about that."
"What, are you jealous or something? I killed him, just like we're supposed to do."
"Of course not."
The boy is hunched over, reading a passage from on a crumpled paper.
"Is the slingshot a one time use sort of thing?"
She blushes "Not is used correctly."
"Why the hell are you blushing at at time like this?"
"It's what I do. Character flaw, or something." She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts.
"Seriously? Pouting now?"
"Oh shut up. I wasn't written at the same skill level as you, Mr. Smarty Pants."
Xander resists for a second but then glances at his name tag. "That would just be cruel." He shakes his head. "Really though, what are we going to do about that kid?"
"Hello there. My name is Tyler. Have you seen my story? I seem to have been seperated from it when I fell from the almighty desktop." He looks wistfully to the dark desktop high above them.
"Okay, that was creepy," Xander whispers. "He was over there, and suddenly he's right here."
"Victim of a story with missing scenes. He's able to jump ahead in time." She smiles at Tyler. "I think I saw your story over there. How about we help you find it?"
Tyler regards her with empty eyes. "That would be nice. Thank you."
Xander and Ms. Wildstar fall into step a few yards behind Tyler. "Why are you being nice to him?"
"I'm not. Go get Nekar."
"You'll be all right with Tyler alone?"
"I'll smile a lot at him. It's what I do best."
"Right." Xander lopes off though the paper lined paths.
"So, Tyler, what is your story called?"
"Sidewalking."
"I remember her talking about that. Bicycle on a sidewalk right?"
"Yes! You've read it?"
"Uh. Yeah. Of course. It's right here." She opens up a still bright white wad of discarded story. Go in and have a look."
He climbs up the crinkled side and into the opening at the top. "This is it! You found it!"
"I'll let you in on a little secret. The way to get back into your story is to read it a couple of times."
Tyler goes silent. Ms. Wildstar taps her foot. "Where are they?"
Xander comes runing down the path with Nekar, carrying a crate of adverbs, close behind. "Where is he?"
She nods to the paper wad. "In there."
"Good job," says Nekar. "I'll take it from here. You kids go on now. You don't what to be around for this."
"He's right." Ms. Wildstar takes Xander's hand and leads him away. Behind them they hear Nekar scale the paper wad with his crate in hand.
They both turned around for a moment. At the top, Neker pauses and draws out a handful of words. He hurls them at the boy inside. Sharply follows deadly and pointedly. "Take that you half-formed NaNo cast off."
Nekar pulls another handful of words from his crate. They turn away.
Xander cringed. "What's he going to do?"
"Haven't you ever read his character bio sheet?"
"No, why?"
She smiles. "He's an assassin."
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Writing, but not "writing"
Xandar peers up at the desktop. Quiet clacking and the occasional sigh are the only things he's heard in days. "What is she doing up there?"
Nekar pats the young man on the shoulder. "It's nearing that time of year again. You're new but you'll get used to it."
"What time? With all that typing I expected some new crumpled pages or characters down here."
"Listen to the typing. Notice anything different?"
"It's too regular. What happened to the long silences, the muttering and the occasaional run for cover when she gets up to trample us while acting out scenes?"
Nekar nods. "Exactly. She's not writing. Not our kind anyway."
Ms. Wildstar wanders over with a frown on her young face. "What other kind is there? I mean, that's worth spending all that time on? She could have written a quarter of a novel by now."
Xander cocks his head. "Were you hoping for some new characters to hang out with?"
"Of course not." Ms. Wildstar stares at the surrounding hills of crumbled paper.
"Cut it out you two. We won't be seeing any new characters around here for a couple months." Nekar points to the glowing screen high above them. "She's writing peptalks, donation requests, a forum full of informative posts, organizing events, and writing down story ideas for NaNo.
"Oh, not NaNo again." Ms. Wildstar wraps her arms around herself and looks to Xander. "You have to watch out for the newbies. They're not the same. Not real characters. If you find one, kill it, cut its head off and bury it."
Xanders eyes grow wide. "Why? What the hell are they?"
"NaNo cast offs." Nekar hands him a Barthromian slingshot. "Sorry, that's all we've got down here right now. Cases of them. Stupid things. She hasn't cut any new weapons in a while and we've used the good ones up."
"I'm supposed to kill it and cut off its head with a damned slingshot?" He holds the rusty metal bar up and examines the yellowed rubber band. "How long have these been down here?"
"A very long time." Nekar hands two more to each of them. "Always stay armed. Once you have them down, paper cut their necks. There's plenty of that."
Ms. Wildstar snorts. "Let's just hope its not a humid day."
"Enough. This is important. These NaNo things, they aren't fully formed and usually dim-witted, but they can show up in masses or alone. Some of them may have abilities we don't know about, ones she didn't fully explore before tossing them out of the story as she's writing. Some of them have family up there." He points to the desktop. "They want to go back and will do anything to make that happen. If we ever want the chance to get back into a WIP, we need to protect her."
Xander tucks his slingshots into to his pants pockets. "And why the decapitation and burying thing?"
Ms. Wildstar does the same. "They turn into zombies if we don't. Kind of hard to get back into a WIP as a brainless character."
Nekar half-stiffles a snicker. "True. How long have you been down here again?"
She glares at him. "Shut up."
"But what happens if we miss one and it goes zombie? How do we kill it?"
"Fire." Nekar takes a long look at all the paper around them. "And that means we all go up with it."
"Oh. Gottcha." Xander stands tall and looks alert. "So what now?"
"We distribute the rest of these slingshots and then wait for November to strike. Good luck to you both." Nekar heads off into the paper with the crate of slingshots. "It's been nice knowing you."
Nekar pats the young man on the shoulder. "It's nearing that time of year again. You're new but you'll get used to it."
"What time? With all that typing I expected some new crumpled pages or characters down here."
"Listen to the typing. Notice anything different?"
"It's too regular. What happened to the long silences, the muttering and the occasaional run for cover when she gets up to trample us while acting out scenes?"
Nekar nods. "Exactly. She's not writing. Not our kind anyway."
Ms. Wildstar wanders over with a frown on her young face. "What other kind is there? I mean, that's worth spending all that time on? She could have written a quarter of a novel by now."
Xander cocks his head. "Were you hoping for some new characters to hang out with?"
"Of course not." Ms. Wildstar stares at the surrounding hills of crumbled paper.
"Cut it out you two. We won't be seeing any new characters around here for a couple months." Nekar points to the glowing screen high above them. "She's writing peptalks, donation requests, a forum full of informative posts, organizing events, and writing down story ideas for NaNo.
"Oh, not NaNo again." Ms. Wildstar wraps her arms around herself and looks to Xander. "You have to watch out for the newbies. They're not the same. Not real characters. If you find one, kill it, cut its head off and bury it."
Xanders eyes grow wide. "Why? What the hell are they?"
"NaNo cast offs." Nekar hands him a Barthromian slingshot. "Sorry, that's all we've got down here right now. Cases of them. Stupid things. She hasn't cut any new weapons in a while and we've used the good ones up."
"I'm supposed to kill it and cut off its head with a damned slingshot?" He holds the rusty metal bar up and examines the yellowed rubber band. "How long have these been down here?"
"A very long time." Nekar hands two more to each of them. "Always stay armed. Once you have them down, paper cut their necks. There's plenty of that."
Ms. Wildstar snorts. "Let's just hope its not a humid day."
"Enough. This is important. These NaNo things, they aren't fully formed and usually dim-witted, but they can show up in masses or alone. Some of them may have abilities we don't know about, ones she didn't fully explore before tossing them out of the story as she's writing. Some of them have family up there." He points to the desktop. "They want to go back and will do anything to make that happen. If we ever want the chance to get back into a WIP, we need to protect her."
Xander tucks his slingshots into to his pants pockets. "And why the decapitation and burying thing?"
Ms. Wildstar does the same. "They turn into zombies if we don't. Kind of hard to get back into a WIP as a brainless character."
Nekar half-stiffles a snicker. "True. How long have you been down here again?"
