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WIP VENTING POST 2.0
I remember doing this earlier in the year, and I found it very cathartic. This post is for anyone in the middle of writing a fic (or many fics!) and it's so we have a chance both to share illustrative snippets and to bitch about how recalcitrant out fics are being.
(Also, PSA: I'm not doing Yuletide this year because I finish exams on November 28th and then I have exactly one week in which to frantically go shopping for Europe and then I leave on December 7th! So...no.)
(1)
This is so close to being finished I can practically TASTE it; all I need is a few glasses of wine and a few quiet hours, but unfortunately both alcohol and free time are in very short supply around here.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
liminalliz was invaluable in pointing out what I need to do to make it a well-rounded piece of character narrative. Now if only Caspian were that cooperative.
(2)
I have been writing this since the day I came home from seeing Iron Man at the cinemas. ONE DAY I MIGHT ACTUALLY FINISH IT. It's very silly and it's sort of Jarvis/Tony/Pepper only less geometrical and more ridiculous and I find it a lot of fun to write, but it needs something that even slightly resembles a plot before I can pretend it's a real fic and not a series of amusing disconnected snarkfests.
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...I have a feeling this one appeared in the LAST WIP venting post. Ugh. I adore it, I adore writing Brennan because she comes so easily to me, but it really does need a lot of fleshing-out and plot-building and careful tying together of all the concepts I want to include. It's an EPIC ROMANCE with bonus therapy & flooding & making out. I reeeeeally wish I could finish it.
(4)
This is a pet project which I do not expect anybody else to read or understand, but it is something of a love letter to The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiyaand Tom Stoppard and themes like spacetime & narrative destiny & the power of free will & probability theory & love as a transformative force. (HEY ARIA. YOU NEED TO WATCH THIS ANIME.) However, every time I open the document my brain tries to burst into tears and then looks around for a gin & tonic.
~
Your turn! Vent, my pretties, vent.
Same guidelines apply as last time: if someone comments with a snippet that you like the look of, leap upon them with encouraging capslock, and maybe we'll all be more productive!
(Basically, the more people I have shamelessly bullying me to write something, the more likely it is to get written. Sad. But true.)
(Also, PSA: I'm not doing Yuletide this year because I finish exams on November 28th and then I have exactly one week in which to frantically go shopping for Europe and then I leave on December 7th! So...no.)
(1)
"Caspian," he says.
It is not the first time he has said your name without the sharpness of anger or the urgent roar of the battlefield, but the word is soft and uneven and so for a moment it doesn't sound like him at all. You glance upwards and are shocked by the age that has fallen over his face.
"By the Lion's Mane, Caspian. Stand up."
This is so close to being finished I can practically TASTE it; all I need is a few glasses of wine and a few quiet hours, but unfortunately both alcohol and free time are in very short supply around here.
liminalliz was invaluable in pointing out what I need to do to make it a well-rounded piece of character narrative. Now if only Caspian were that cooperative.(2)
"He...you're wearing my shirt," Tony said, thoroughly distracted from any incipient mutiny. "I like that shirt."
Jarvis shrugged and his mouth curved in a way that was bizarrely, immediately familiar: the exact visual equivalent of the computer's dry voice. "It looks better on me."
I have been writing this since the day I came home from seeing Iron Man at the cinemas. ONE DAY I MIGHT ACTUALLY FINISH IT. It's very silly and it's sort of Jarvis/Tony/Pepper only less geometrical and more ridiculous and I find it a lot of fun to write, but it needs something that even slightly resembles a plot before I can pretend it's a real fic and not a series of amusing disconnected snarkfests.
(3)
"Intercourse," she says, as an experiment, and his face twitches again. "Intercourse, intercourse --"
"Bones!" He glares at her. "Really not as funny as you think."
"I don't see what the problem is, Booth."
...I have a feeling this one appeared in the LAST WIP venting post. Ugh. I adore it, I adore writing Brennan because she comes so easily to me, but it really does need a lot of fleshing-out and plot-building and careful tying together of all the concepts I want to include. It's an EPIC ROMANCE with bonus therapy & flooding & making out. I reeeeeally wish I could finish it.
