Fic-tinkering...
Oct. 21st, 2006 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icarusTinkering...
Working on the original fic due for creative writing on noon Monday (which really means midnight Sunday). The main character is turning out to be a little like a teenage Niko Molokov. Only set in Detroit.
I've decided just to enjoy the class and not try too hard to write to the teacher's specs. Right now I'm learning most from reading![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
auburnnothenna's style, her rich descriptions. I find that I learn best from other writers -- reading Maya taught me a lot about pacing -- one reason I should probably stay off the creative writing track and on the literature track of the English degree.
Footsteps thudded loud and echoing on the wet pavement, the sound muffled in fog that floated under streetlamps. A hooting laugh could have been right around the block, or across four lanes of Gratiot Ave – Aaron swept his hair out of his face and let himself slow, looking back over his shoulder – but the answer was definitely closer. Arms loose and shaking with exhaustion, he skidded around the corner, one foot sliding. The driveways here were lined with square hedges that just barely hid the spiked tips of iron bars. Mansions were huddled close together, set far back from the road, while matching sets of Dobermans sniffed on the other side of each curling wrought-iron fence. Aaron ran down the tree-lined road, his steps softened by wet leaves, then dove through the hole in the cheaper fencing of the last house, the rattle of cold twisted aluminum scraping his chest, water spilling down the back of his neck. Branches rustled too-loud behind him.
The next shout was closer, and two more sets of footsteps converged, echoing but drawing together.
The headlights of a slow-moving car rolled down Vernor road and caught him on the opposite side of the chain-link fence, dressed in dark clothes, skipping between mud puddles, hands in his pockets. Across the street one-bedroom houses squatted in weeds, their dark windows boarded up in plywood scrawled with graffiti. A collapsed chimney left scattered half-buried bricks and a gaping hole. He climbed the steps of the porch as the light washed away and disappeared in a hiss of wet road.
Breathing hard and swearing to himself softly, Aaron tapped on the door, not daring to be louder. “C’mon, c’mon, wake up.” He rattled the doorknob, but of course it wasn't unlocked.
Two or three voices followed down the way he’d just come. One loud, warning, “No way he’d cross the street, he’s here somewhere.” Aaron squeezed close to the shadows of the doorway. Footsteps pattered further away, then paused.
“Shit.”
The rattle of the aluminum fence made Aaron twitch then spin around as it came from his left, not the way he’d gotten in. A set of hands pulled on the fence, gripping it, leaning back casually. Two more faces came jogging down the road, panting with exaggerated tiredness. “He ain’t here,” one complained. A tall lanky form stood in the middle of Vernor, glancing around, hands rolled into fists as he studied both sides of the street. The others watched him, waiting, as they paced the intersection, circling like puzzled cats.
Fanfic-wise...
Reviewing notes for part three of Last Port Of Call. Hmm. Back to John's point of view this time. Rodney's about to get seriously in the way. Not sure if I should incorporate "Letters From Pegasus" canon or not. It's not part of the original outline and might just intrude, at the same time I don't want us to forget the situation outside.
Finish the edits to the new opening of Out Of Bounds.wildernessguru and betas ask for a transition for when John first meets Rodney to the original opening scene at the rink.
Then in the car, Sanskritsanskritsanskrit declension recitation. I have active verb conjugations down pretty well. Now need to get the passive and then the noun declensions.
Nouns first.
Tonight: 5 question quizes!
Working on the original fic due for creative writing on noon Monday (which really means midnight Sunday). The main character is turning out to be a little like a teenage Niko Molokov. Only set in Detroit.
I've decided just to enjoy the class and not try too hard to write to the teacher's specs. Right now I'm learning most from reading
auburnnothenna's style, her rich descriptions. I find that I learn best from other writers -- reading Maya taught me a lot about pacing -- one reason I should probably stay off the creative writing track and on the literature track of the English degree. Footsteps thudded loud and echoing on the wet pavement, the sound muffled in fog that floated under streetlamps. A hooting laugh could have been right around the block, or across four lanes of Gratiot Ave – Aaron swept his hair out of his face and let himself slow, looking back over his shoulder – but the answer was definitely closer. Arms loose and shaking with exhaustion, he skidded around the corner, one foot sliding. The driveways here were lined with square hedges that just barely hid the spiked tips of iron bars. Mansions were huddled close together, set far back from the road, while matching sets of Dobermans sniffed on the other side of each curling wrought-iron fence. Aaron ran down the tree-lined road, his steps softened by wet leaves, then dove through the hole in the cheaper fencing of the last house, the rattle of cold twisted aluminum scraping his chest, water spilling down the back of his neck. Branches rustled too-loud behind him.
The next shout was closer, and two more sets of footsteps converged, echoing but drawing together.
The headlights of a slow-moving car rolled down Vernor road and caught him on the opposite side of the chain-link fence, dressed in dark clothes, skipping between mud puddles, hands in his pockets. Across the street one-bedroom houses squatted in weeds, their dark windows boarded up in plywood scrawled with graffiti. A collapsed chimney left scattered half-buried bricks and a gaping hole. He climbed the steps of the porch as the light washed away and disappeared in a hiss of wet road.
Breathing hard and swearing to himself softly, Aaron tapped on the door, not daring to be louder. “C’mon, c’mon, wake up.” He rattled the doorknob, but of course it wasn't unlocked.
Two or three voices followed down the way he’d just come. One loud, warning, “No way he’d cross the street, he’s here somewhere.” Aaron squeezed close to the shadows of the doorway. Footsteps pattered further away, then paused.
“Shit.”
The rattle of the aluminum fence made Aaron twitch then spin around as it came from his left, not the way he’d gotten in. A set of hands pulled on the fence, gripping it, leaning back casually. Two more faces came jogging down the road, panting with exaggerated tiredness. “He ain’t here,” one complained. A tall lanky form stood in the middle of Vernor, glancing around, hands rolled into fists as he studied both sides of the street. The others watched him, waiting, as they paced the intersection, circling like puzzled cats.
Fanfic-wise...
Reviewing notes for part three of Last Port Of Call. Hmm. Back to John's point of view this time. Rodney's about to get seriously in the way. Not sure if I should incorporate "Letters From Pegasus" canon or not. It's not part of the original outline and might just intrude, at the same time I don't want us to forget the situation outside.
Finish the edits to the new opening of Out Of Bounds.
wildernessguru and betas ask for a transition for when John first meets Rodney to the original opening scene at the rink.Then in the car, Sanskritsanskritsanskrit declension recitation. I have active verb conjugations down pretty well. Now need to get the passive and then the noun declensions.
Nouns first.
Tonight: 5 question quizes!
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no subject
Date: 2006-10-21 11:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-21 11:49 pm (UTC)Last Port Of Call's slow going, but the next part is pulling at me. *g*
Out Of Bounds... what I'm doing is running it past people who aren't in the SGA fandom and treating it like original fic to see if I can make it stand without the prop of the tie-ins with canon. The first thing is we have to describe facial expressions. We don't need to do that as much with fanfic because we know how the characters look.
when I was at my very posh old English school they taught us three languages, Latin, Classical Greek and Sanskrit
Very cool. I have a classmate who's a Classics major and she's studying all three at the same time. Sheesh. I deliberately made this quarter pretty light to balance the Sanskrit.
Icarus