She glares at him. "Shut up."
"But what happens if we miss one and it goes zombie? How do we kill it?"
"Fire." Nekar takes a long look at all the paper around them. "And that means we all go up with it."
"Oh. Gottcha." Xander stands tall and looks alert. "So what now?"
"We distribute the rest of these slingshots and then wait for November to strike. Good luck to you both." Nekar heads off into the paper with the crate of slingshots. "It's been nice knowing you."
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The editing knife strikes back
"Where the hell am I supposed to put those?" Nekar points to the planet-sized words floating down from my desk.
“Sorry. I had to make some changes in the star system.”
“Why? I liked those names.”
“Me too, but two editors didn’t, so I’m changing a few things.”
The character formerly known as Zsmed storms up to my desk. “A few?” He rips the nametag off his shirt. “I woke up this morning with this. Why in Geva’s name am I now called: Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC? Do you have any idea how much of a mouthful that is? Delilah ran out of breath when she yelled my name this morning and almost passed out.”
“You two arguing? I thought you were getting along.”
Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC scowls. “We weren’t arguing.”
“Oh. Oh! Right. You know, I created the lot of you, unless I’m writing the intimate scene, I really don’t want to hear about the details, ok? I’m glad you’re still getting along though.”
He taps a foot and cocks his head. "My name?"
"I had to give it away. I could give you the one I traded it for, but I'm confused enough as it is. You guys have all had the same names for years, this is going to take some getting used to."
“I don’t even know what race I am anymore!”
“Yes, well, I had to make some changes there too.”
“And what are you going to do about this then?” He waves the nametag in my face.
“I suggest you don’t ruin that. You’ll be needing it for awhile. You might also want to watch out for-“
Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC is swept off the desktop as another discarded planet’s name drifts downward. He yells and shakes his fist at me while clutching a giant B.
A strange stabbing sensation accosts my toes. “What the…” I peer under my desk.
Another character, his tattered clothing covered in dust, raises his knife for another blow.
“Stop that!”
He glares up at me. “I’ve killed an entire warren of killer dust bunnies, traversed the forest of cables and survived months in the dark darkness that transcends black behind your desk. And now I come back to this?” He points at his nametag. “Do you think you can tell me what to do?”
“Put the knife down! That hurts!”
“On one condition. I want a new name.”
“What, you don’t like: Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him?”
“How can you even read that from up there?” He examines the nametag. “This has got to be two point type to all fit on here.”
“I’m all-knowing, remember?”
“Is that so? I bet you didn’t know I was going to do this.” He pulls out a gun and aims it at me.
“No, but I do know that the gun is empty. Otherwise you would have shot me to begin with and not bothered with knifing my foot.”
Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him tosses the gun aside. “How do you know I would do that?”
I reach down and pat him on the dusty head. “It’s all in the name dear. Now go find some cover until the rest of the big changes hit the ground.”
“Sorry. I had to make some changes in the star system.”
“Why? I liked those names.”
“Me too, but two editors didn’t, so I’m changing a few things.”
The character formerly known as Zsmed storms up to my desk. “A few?” He rips the nametag off his shirt. “I woke up this morning with this. Why in Geva’s name am I now called: Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC? Do you have any idea how much of a mouthful that is? Delilah ran out of breath when she yelled my name this morning and almost passed out.”
“You two arguing? I thought you were getting along.”
Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC scowls. “We weren’t arguing.”
“Oh. Oh! Right. You know, I created the lot of you, unless I’m writing the intimate scene, I really don’t want to hear about the details, ok? I’m glad you’re still getting along though.”
He taps a foot and cocks his head. "My name?"
"I had to give it away. I could give you the one I traded it for, but I'm confused enough as it is. You guys have all had the same names for years, this is going to take some getting used to."
“I don’t even know what race I am anymore!”
“Yes, well, I had to make some changes there too.”
“And what are you going to do about this then?” He waves the nametag in my face.
“I suggest you don’t ruin that. You’ll be needing it for awhile. You might also want to watch out for-“
Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC is swept off the desktop as another discarded planet’s name drifts downward. He yells and shakes his fist at me while clutching a giant B.
A strange stabbing sensation accosts my toes. “What the…” I peer under my desk.
Another character, his tattered clothing covered in dust, raises his knife for another blow.
“Stop that!”
He glares up at me. “I’ve killed an entire warren of killer dust bunnies, traversed the forest of cables and survived months in the dark darkness that transcends black behind your desk. And now I come back to this?” He points at his nametag. “Do you think you can tell me what to do?”
“Put the knife down! That hurts!”
“On one condition. I want a new name.”
“What, you don’t like: Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him?”
“How can you even read that from up there?” He examines the nametag. “This has got to be two point type to all fit on here.”
“I’m all-knowing, remember?”
“Is that so? I bet you didn’t know I was going to do this.” He pulls out a gun and aims it at me.
“No, but I do know that the gun is empty. Otherwise you would have shot me to begin with and not bothered with knifing my foot.”
Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him tosses the gun aside. “How do you know I would do that?”
I reach down and pat him on the dusty head. “It’s all in the name dear. Now go find some cover until the rest of the big changes hit the ground.”
Friday, July 30, 2010
A new old project
Nekar perches on the edge of my desk. He squints at the monitor and then glares at me. "Just what do you think you're working on?"
Whoa boy. I knew I'd get busted. I just didn't think it would be so soon. "A new old project."
"What the does that mean? It doesn't look like anything Trust related."
"It's not."
He gets up and comes closer, peering at the words floating before him. "Who the hell is Sahmara?"
"A character you don't know from a novel I wrote years ago that I've wanted to get back to revising. I needed a Trust break."
"Look." He stands in front of my monitor, making a right nuisance of himself by blocking the paragraph I'm working on. "We've all noticed the lack of incoming characters around here lately. Marin is still missing. The discarded adverbs are all sorted. Ms. Wildstar and Xander are off making moon eyes at each other. Zsmed made a move on Delilah and hasn't come running back to my corner yet. Everyone else is sitting around, reading their cut scenes and growing restless."
"Hey, I let you all keep your names for now."
Nekar glances at his nametag. "Thanks for that. However, I'm here to warn you that something is going to go down if you don't give us someone new to play with."
I run through the distant memory of the novel I'm working on. "I can't think of anyone from this novel that I need to cut. I wrote this one after the bloated nightmare of a novel that spawned all of you."
Nekar's shoulders droop.
"Are you pouting? You are!" That's hilarious, but I've already rubbed it in enough so I don't say that outloud. "What is this really about?"
He points down to the mountains of crumpled paper and the two couples blathering to each other like no one else exisits.
"What, you want me to cut a woman from this novel for you? Is that it?"
He turns to me, looking mortified. "No! You think I want to hang out in character purgatory forever? Gamnock got to go back into Trust. For goodness sake, if you won't give me anyone to fight, write me into this new novel! Get me out of here! I can't stand another day of listening to those moronic lovebirds!"
I rub my chin. "Interesting idea. I can't promise anything, but I'll keep your plea in mind."
"You do that." He climbs over the edge of my desk. "It might be a plea for now, but if you take too long, you might find it's become a threat."
Whoa boy. I knew I'd get busted. I just didn't think it would be so soon. "A new old project."
"What the does that mean? It doesn't look like anything Trust related."
"It's not."
He gets up and comes closer, peering at the words floating before him. "Who the hell is Sahmara?"
"A character you don't know from a novel I wrote years ago that I've wanted to get back to revising. I needed a Trust break."
"Look." He stands in front of my monitor, making a right nuisance of himself by blocking the paragraph I'm working on. "We've all noticed the lack of incoming characters around here lately. Marin is still missing. The discarded adverbs are all sorted. Ms. Wildstar and Xander are off making moon eyes at each other. Zsmed made a move on Delilah and hasn't come running back to my corner yet. Everyone else is sitting around, reading their cut scenes and growing restless."
"Hey, I let you all keep your names for now."
Nekar glances at his nametag. "Thanks for that. However, I'm here to warn you that something is going to go down if you don't give us someone new to play with."