(4)
The day her feelings progress to the point where her own desires and her desire to cater to Kyon's are exactly balanced, fifty-fifty...well, then it's an even chance, isn't it? Anything could happen. Time could freeze and space could oscillate in the gap between heartbeats, all its atoms and dark matter suspended within the indecision of Haruhi Suzumiya.
This is a pet project which I do not expect anybody else to read or understand, but it is something of a love letter to The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya
~
Your turn! Vent, my pretties, vent.
Same guidelines apply as last time: if someone comments with a snippet that you like the look of, leap upon them with encouraging capslock, and maybe we'll all be more productive!
(Basically, the more people I have shamelessly bullying me to write something, the more likely it is to get written. Sad. But true.)
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...LSK;DJAOISJFGS.
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Since your last post of this nature, I have posted... probably none of the fics I commented with? BOO LIZZEN YOU WHORE.
-->A dark Matrix fic I'm working on. Slightly based on KIRA NERYS, TERRORIST EXTRAORDINARE.
Zion is full of madness, she knows, and full of men and women lost in their inability to control their thoughts, their identities. To compartmentalize and survive.
Survival rate of a Zion soldier is ridiculously low, Cypher had told her. "But don't believe in the propaganda," he said. "Morpheus' crew tends to die the fastest."
-->A DS9 fic on post-series Odo and Kira
The first few months test his strength. To be everywhere at once, to touch and mingle with an entire planet of poisoned changelings, to find himself unique among these group-minded creatures that are his kind, yet not his. He finds himself longing for air in his non-existent lungs.
The others find him fascinating, they swirl around him, eager to combine, not just for the sweet relief of the cure within him but for his knowledge, his history, his individuality. Some are like children, some are like Her, some are completely something different. He slides through, finding each and every changeling, curing their cells and confusing their minds with his difference.
He’s busy and oh, he likes being busy; he’s saving his race, he revels in the sensation of order returned; he is providing justice by the way of mercy to his unjust people, he is satisfied.
By the time he completes the circuit, and opens humanoid eyes to see a sea of gold, he hears the first murmur: thank you, they cry, now out, out, out.
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(MATRIX FIC! I haven't watched either of the first two Matrix films -- which are the ones I like -- in far, far, FAR too long.)
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Just. I write, I delete, I write, I rewrite, and I can't get it.
This is all that I have (her in this case equals Leia):
Falconry
Her to him: I love you.
Him to her: I know.
--
Him to her: I love you.
Her to him: I know.
--
But sometimes, a man get get right sick of waiting.
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and I forgot!
DO PROGRAMS DREAM OF BINARY SHEEP_
“I like cooking,” Meda says with a serene smile, slipping her brown fingers through his white ones as he gets to his feet. “And she’s a nice old thing.”
“Irritating. People who see the future are always irritatingly zen.”
“I’m not.”
“No, you are. I’m just not irritated by you.”
She sticks her tongue out at him, and the kid with the spoons giggles. Sam fixes the kid with an intense stare.
“And we’ve had the spoon conversation before.”
“There is no spoon,” the kid says.
“There is,” Sam says, “it’s just 0111001101110000011011110110111101101110.” But the kid hears letters instead of numbers, so Sam shakes his head and walks out the door to the jingling sound of Meda’s bangles.
Re: and I forgot!
Re: and I forgot!
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BUT OMFG YOURS ARE AL SO GLORIOUS.
MOST ESPECIALLY SPECIAL IN MY HEART BEING #4.
Oh Haruhi.
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It's a good thing my two Ouran crossovers are not actually documented WIPs, just Excellent Wistful Ideas. (#1 is with Avatar and is basically a vehicle for highschool hijinks and Azula/Kyouya, my evil teenage genius OTP, and #2 is with Haruhi Suzumiya and is more serious, being aboout gender roles and meta and stuff.)
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~
my pet WIP at the moment is for a text NO ONE HAS READ. But I shall share it anyway:
Conrad tried to laugh, but the sound was bitter in his ears. ‘Oh, Sir Henry, if you think the friendship of men is fickle, you have much to learn of the inconstant love of women.’
Sir Henry regarded him oddly for a moment, and then shrugged again. ‘Why, yes, I suppose I do.’