I run through the distant memory of the novel I'm working on. "I can't think of anyone from this novel that I need to cut. I wrote this one after the bloated nightmare of a novel that spawned all of you."
Nekar's shoulders droop.
"Are you pouting? You are!" That's hilarious, but I've already rubbed it in enough so I don't say that outloud. "What is this really about?"
He points down to the mountains of crumpled paper and the two couples blathering to each other like no one else exisits.
"What, you want me to cut a woman from this novel for you? Is that it?"
He turns to me, looking mortified. "No! You think I want to hang out in character purgatory forever? Gamnock got to go back into Trust. For goodness sake, if you won't give me anyone to fight, write me into this new novel! Get me out of here! I can't stand another day of listening to those moronic lovebirds!"
I rub my chin. "Interesting idea. I can't promise anything, but I'll keep your plea in mind."
"You do that." He climbs over the edge of my desk. "It might be a plea for now, but if you take too long, you might find it's become a threat."
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Remaining nameless
I sit here this morning, surveying my plethora of discarded characters, not wondering, as you might think, where one of them might be or what they are up to. No, I'm wondering which ones I can lure up to my desk to rip our their names.
Why this sudden need for names? Well, due to certain events, I find myself in the position where I must rename several main characters in order for my novel to proceed down the path of possible success.
Why does this suddenly sound like a board game? In its current state, my novel does not pass go or collect $200. It doesn't even get that piddly job where you get $12,000 every payday. (Where can I get that job in real life?) And please don’t let me land on that ‘you just bought a skunk farm’ space!
While I am rather attached to the current names of my characters, I also like the idea of passing go. The names that belong to these that are milling around on my floor amongst the crumbled papers and adverb crates aren't doing anything productive at the moment and I like them too. As a plus, these guys all came from the same novel so I don’t feel quite so much like I’m grabbing names from thin air.
You might imagine I’m sitting here, perusing my character stock with steepled fingers and pursed lips. You’d be right.
They’re going to notice me and get suspicious soon. If I don’t post on Friday, you’ll know this didn’t go well.
“Hey you.”
“I have a name, you know.”
Not for long…
Why this sudden need for names? Well, due to certain events, I find myself in the position where I must rename several main characters in order for my novel to proceed down the path of possible success.
Why does this suddenly sound like a board game? In its current state, my novel does not pass go or collect $200. It doesn't even get that piddly job where you get $12,000 every payday. (Where can I get that job in real life?) And please don’t let me land on that ‘you just bought a skunk farm’ space!
While I am rather attached to the current names of my characters, I also like the idea of passing go. The names that belong to these that are milling around on my floor amongst the crumbled papers and adverb crates aren't doing anything productive at the moment and I like them too. As a plus, these guys all came from the same novel so I don’t feel quite so much like I’m grabbing names from thin air.
You might imagine I’m sitting here, perusing my character stock with steepled fingers and pursed lips. You’d be right.
They’re going to notice me and get suspicious soon. If I don’t post on Friday, you’ll know this didn’t go well.
“Hey you.”
“I have a name, you know.”
Not for long…
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Bunny fodder
I hear feminine sobbing and sniffing coming from somewhere in the midst of the crumpled pages that litter my floor. Ms. Wildstar, the most likely suspect, is over at the edge of the room trading beautiful and handsome adjectives with Xander.
Delilah is languidly combing out her lusciously long, curly, ebony hair far too close to the adverb storage crates for my liking. And she's not sobbing. She's casting coy looks at Nekar and Zsmed.
Unless the rabid dust bunnies did a real number on Marin's manly bits, I'm thinking it's not him crawling back into our midst. Everyone else seems to be accounted for.
Hmm. I give up all pretense of writing and dig around in the paper until I uncover the culprit. "Trala?"
She looks up at me with tear-filled blue eyes. "You remembered my name!"
"Yes, well, I do that. I wrote you, for goodness sake. You're right here." I point to one of my character sheets where her name and information are neatly typed. Of course, there's also a big, thick sharpie line through it all.
Her sobs elevate to full-fledged wailing.
"Oh, shut up you whiny woman. It's not like you're the only one cut around here." I point to all the others who are shaking their heads and rolling their eyes at her.
She takes a deep shuddering breath and holds up a scrap of paper—recently cut from the sequel I gather by its position near the top of the pile. "She says I'm sappy and boring."
"Ms. MC never liked you. I thought that was pretty clear from the original scene you played an active part in."
"She was just jealous." Trala balls up the paper and tosses it aside. "Mr. MC bought me a pretty blue dress. It matches my eyes." She batts them at me as if I hadn't noticed them yet.
"Very true. But she was already jealous of the other women Mr. MC spent time with. You were an anvil."
"Are you saying I'm heavy?"
I'm saying you're not real bright, you dimwit. Yet another reason you got cut. "Noooo, I'm saying I’d made the point twice and in this case, the third time was not the charm. It was the anvil hitting the reader over the head."
"What about the other girls, did they get to stay? Are they lighter than me?"
I smack my forehead. "There were a few that floated away, the rest were heavy anvils like you. You're not alone, dear." I pat her little head. Huh, sounds rather like a ripe watermelon.
There are times when a character can be less than intelligent and it works within the story. Trala was not one of them. She was just aggravatingly dim and that made her all wrong as a love interest for Mr. MC. Not only that, but when I decided to add more of a romance twist to the novel, those 'other women' had to go unless they served a major purpose. This one, nope, not one of the lucky two.
Hmm. On second thought, the 'lucky two' both ended up dead, so I suppose they weren't so lucky after all. Hey, I might be on to something here...
"Hey Trala, I hear there are some cute bunnies behind the desk. Maybe you should go look for them and see if they are hungry."
"I love bunnies!" Her face bursts into a grin that reeks of unicorns, sparkly rainbows and i-s dotted with little hearts. She dashes off into the shadows.
Population control at its finest.
Delilah is languidly combing out her lusciously long, curly, ebony hair far too close to the adverb storage crates for my liking. And she's not sobbing. She's casting coy looks at Nekar and Zsmed.
Unless the rabid dust bunnies did a real number on Marin's manly bits, I'm thinking it's not him crawling back into our midst. Everyone else seems to be accounted for.
Hmm. I give up all pretense of writing and dig around in the paper until I uncover the culprit. "Trala?"
She looks up at me with tear-filled blue eyes. "You remembered my name!"
"Yes, well, I do that. I wrote you, for goodness sake. You're right here." I point to one of my character sheets where her name and information are neatly typed. Of course, there's also a big, thick sharpie line through it all.
Her sobs elevate to full-fledged wailing.
"Oh, shut up you whiny woman. It's not like you're the only one cut around here." I point to all the others who are shaking their heads and rolling their eyes at her.
She takes a deep shuddering breath and holds up a scrap of paper—recently cut from the sequel I gather by its position near the top of the pile. "She says I'm sappy and boring."
"Ms. MC never liked you. I thought that was pretty clear from the original scene you played an active part in."
"She was just jealous." Trala balls up the paper and tosses it aside. "Mr. MC bought me a pretty blue dress. It matches my eyes." She batts them at me as if I hadn't noticed them yet.
"Very true. But she was already jealous of the other women Mr. MC spent time with. You were an anvil."
"Are you saying I'm heavy?"
I'm saying you're not real bright, you dimwit. Yet another reason you got cut. "Noooo, I'm saying I’d made the point twice and in this case, the third time was not the charm. It was the anvil hitting the reader over the head."
"What about the other girls, did they get to stay? Are they lighter than me?"
I smack my forehead. "There were a few that floated away, the rest were heavy anvils like you. You're not alone, dear." I pat her little head. Huh, sounds rather like a ripe watermelon.
There are times when a character can be less than intelligent and it works within the story. Trala was not one of them. She was just aggravatingly dim and that made her all wrong as a love interest for Mr. MC. Not only that, but when I decided to add more of a romance twist to the novel, those 'other women' had to go unless they served a major purpose. This one, nope, not one of the lucky two.
Hmm. On second thought, the 'lucky two' both ended up dead, so I suppose they weren't so lucky after all. Hey, I might be on to something here...
"Hey Trala, I hear there are some cute bunnies behind the desk. Maybe you should go look for them and see if they are hungry."
"I love bunnies!" Her face bursts into a grin that reeks of unicorns, sparkly rainbows and i-s dotted with little hearts. She dashes off into the shadows.
Population control at its finest.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The crate
"I've got it!" Gamnock grins from ear to ear as he waves the top lid to his consolation prize crate in the air.I lean over in my chair to see what he's so excited about -- and if I'm in for trouble. You can never trust the damned Pirate Guild. "What did they send you?"
He pulls out a sheet of yellow padding. "Looks like a bottle of some golden liquor."
"Ah yes, that was from a Xander scene when Mr. MC got a little buzzed and did too much internal thinking. Had to cut that one and just make the conflict happen instead of him musing about what might happen."
Gamnock holds up a triangle of metal. "Why did they send me a toy Guild fighter ship?"
"You think they could have fit a real one in the crate?" I resist the urge to add 'Duh'.
"I suppose you're going to tell me why this is in here too?"
"Since you asked, sure." I'm just glad there isn't a real fighter ship sitting around here somewhere. That's all Marin, assuming he's still alive, or Nekar need to find. "That was from a scene where Mr. MC and the rest of the gang flew off to do a little scouting of the Fragians."
"Looks like a nice ship, why did it get cut?"
"Mr. MC had enough things he was relatively good at, piloting a ship didn't need to be one of them. One too many ablities, you know? Too many things in his favor, and he becomes totally unbelievable. Not to mention that it seemed silly that important people were off on a scouting mission when they have underlings for that sort of thing."
Gamnock feels around at the bottom of the crate and comes up with a paper. He holds it up and pours over the scribbled words that I can't make out from my chair.
"What does it say?"
He looks up at me with a beaming smile. "I think you know."
"Umm, nope. Enlighten me."
"You're putting me back in."
"What?" I rip the paper out of his hands. "Let me see that." Stupid Pirates and their secret codes. I have no idea what it says.
I shake the paper and sputter for a moment. "I've considered about putting you back in the sequel. That's as far as I've gone. Besides, you wouldn't be the character you were before. Not exactly, anyway."
"But I get to keep my name. Admit it, you like me. You really like me." He spins around, looking like he should be a giddy sixteen year old girl instead of a rugged Caltessian man in his late twenties.
"Stop it! That's way out of character for you. Either of you. Just stop."
"Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say." He slips the toy ship into his shirt pocket and tucks the bottle of liquor under his arm.
"Don't get all exicited. I only said I'd think about it."
Gamnock vanishes.
Ah crap. I guess thinking about it is all it takes.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
From each cut, a lesson
Gamnock struggles against his sticky bonds. "Lift it up! What are you waiting for?"
"I had one more thing I wanted to say before I get to you."
He slams his head onto the desktop and lets out a frustrated growl. "You've got to be kidding."
"Don't hurt yourself. Sheesh." I pull one strip of tape off. It's not nearly enough to give him room to escape, but seems to ease his frustration a little.
As dear Botanist pointed out in a comment on a previous post, not all is lost with my host of discarded characters. With each one I learned something new. Something about what not to do, more often that not, but it's part of that whole learning from mistakes thing, right?
Often I found that the characters I cut, their scenes and back story, had a part in shaping the MCs, fleshing them out, making them real. But upon learning to wield my editing knife, I discovered that those things I cut were for me, to learn about my characters, or to expand my world building, which needs to happen, but not all of it needs to be on the page.
For example... Gamnock.
"FINALLY!"
"I know, sorry about the long wait." (I'm not really all that sorry. I enjoy aggravating my characters.)
Gamnock was meant to be Mr. MCs man. His one trusted, devoted, what-can-I-do-for-you guy. Mr. MC and Ms. MC weren't getting along. Mr. MC needed someone to talk to.
But he already had someone. An established character.
Mr. MC needed a friend.
He already had two of those, both established characters.
Xander needed a mentor.
Xander got cut.
Mr. MC needed someone he could trust. Explicitly.
Great! Except that side plot got cut back because that whole not getting along plotline was taking way too darn long. Not having Gamnock there brought more tension and less passive MC mulling.
Gamnock showed me that Mr. MC had grown, he'd gained the loyalty of men willing to listen to him over Ms. MC. He was ready to make a stand for his independance. He was ready to charge forward with what must be done. (Is it scary that I'm picturing a scene montage in my head complete with a pulse-stiring soundtrack?)
Montage aside, none of that needed to happen in the book. It could be implied. Which brings me to my next point: anvils.
"Hold your anvils. Can you let me go now?"
I pull away the tape, trying not to snicker as he gasps when I yank the tape from his bare skin.
"Thank you, Gamnock, for being so patient. The Pirate Guild sent over this crate as a consolation prize for getting cut from not one, but two books."
"I knew those guys wouldn't forget me." He wipes the tape residue from his hands and neck and grins. "I don't suppose you have the opening code?"
"Sorry, no. You'll have to find a pry bar." I try to remember what I cut from the Pirate Guild that they might have sent to Gamnock.
He rubs his hands together and runs off.
I guess we'll both just have to wait to find out.
"I had one more thing I wanted to say before I get to you."
He slams his head onto the desktop and lets out a frustrated growl. "You've got to be kidding."
"Don't hurt yourself. Sheesh." I pull one strip of tape off. It's not nearly enough to give him room to escape, but seems to ease his frustration a little.
As dear Botanist pointed out in a comment on a previous post, not all is lost with my host of discarded characters. With each one I learned something new. Something about what not to do, more often that not, but it's part of that whole learning from mistakes thing, right?
Often I found that the characters I cut, their scenes and back story, had a part in shaping the MCs, fleshing them out, making them real. But upon learning to wield my editing knife, I discovered that those things I cut were for me, to learn about my characters, or to expand my world building, which needs to happen, but not all of it needs to be on the page.
For example... Gamnock.
"FINALLY!"
"I know, sorry about the long wait." (I'm not really all that sorry. I enjoy aggravating my characters.)
Gamnock was meant to be Mr. MCs man. His one trusted, devoted, what-can-I-do-for-you guy. Mr. MC and Ms. MC weren't getting along. Mr. MC needed someone to talk to.
But he already had someone. An established character.
Mr. MC needed a friend.
He already had two of those, both established characters.
Xander needed a mentor.
Xander got cut.
Mr. MC needed someone he could trust. Explicitly.
Great! Except that side plot got cut back because that whole not getting along plotline was taking way too darn long. Not having Gamnock there brought more tension and less passive MC mulling.
Gamnock showed me that Mr. MC had grown, he'd gained the loyalty of men willing to listen to him over Ms. MC. He was ready to make a stand for his independance. He was ready to charge forward with what must be done. (Is it scary that I'm picturing a scene montage in my head complete with a pulse-stiring soundtrack?)
Montage aside, none of that needed to happen in the book. It could be implied. Which brings me to my next point: anvils.
"Hold your anvils. Can you let me go now?"
I pull away the tape, trying not to snicker as he gasps when I yank the tape from his bare skin.
"Thank you, Gamnock, for being so patient. The Pirate Guild sent over this crate as a consolation prize for getting cut from not one, but two books."
"I knew those guys wouldn't forget me." He wipes the tape residue from his hands and neck and grins. "I don't suppose you have the opening code?"
"Sorry, no. You'll have to find a pry bar." I try to remember what I cut from the Pirate Guild that they might have sent to Gamnock.
He rubs his hands together and runs off.
I guess we'll both just have to wait to find out.
Monday, April 19, 2010
To each character, a purpose
As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by a discarded character tirade...
Gamnock will now illustrate-
"How can I illustrate anything? You have me bound the desk with masking tape. I can barely move!" He struggles against the sticky layers.