‘We should be friends,’ Conrad announced. He was leaning on the table for support: the wine was definitely going to his head, but he was as certain of this as he had been of anything in his life. ‘We should be friends. Companions, comrades-in-arms. Since we are both here alone.’
*giggles* Sir Henry, meanwhile is Sir Conrad's wife, in disguise, and is going to seduce him as a man. Fabulous genderbending medieval poetry, how could I resist?
But I'm stuck with the denouement: in the poem, Sir Henry yells "i'm yer wife, idiot!" and declares that Conrad's intention to commit sodomy outranks her sin, which was adultery. I'm not so much a fan of that solution, so I need to come up with a new one.
~
or then there's this:
The summer holidays were Eustace's favourite time of year. Not because, like other children, he wanted to run and make a fool of himself in the park, or half-drown himself at the seaside. No, Eustace Scrubb liked to spend his summer holidays in Harold's study, where he read complicated books about finance and trade, and made notes about the things he did not understand (which was most things). The summer holidays were not Harold's favourite time of year, because there are only so many things you can explain to a son who has just finished the First Form at Experiment House, if you are a very important man in the banking world. Eustace thought he was very patient with Harold's short temper.
And I'm not sure where THAT's going, but I think it has to somehow propel my VOTD fics onto Dragon Island, because Edmund and Caspian are refusing to play nicely.
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Laura Roslin needs your help. She is a woman who has been ill, a woman who is all too aware that she may die, and she needs eyes and ears and hands for the moments when hers fail her. You gradually begin to grasp that it is your job to become these things for her.
(Billy Keikaya did not act as Laura Roslin’s eyes, or ears, or hands, or any other visible and connected part of the failing machine that is the Presidential body. He performed other necessary roles: chosen successor, non-biological son, voice of conscience. He was not only allowed, but expected to rebel and refuse. Neither you nor Laura Roslin wishes for you to become Billy Keikaya.)
It is your job to act as an extension of the Presidential will. It is not your job to say no.
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MIT fic ... or any other excuse to use this line, really.
Yeah ... I don't know. I wanted to try out a different place with his characterization, where his drinking doesn't ruin his life visibly because. Unfortunately, that means no immediate plot.
MAYBE? INSTEAD OF EVER FINISHING THIS? I WILL JUST STAB MYSELF IN THE FACE A BUNCH OF TIMES.
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I love the fun of the first one, the promise inherent in the second one, and the WOLF-AND-NACIO-NESS of the last. Wriiiiiiite, Emma!
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Very excited for numero uno :3
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I am excited for it as well! I am excited for the moment when I can click POST and then move the document to my completed fanfiction folder with a huge sigh of relief.
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The Jarvis/Tony/Pepper and the BONES OMG would be really ace too, but NARNIA.
I would give you snips of WIPs, but ... I have discovered my brain doesn't actually work like that. Like, I would love to be able to give you glorious bits and pieces of half-finished things, but I never have half-finished things. Either they don't exist at all or they suddenly burst forth fully-formed. Or they are WIPs but I don't want to talk about them because they are [a] the Buffyverse fic with no plot, [b] the Life On Mars fic with no plot, and [c] two different attempts at Valeyard!Ten-point-five, neither of which make any sense. Oh and the Dark Is Rising fic that is almost finished but I CANNOT FINISH IT.
Okay, so maybe I do have WIPs? Mostly though I have the Doctor Who/Young Wizards crossover that refuses to write itself, and the Life On Mars/Blackpool crossover that refuses to write itself, and the Doctor Who/Firefly crossover that really might actually have a plot but needs to have, like, a timeline drawn up in MS Paint first.
(PS where do I find this anime I need to watch?)
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I have a good chunk of the end written now, though! And maybe since I have some time, I will work on it more. And then by your next WIP post, I will be done with it! Possibly!
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Or maybe he's just that much of an orthodox prick.
What do you hear? What do I always hear?
...towards his laughter and his death and his family, all of them her own endings.
~*~*~IT'S A MYSTERYYYYYYY~*~*~
oh and one that is less mysterious
T-REX: (thought bubble) Dammit, that would have been totally sweet!