"I meant figuratively, dear Gamnock. Now hush, or I'll get the tape out again."
I'd sort of learned my overpopulation lesson by the time I'd reached the near conclusion of book one. I thought I'd just toss a few characters in, like Xander and Gamnock, establishing them in book one so they would be ready to go in book two.
Great idea, but what if someone didn't read book one? I mean, these should be stand alone novels, right? Tossing in new characters toward the end that don't play into the main plotline makes for loose ends. They're just hanging out, screaming to the poor reader, "Tune in next time to see why I exist!" The reader doesn't want to pause to think about next time, they want to sit back (or hopefully perch on the edge of their seat) and enjoy the conclusion of book one.
Besides, I have enough work ahead of me in re-establishing the central characters that are vital to the story. I really don't need any more work and words wasted supporting characters than absolutely necessary. We want to leap into the sequel's plot for goodness sake, not have four chapters of refresher material.
Gamnock slams the backside of his boots on the desktop, making a horrible racket. "So I'm not memorable? Is that what you're saying?"
I whip out my handy roll of tape and secure his feet. "I said, shut up."
Ahem.
To prevent more Gamnocks - who really is a good character, by the way -
"Why, thank you."
I rip off a piece of tape and dangle it over his face.
"Right. Sorry. Shutting up now."
I now consult my handy checklist whenever the urge to toss someone new into the story strikes.
-Are we in the later half of the story?
----Do we really need someone new now when we should be focusing on who and what we've built up in the first half?
-Is this a bit part?
----Can it be filled by someone already established instead?
----Does this bit part player really need to become a full character?
-Is this character set up for something that doesn't even happen in this particular story?
-Is this character being planted in the opening chapters and then will not be mentioned again until a big reveal near the end, where no one will remember them because they haven't been mentioned in twenty-six intense chapters packed other drama and action, and thereby will totally spoil the reveal for everyone but me?
-Is this person going to be killed by my MC within the next few paragraphs?
----Haven't they killed enough people to make the point that they kill people already?
----Does the killing have major impact on the MC and plot?
----Would it have more impact if s/he killed someone already established?
-Isn't there someone just like this in the story already?
-Are we in the first quarter of the story? Will this character play into the plot later, or am I wandering off on an unnecessary side plot?
-Is this person appearing out of nowhere and now is going to require me to go back and establish them earlier on?
-----Will it be worth the work and/or screw up other elements of the plot?
"Good thing, you didn't have that list when you started," Gamnock says quietly.
I consider reaching for my tape, but he's got a point. "We have learned a lot together, haven't we? Besides, it would be awfully quiet around here without all of you."
"So you'll let me go now?"
I slip my fingernail under the edge of a strip of tape...
How about you? How do you pick and choose when and if to include new/unplanned characters?
Gamnock will now illustrate-
"How can I illustrate anything? You have me bound the desk with masking tape. I can barely move!" He struggles against the sticky layers.
"I meant figuratively, dear Gamnock. Now hush, or I'll get the tape out again."
I'd sort of learned my overpopulation lesson by the time I'd reached the near conclusion of book one. I thought I'd just toss a few characters in, like Xander and Gamnock, establishing them in book one so they would be ready to go in book two.
Great idea, but what if someone didn't read book one? I mean, these should be stand alone novels, right? Tossing in new characters toward the end that don't play into the main plotline makes for loose ends. They're just hanging out, screaming to the poor reader, "Tune in next time to see why I exist!" The reader doesn't want to pause to think about next time, they want to sit back (or hopefully perch on the edge of their seat) and enjoy the conclusion of book one.
Besides, I have enough work ahead of me in re-establishing the central characters that are vital to the story. I really don't need any more work and words wasted supporting characters than absolutely necessary. We want to leap into the sequel's plot for goodness sake, not have four chapters of refresher material.
Gamnock slams the backside of his boots on the desktop, making a horrible racket. "So I'm not memorable? Is that what you're saying?"
I whip out my handy roll of tape and secure his feet. "I said, shut up."
Ahem.
To prevent more Gamnocks - who really is a good character, by the way -
"Why, thank you."
I rip off a piece of tape and dangle it over his face.
"Right. Sorry. Shutting up now."
I now consult my handy checklist whenever the urge to toss someone new into the story strikes.
-Are we in the later half of the story?
----Do we really need someone new now when we should be focusing on who and what we've built up in the first half?
-Is this a bit part?
----Can it be filled by someone already established instead?
----Does this bit part player really need to become a full character?
-Is this character set up for something that doesn't even happen in this particular story?
-Is this character being planted in the opening chapters and then will not be mentioned again until a big reveal near the end, where no one will remember them because they haven't been mentioned in twenty-six intense chapters packed other drama and action, and thereby will totally spoil the reveal for everyone but me?
-Is this person going to be killed by my MC within the next few paragraphs?
----Haven't they killed enough people to make the point that they kill people already?
----Does the killing have major impact on the MC and plot?
----Would it have more impact if s/he killed someone already established?
-Isn't there someone just like this in the story already?
-Are we in the first quarter of the story? Will this character play into the plot later, or am I wandering off on an unnecessary side plot?
-Is this person appearing out of nowhere and now is going to require me to go back and establish them earlier on?
-----Will it be worth the work and/or screw up other elements of the plot?
"Good thing, you didn't have that list when you started," Gamnock says quietly.
I consider reaching for my tape, but he's got a point. "We have learned a lot together, haven't we? Besides, it would be awfully quiet around here without all of you."
"So you'll let me go now?"
I slip my fingernail under the edge of a strip of tape...
How about you? How do you pick and choose when and if to include new/unplanned characters?
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Max occupancy: ?
You may be wondering, why, dear woman, did you have so much time and energy invested in all these characters that are now doing nothing more than milling about your writing space? Wouldn't outlining or at least some form of pre-planning have saved you so much aggravation?
Well. Yes.
But we all begin somewhere, don't we? I didn't begin with outlines or preplanning. Outlines were those boring things they made us do in school when we wrote reports. Reports are stiff and structured. They aren't free flowing and creative works. Writing should be fluid, not confined to any concrete string of events. Right?
Sure, as long as you don't plan on having anyone else try and make sense of what you've written.
I wrote. I wrote a lot. I liked characters. Ands lots of them! Because more characters, planets, tech and all the gobs of plot-stiffling, info-heavy paragraphs that go with them, make a book more involved, deeper and more exciting, don't they?
Well. No.
But I didn't figure this out until I'd already written book one. And it hadn't really sunk in until the rough draft of book two was on paper - not literally, I don't do the paper thing anymore. Too hard on the hands.
"Ahem."
"Gamnok, I'm getting to you."
He slips down from the Farscape Scorpius bobble head next to my monitor that he's been perched on for the last few days and storms over. "You said, I would get my post when you were done screwing around with that query letter."
"I'm not done with the cursed query letter, but I'm working on your post."
"Funny, it sounds like you're going on about all of us," he gestures to the other milling characters going about their business, "instead of me, like you promised."
"We're getting there. Be patient."
He takes a deep breath and sighs. "Fine."
Anyway, as I was saying, a little general planning, or at least restraint when the urge to toss someone new on the page, is something I learned along the way. My more recent novels don't suffer from this problem. In fact, they seem to suffer from a lack of words, because I'm so set in the editing mode of pruning words and characters. One of these days, I'll happen on a middle ground.
"Oh, come on!" Gamnock kicks my keyboard. "How the heck are you going to relate me to middle ground? Excess characters is one thing, but this?" He shakes his fist at the words floating on the monitor before him. "This has nothing to do with me at all."
"It does. Let me get back on track here, would you?"
"No. I want my post." He starts jumping up and down on the keyboard.
dd&a4q548pd;ld....
"Stop that!"
To be continued...
Well. Yes.
But we all begin somewhere, don't we? I didn't begin with outlines or preplanning. Outlines were those boring things they made us do in school when we wrote reports. Reports are stiff and structured. They aren't free flowing and creative works. Writing should be fluid, not confined to any concrete string of events. Right?
Sure, as long as you don't plan on having anyone else try and make sense of what you've written.
I wrote. I wrote a lot. I liked characters. Ands lots of them! Because more characters, planets, tech and all the gobs of plot-stiffling, info-heavy paragraphs that go with them, make a book more involved, deeper and more exciting, don't they?
Well. No.
But I didn't figure this out until I'd already written book one. And it hadn't really sunk in until the rough draft of book two was on paper - not literally, I don't do the paper thing anymore. Too hard on the hands.
"Ahem."
"Gamnok, I'm getting to you."
He slips down from the Farscape Scorpius bobble head next to my monitor that he's been perched on for the last few days and storms over. "You said, I would get my post when you were done screwing around with that query letter."
"I'm not done with the cursed query letter, but I'm working on your post."
"Funny, it sounds like you're going on about all of us," he gestures to the other milling characters going about their business, "instead of me, like you promised."
"We're getting there. Be patient."
He takes a deep breath and sighs. "Fine."
Anyway, as I was saying, a little general planning, or at least restraint when the urge to toss someone new on the page, is something I learned along the way. My more recent novels don't suffer from this problem. In fact, they seem to suffer from a lack of words, because I'm so set in the editing mode of pruning words and characters. One of these days, I'll happen on a middle ground.
"Oh, come on!" Gamnock kicks my keyboard. "How the heck are you going to relate me to middle ground? Excess characters is one thing, but this?" He shakes his fist at the words floating on the monitor before him. "This has nothing to do with me at all."
"It does. Let me get back on track here, would you?"
"No. I want my post." He starts jumping up and down on the keyboard.
dd&a4q548pd;ld....
"Stop that!"
To be continued...
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Another day of waiting
The middle-aged man sits on the edge of my desk, kicking his feet over the edge.
"Sorry, Gamnock. I meant to work on your post today, but instead, I had the inclination to spend three hours banging my head on my desk while trying to compose a query letter. Again. How a couple short paragraphs can manage to consume countless hours on many occasions, I'll never know." I shake my head and join him on the desktop -thankfully its a sturdy desk. "It's like query letters are blackholes of time and writing ability."
I can't help but notice Gamnock sending 'I'm watching you' looks to Xander who is sitting below on a stack of scribbled on paper. I also can't help but notice the distinct foot of distance between him and Ms. Wildstar beside him. Both are talking to the hands in their laps rather than looking at each other.
Ms. Wildstar also seems to be out of her armored suit and back into her frumpy teen clothing which does a much better job of hiding her lithe form.
It occurs to me, with a shudder, that I don't what to know what they were doing when Gamnock saw them under my desk or how Ms. Wildstar came to be minus the armored suit, nor where or when she changed back into her regular clothing. What I am happy to see, is that she has someone to talk to other than Zsmed, who only wanted to flirt or worse, or Delilah, who only wanted to talk about flirting or worse.
There's just something about Ms. Wildstar that makes me get all motherly and want to protect the girl. Maybe its just that I don't want to see her turn out all emotionally screwed up like Ms. MC.
"Whatever you said to them, thank you."
Gamnock nods. "Do I get my post soon?"
"Assuming I'm not spending my writing time working on query letter version fifty-six, I'll see what I can do."
"Sorry, Gamnock. I meant to work on your post today, but instead, I had the inclination to spend three hours banging my head on my desk while trying to compose a query letter. Again. How a couple short paragraphs can manage to consume countless hours on many occasions, I'll never know." I shake my head and join him on the desktop -thankfully its a sturdy desk. "It's like query letters are blackholes of time and writing ability."
I can't help but notice Gamnock sending 'I'm watching you' looks to Xander who is sitting below on a stack of scribbled on paper. I also can't help but notice the distinct foot of distance between him and Ms. Wildstar beside him. Both are talking to the hands in their laps rather than looking at each other.
Ms. Wildstar also seems to be out of her armored suit and back into her frumpy teen clothing which does a much better job of hiding her lithe form.
It occurs to me, with a shudder, that I don't what to know what they were doing when Gamnock saw them under my desk or how Ms. Wildstar came to be minus the armored suit, nor where or when she changed back into her regular clothing. What I am happy to see, is that she has someone to talk to other than Zsmed, who only wanted to flirt or worse, or Delilah, who only wanted to talk about flirting or worse.
There's just something about Ms. Wildstar that makes me get all motherly and want to protect the girl. Maybe its just that I don't want to see her turn out all emotionally screwed up like Ms. MC.
"Whatever you said to them, thank you."
Gamnock nods. "Do I get my post soon?"
"Assuming I'm not spending my writing time working on query letter version fifty-six, I'll see what I can do."
Monday, April 12, 2010
It's monday...
and I meant to get a post ready over the weekend, but work and family happened instead of blog writing. Then I was going to work on a post this morning, but a critique I received last night inspired me to cross off one of those nagging projects from the list I posted last week.
So instead of a fun post, I can at least say I finished editing and cleaning up my short and got it submitted this morning. It is still morning right? Whew. I still techincally have five minutes of morning left.
Now I'm stuck dealing with this character pacing my desktop, looking none too happy with me for being bumped off his scheduled debut.
"Sorry, pal, life happens."
Gamnock crosses his arms and glares at me. "What about my life? Remember, the one you deleted?"
Great, another character with a grudge. "Why don't you go find Xander for me and make sure he and Ms. Wildstar aren't doing anything totally inapproriate under my desk?"
"Xander is here?" He leans over the desktop, then pops back up with a red face. "I think I need to go have a talk with the boy." He scrambles down from the desk and disapears into the shadows.
So instead of a fun post, I can at least say I finished editing and cleaning up my short and got it submitted this morning. It is still morning right? Whew. I still techincally have five minutes of morning left.
Now I'm stuck dealing with this character pacing my desktop, looking none too happy with me for being bumped off his scheduled debut.
"Sorry, pal, life happens."
Gamnock crosses his arms and glares at me. "What about my life? Remember, the one you deleted?"
Great, another character with a grudge. "Why don't you go find Xander for me and make sure he and Ms. Wildstar aren't doing anything totally inapproriate under my desk?"
"Xander is here?" He leans over the desktop, then pops back up with a red face. "I think I need to go have a talk with the boy." He scrambles down from the desk and disapears into the shadows.
Monday, March 29, 2010
And you are?
As I sit here writing, I catch a glimpse of a new face amidst the mountains of paper and milling characters. He looks a little familiar, older maybe than the last time we met. The dark-skinned young man stands against the wall, minus an armored coat (or armored suit) -- which is good, there seem to be too many of those around here these days -- looking like he might be up to no good. Or maybe he's just trying hard to look up to no good.
"Don't I know you?"
He nods but doesn't have the courtesy to fill me in.
I glance over his slim form, not finding any of the usual lumps and bumps of weaponry that other discarded characters often show up with. “You’re not from the first novel, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t remember writing you in the sequel.”
He shoots me a look that makes me wonder if perhaps he is up to no good after all. “That’s because you deleted all my set up from the first novel, reduced me to a few scant mentions to flesh out Ms. Mc. Then you dropped me from the sequel like I fell off the known universe. I wasn’t needed."
"Sorry about that. You're not alone." I point to the host of characters around him.
"Oh, I know. There’s a whole bunch of us coming. I’m just the first to find my way here.”
“Find your way? Where have you been between the first novel wrap up and the sequel revision?”
“Hanging out on the hard drive in your character reference file. I was hoping you’d reconsider.”
I run through the reference file in my head. “You must be Xander Tuck.”
“I still can’t believe you cut me. I was a good kid. Then Mr. MC sent me off to a school I where didn’t fit in. My grades sucked. My dad was pissed, and then I totally embarrassed Ms. MC and Mr. MC had to give me a new job and name for a fresh start.” Xander stares up at my computer longingly. “I always wondered what role I’d have in the sequel. Now I’ll never know.”
“You and Mr. MC had some good, touching moments. I always liked how you brought out the mentor side of him and mirrored the relationship he had with his own father figure.”