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See, I SHOULD be writing nothing. SWAP YOU, COSMAS.
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I have barely been writing at alllllllll despite having the free time to do so, which is why I am thinking either in November or in some other arbitrarily chosen month (depending on how certain things line up for this November) I will just make myself write a certain amount of non-RP fiction every day to get myself back in the habit. I am shamefully and utterly out of said habit. But, from the one I have been poking at (or mostly failing to poke at) for a while:
"You should eat. Breakfast is a very important meal, Trowa! If you don't eat enough you'll be dragging all day, and I have to catch you on the trapeze." She grinned at him, and held out an apple.
Trowa could have told her that he knew the nutritional limits of his body, and exactly how many meals he could miss before his performance was adversely affected. He could have told her that he had no intention of depriving himself of fuel without cause. He could have told her that lunch was only a few hours away, and their earliest show not until evening.
Instead he took the apple, and watched as her smile brightened and her shoulders relaxed.
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Oh wow fun! Just a few things before I run to class:
Something from The Tempest thing:
The wedding invitation teeters on a pile of books in the living room. Books bound in old covers and pencil markings in the cover--"£3"--bought from tiny stands in the market place on Saturdays and Sundays. He likes De Quincey's audacity, and Dickens, and lately Auden. Cherishes the crisp sound of the glue in the spine when it's opened and the smell of other houses that comes off in his hands. Dust, and gas sometimes faint charcoal or cigarettes, or hashish. Swatches of other life full of wholesomeness: real bookshelves instead of fruit crates, fresh baked bread out of the oven moist and yeasty, green painted windowsills, a back garden of rhododendrons, a child in a cradle. He keeps the wedding invitation, likes the dense texture of the cotton weave and the surface embossed in gold like a communion wafer etched with a promise. Remus follows the circles with his fingers as they make names, "You are invited", and "the marriage of Lily and James Potter". You are part of this body. You are of this blood. Dissolving in his mouth forcing in the gut-wrenching tastes of adulthood and domesticity.
Um yeah...
And from "Four Season in Konoha"
It was the season of secrets. Things that had lodged and become stuck under the winter ice came free and floated up in Spring. They drifted in gutters and storm drains all along the walk to school and she made it her duty to find and collect them and weave their stories. A red birthday badge that said "I AM TWELVE" where the pin had rusted shut, a robot toy that transformed into a car. She couldn't believe that these things, these objects were ownerless, somewhere a student was looking for their pencil box with the broken clasp, and a construction worker for the piece of blue roofing tile that was smooth under her hands. But she collected the other secrets winter unfrosted as well, and these she clasped tight into a knot by her heart where sometimes it swelled or hurt. The wind chime that appeared in Neji-niisan's window, Chouji-san's extra practice sessions deep in the woods, Kakashi-sensei's, and Uchiha Sasuke's, and Kurenai-sensei's and half-a-dozen other villager's hands over the memorial stone. Shikamaru's favorite napping spots. The day every week Naruto ate at the Ramen stand...
Both of these really need me to sit down and edit and plan out where stuff is going and with who. Sigh. Mmmmm Bones.
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After rewatching Firefly, I...am apparently writing the
--
Inara was struggling to pull the box over the threshold of the docking hatch when Kaylee called out to her from down below in the cargo bay. " 'Nara! Drop what you're doing and come play with us. Might be we can send these boys crying to their mamas if we work at it."
Inara straightened up, brushing a sweaty lock of hair out of her face as she leaned out over the railing. "What's that you're playing?"
"Basketball. You, me, and Zoe against the menfolk here." Kaylee gestured behind her at Simon, Mal and Jayne.
"Hey, who says we hafta take the doc?" Jayne protested.
"Simon's awful," Kaylee announced gleefully.
"Thank you. No, really, thanks for that," Simon said dryly, tucking the basketball under his arm.
Kaylee just turned and grinned sunnily at him, patting him on the arm. "Ain't your fault, honey. You're real good at stitchin' up cuts and bullet holes and such." She snickered. "Just not so much with getting the ball past Jayne or Zoe or the Cap'n. Mayhap we could find someone's grandma on Athens who won't put up too much of a struggle."
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