“Exactly!” His face lights up with a wide grin. “We had a good thing going. I was supposed to work with him, under him, you know? Mr. MC was going to help me regain my father’s respect, and I’m sure I was going to do more of that mentor/fatherly bonding thing with him. Can’t you find a place for me? Please?”
“Sorry kid. I made him a father instead. I don’t have a use for you anymore.”
His shoulders slump. “I see.”
Darn it, now I feel bad. It’s always easier to cut them when I don’t have to do it to their face.
Muffled swearing comes from under my chair. I look down to see Ms. Wildstar poking at the armored suit with the end of an unfolded paperclip.
“Xander, I take that back. I do have a use for you. See that girl?”
He nods.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, see if you can get her out of her clothes and keep her busy.”
He glances at her and then at me and back to her. “All right!”
“No. Not like that. Or like that.” I shake my head. “Just be careful, and I don’t want to know about the details, okay?”
“No problem.” He heads over to Ms. Wildstar with his charm turned on high.
What have I just done?
"Don't I know you?"
He nods but doesn't have the courtesy to fill me in.
I glance over his slim form, not finding any of the usual lumps and bumps of weaponry that other discarded characters often show up with. “You’re not from the first novel, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t remember writing you in the sequel.”
He shoots me a look that makes me wonder if perhaps he is up to no good after all. “That’s because you deleted all my set up from the first novel, reduced me to a few scant mentions to flesh out Ms. Mc. Then you dropped me from the sequel like I fell off the known universe. I wasn’t needed."
"Sorry about that. You're not alone." I point to the host of characters around him.
"Oh, I know. There’s a whole bunch of us coming. I’m just the first to find my way here.”
“Find your way? Where have you been between the first novel wrap up and the sequel revision?”
“Hanging out on the hard drive in your character reference file. I was hoping you’d reconsider.”
I run through the reference file in my head. “You must be Xander Tuck.”
“I still can’t believe you cut me. I was a good kid. Then Mr. MC sent me off to a school I where didn’t fit in. My grades sucked. My dad was pissed, and then I totally embarrassed Ms. MC and Mr. MC had to give me a new job and name for a fresh start.” Xander stares up at my computer longingly. “I always wondered what role I’d have in the sequel. Now I’ll never know.”
“You and Mr. MC had some good, touching moments. I always liked how you brought out the mentor side of him and mirrored the relationship he had with his own father figure.”
“Exactly!” His face lights up with a wide grin. “We had a good thing going. I was supposed to work with him, under him, you know? Mr. MC was going to help me regain my father’s respect, and I’m sure I was going to do more of that mentor/fatherly bonding thing with him. Can’t you find a place for me? Please?”
“Sorry kid. I made him a father instead. I don’t have a use for you anymore.”
His shoulders slump. “I see.”
Darn it, now I feel bad. It’s always easier to cut them when I don’t have to do it to their face.
Muffled swearing comes from under my chair. I look down to see Ms. Wildstar poking at the armored suit with the end of an unfolded paperclip.
“Xander, I take that back. I do have a use for you. See that girl?”
He nods.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, see if you can get her out of her clothes and keep her busy.”
He glances at her and then at me and back to her. “All right!”
“No. Not like that. Or like that.” I shake my head. “Just be careful, and I don’t want to know about the details, okay?”
“No problem.” He heads over to Ms. Wildstar with his charm turned on high.
What have I just done?
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Suits me
In working on my sequel, I've discovered another good reason to get at least the first several chapters done before sending book one off into the big world: I'm finding things I thought I needed for set up in the first novel that I can do without, which equals further reduced word count. Hooray!
Ms. Wildstar turns in front of the mirror, admiring her black-clad form. "Does this make me look fat?"
Zsmed ventures over from the crate of adverbs he's been sorting with Nekar and hands her a card.
"Curvaceously?" She blushes. “That’s quite a word.”
He shrugs. "I found it in the box. I thought of you when I came across it."
I snicker to myself. Really? He’s working hard to get back in her graces. Not that Ms. Wildstar isn't shapely, it’s just that she's more the tall, gawky teen just coming into her body type than Delilah who has been drinking milk and has all the right curves in all the right places.
"Just because it’s in the box, doesn't mean it works. That's why she got rid of a lot of those." She points at me as if I'm some distant giant that can't possibly see or hear them.
Zsmed admires the sleek, skin-tight suit adorning Ms. Wildstar's body. "Where did that come from?"
"I found it lying on the floor this morning. I've never seen it here before."
"Must have come from the sequel. Did you take a look at it yet?"
She waves her hand at the hill of freshly crumpled and torn paper beside my desk. "Some. At least we finally have some new reading material."
He picks up a few pieces and holds them together, scanning the text. "Is it any good?"
"It's different. Looks like everything is getting trashed so far, I don’t have much to go by. Much better than the stuff we came from though."
"So what's the suit for?"
"Armor, as far as I can tell from what I’ve pieced together."
Zsmed glances at Nekar. "Uh, don't the main characters already have armored coats? Did they really need suits too?"
"Apparently not." Ms. Wildstar pokes at the suit. Her finger doesn’t even make an indent in the heavy cloth. "According to the discarded text, it’s supposed to be even stronger than the coats." She chews her lip for a moment. "Want to try it out?"
"I don’t think it would fit me."
"No, silly. I want to see how it works. I'm sick of sitting around here doing nothing. Borrow a gun from Nekar."
“You want me to shoot you? Are you crazy?”
No, no, no. What the hell? Ms. Wildstar is getting far too Ms. MC for my comfort. I put my foot down.
The room shakes. Paper goes flying. Characters fall to the floor.
I consider not taking myself so literally next time.
“Sorry about that.” I help Zsmed back to his feet. “There will be no gunfire, no armor testing, and no borrowing guns.”
Ms. Wildstar crosses her arms over her chest. “You created this armor. You should know there’s no harm in testing it out. Come on.”
“No. Take it off. Now.”
She sighs and reaches for a zipper. There isn’t one. She runs her hands over the suit, finding nothing to aid in its removal. “How does one remove this thing?”
I scratch my chin. “This is the problem with playing with discarded tech, Ms. Wildstar. I have no idea how it gets put on or taken off. I hadn’t written that yet. I can tell you how it’s created and by whom, but that’s all I know.”
“Well, that doesn’t help me at all.” She pouts. “Does anyone have a scissors or a knife?”
“Why don’t you go check over there?” I point to a mountain of crumpled, yellowed paper. I can’t remember editing out either of those items, but I’d rather she kept herself busy for a while. Goodness only knows what kind of trouble she’ll end up next.
Ms. Wildstar turns in front of the mirror, admiring her black-clad form. "Does this make me look fat?"
Zsmed ventures over from the crate of adverbs he's been sorting with Nekar and hands her a card.
"Curvaceously?" She blushes. “That’s quite a word.”
He shrugs. "I found it in the box. I thought of you when I came across it."
I snicker to myself. Really? He’s working hard to get back in her graces. Not that Ms. Wildstar isn't shapely, it’s just that she's more the tall, gawky teen just coming into her body type than Delilah who has been drinking milk and has all the right curves in all the right places.
"Just because it’s in the box, doesn't mean it works. That's why she got rid of a lot of those." She points at me as if I'm some distant giant that can't possibly see or hear them.
Zsmed admires the sleek, skin-tight suit adorning Ms. Wildstar's body. "Where did that come from?"
"I found it lying on the floor this morning. I've never seen it here before."
"Must have come from the sequel. Did you take a look at it yet?"
She waves her hand at the hill of freshly crumpled and torn paper beside my desk. "Some. At least we finally have some new reading material."
He picks up a few pieces and holds them together, scanning the text. "Is it any good?"
"It's different. Looks like everything is getting trashed so far, I don’t have much to go by. Much better than the stuff we came from though."
"So what's the suit for?"
"Armor, as far as I can tell from what I’ve pieced together."
Zsmed glances at Nekar. "Uh, don't the main characters already have armored coats? Did they really need suits too?"
"Apparently not." Ms. Wildstar pokes at the suit. Her finger doesn’t even make an indent in the heavy cloth. "According to the discarded text, it’s supposed to be even stronger than the coats." She chews her lip for a moment. "Want to try it out?"
"I don’t think it would fit me."
"No, silly. I want to see how it works. I'm sick of sitting around here doing nothing. Borrow a gun from Nekar."
“You want me to shoot you? Are you crazy?”
No, no, no. What the hell? Ms. Wildstar is getting far too Ms. MC for my comfort. I put my foot down.
The room shakes. Paper goes flying. Characters fall to the floor.
I consider not taking myself so literally next time.
“Sorry about that.” I help Zsmed back to his feet. “There will be no gunfire, no armor testing, and no borrowing guns.”
Ms. Wildstar crosses her arms over her chest. “You created this armor. You should know there’s no harm in testing it out. Come on.”
“No. Take it off. Now.”
She sighs and reaches for a zipper. There isn’t one. She runs her hands over the suit, finding nothing to aid in its removal. “How does one remove this thing?”
I scratch my chin. “This is the problem with playing with discarded tech, Ms. Wildstar. I have no idea how it gets put on or taken off. I hadn’t written that yet. I can tell you how it’s created and by whom, but that’s all I know.”
“Well, that doesn’t help me at all.” She pouts. “Does anyone have a scissors or a knife?”
“Why don’t you go check over there?” I point to a mountain of crumpled, yellowed paper. I can’t remember editing out either of those items, but I’d rather she kept herself busy for a while. Goodness only knows what kind of trouble she’ll end up next.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Shadows of the sucessor
Ms. Wildstar holds up her hand. She's staring at her fingers. I see she's painted her fingernails black, and they are an inch and half long. And filed into points. I shake my head. I knew she'd been bored since Zsmed ditched her for Delilah and then wandered off to sort adverbs with Nekar, but giving herself freakish manicures wasn't what I'd pictured her doing in her down time. She'd always seemed more the bookish or doodling sort.
She spreads her fingers wide and takes a swipe at the empty air in front of her. A satisfied smile creeps across her lips.
That's when I recognize the nails and that smile. They belong to her older, far more jaded and violent incarnation. I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"
"I found these lying around." She waves her hand of claw-like nails. "I was just trying them on. They feel so right."
"Those are Ms. MC's. Not yours. Take them off."
"But..." Ms. Wildstar glances at the shadows under my desk where I see Delilah pouting and casting longing looks at Zsmed.
Maybe this young woman does have some of the backbone of her replacement after all. However, I don't need her honing her revenge skills. Having recently cleared out a fifty pages of Ms. MC's similar lack-of-sympathy-inducing antics, I really didn't need to deal with the issue all over again.
I adopt my best accusing motherly tone. "You're not planning on doing anything to anyone with those, are you?"
Her gaze falls to the floor and her shoulders slump. "No, of course not."
That's more like her. "Good. Hand over the nail implants. They got dropped from the story for the same reason as those eyeballs that are rolling around here somewhere. Besides, you could really hurt someone with those. They're metal and sharp. Ms. MC ripped out a few throats with them in her time."
"I know. I've read." Ms. Wildstar limply points at the litter of a thousand torn pages that forms the landscape her world. "She gets to have all the fun."
"If you'd like to be tortured by having your nails ripped out one by one, I'll gladly go get the pliers, but I didn't think you were into that sort of thing."
She pales. "Um, no. That's ok. I'd forgotten that part." She backs away. "Maybe I'll go have a talk with Delilah and see if she wants to come with me to talk to those boys who don't get blown up anymore. They're kind of cute."
I try to picture Ms. Mc saying such a thing as a teen and fail. They can't be the same people. I never intended them to be the same. Nah, can't be. I smile and wave her off to her awaiting friend and impending giggle-filled adventure.
She spreads her fingers wide and takes a swipe at the empty air in front of her. A satisfied smile creeps across her lips.
That's when I recognize the nails and that smile. They belong to her older, far more jaded and violent incarnation. I clear my throat. "What are you doing?"
"I found these lying around." She waves her hand of claw-like nails. "I was just trying them on. They feel so right."
"Those are Ms. MC's. Not yours. Take them off."
"But..." Ms. Wildstar glances at the shadows under my desk where I see Delilah pouting and casting longing looks at Zsmed.
Maybe this young woman does have some of the backbone of her replacement after all. However, I don't need her honing her revenge skills. Having recently cleared out a fifty pages of Ms. MC's similar lack-of-sympathy-inducing antics, I really didn't need to deal with the issue all over again.
I adopt my best accusing motherly tone. "You're not planning on doing anything to anyone with those, are you?"
Her gaze falls to the floor and her shoulders slump. "No, of course not."
That's more like her. "Good. Hand over the nail implants. They got dropped from the story for the same reason as those eyeballs that are rolling around here somewhere. Besides, you could really hurt someone with those. They're metal and sharp. Ms. MC ripped out a few throats with them in her time."
"I know. I've read." Ms. Wildstar limply points at the litter of a thousand torn pages that forms the landscape her world. "She gets to have all the fun."
"If you'd like to be tortured by having your nails ripped out one by one, I'll gladly go get the pliers, but I didn't think you were into that sort of thing."
She pales. "Um, no. That's ok. I'd forgotten that part." She backs away. "Maybe I'll go have a talk with Delilah and see if she wants to come with me to talk to those boys who don't get blown up anymore. They're kind of cute."
I try to picture Ms. Mc saying such a thing as a teen and fail. They can't be the same people. I never intended them to be the same. Nah, can't be. I smile and wave her off to her awaiting friend and impending giggle-filled adventure.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Quit watching me!
As I sit here, I can't help but feel the gaze of unreal green eyes. Why unreal? They're cybernetic implants. They can see in the dark, but they don't glow. I'm never sure when they are watching or who happens to be playing with them. Which, you can probably imagine, is a little unsettling for me as I often write in the dark -- less distractions that way.
When is too much tech bad for a story?
- When the word count gets crazy high.
- When your MC starts to sound too much like a superhero, and she's not.
- When the tech creates plot holes the size of Idaho.
- When your realize it's nothing more than ornamental because that scene you intended to use it for never came into being.
What to do about it? Whip out the editing knife.
Ms. MC narrows her freakish green eyes. The iris is solid green, no pupil. They give me the creeps. They kind of creep out Mr. MC too, which is another issue, because he's supposed to be somewhat attracted to her.
"Just what do you think you're going to do with that knife?"
"Hold still, this will only hurt for a couple minutes until I find/replace all mention of your artificial eyes."
She hops up on my keyboard and stomps on the space bar. "You're going to do what?"
"Get off there!" Empty pages fly by as the curser speeds down the screen. "Look what you're doing to the document!"
"I happen to like my eyes." She lays off the space bar and crosses her arms over her chest "You can't just delete them, there's an entire chapter of backstory that shows how and why I got them."
"I know. That's the whole idea. Have you seen the word count lately?"
Ms. MC snorts. "Why would I care? You knocked my pov to the backseat, remember?"
"Exactly, and that's why you don't need as much page time." I grasp the knife and go for her eyes. Two minutes and a lot of struggling later, we're done.
She shakes her head and blinks, holding her hands in front of her face and peering at them. "Huh, they don't look any different."
"Notice anything else?" I point at the new short scene that took the pace of the entire chapter of backstory.
"I don't have to lose my original eyes in a horribly graphic and painful scene that made our readers say 'euw'?"
I put my knife down. "Nope."
She peers over the edge of the desk at the characters below and waves to Nekar. I suppose it makes sense that they'd be getting along better now that the eye gouging scene is gone. I smile to myself.
Nekar looks up from his adverb crate and gives her a tenative wave back.
Ms. MC stops waving and flips him off.
He spins around, pulls two words from the stack and whips them at her.
Hatefully and Vulgarly make it as far as my chair.
So much for getting along.
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