Corner of the Room
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
I need some help....a lot of help, with dialog. My descriptions aren't too terrrible, but other things are not so hott (dialog being among them).
The room I have woken in is cold and metallic. Metallic instruments litter the tables around me, glistening with a sheen not unlike the sweat on my own body. Silver moonlight beams faintly through a window. A broken window. Another sweeping glance brings to light hundreds of glass shards, colored crimson and blue by smears of blood and chemicals. They dot the otherwise white and sterile floor, interrupted only by a line of boot prints, which made smudged beeline for the now locked and bolted steel door.
Being more accustomed to this situation than most people my age and social status, I calm myself with a few deep breaths and assess the damage. No blood- at least not new blood- on me. A few superficial cuts and scrapes adorn my skin and yes, a very large and angry red bruise that is beginning to form on my inner thigh. I suppose I ought to be able to stand. At least that would be a step in the opposite direction of the stony tiles doing their best to imprint my right side. My head spins as I rise to my feet. What happened in the past six hours? Last I remember was going to the academy medic for cleansing cloths. There was something strange about that…but whatever it was has escaped my mind as I looked for a way out. Now that my vision was clearing I gathered that the window, though still jagged with glass shards, was probably my best exit option. A pushed a dense and blood spotted foot rest to the wall and began to pull the pieces of glass out one by one, protecting my hands in the folds of a white sheet from the bed. Oh. There was a bed. I suppose I was on that at one point. I must have fallen and woken myself. As I struggled with the glass I became conscious of the burning pain in my somewhat stiff and swollen arm. I inhaled sharply as I took that into stock. Movement seemed to have aggravated the remains of a transparent syringe lodged in my inner elbow. In an animal-like panic I dug into the flesh with chipped fingernails to pried the half a cc cartridge out, somehow leaving the tip of the needle behind. Rather than searching the room for a forceps to remove the remaining needle, which I knew posed a threat of infection; I suddenly felt a much stronger urge to leave the place. Holding my body weight off of the stool with my arms (a very painful process indeed) I leveled myself with the window and squeezed out, landing with a thump on the grassless ground outside, somewhat louder than I had anticipated. Voices stirred from another part of the building, and I began to run.
Somehow I had expected to come out in the middle of a city, or at least the middle of a very large medical complex, but instead I found myself surrounded by woods, and rapidly leaving behind a whitewashed, small, and isolated building. The night was cool, and the disposable Johnny I was clothed with had the consistency of the grungiest public restroom towlettes. Silently, I yearned for the clothes I was dressed in at last memory. The simple but clean nylon drawstring pants and a loose fitting nylon shirt, both in the light green characteristic of my class, would have made running much easier. Why did my clothes have to be gone, and why did the one item I had left have to be white? I always carried my chip and an emergency amino pack in a thigh holster, but that is gone too. My feet are tough with clauses and complain little as I run deeper into the woods of wherever I am. When I stop for breath and to orient myself, I look up at the stars, which shine regardless of my issues, and feel a warm stream of liquid coursing down my left leg. Blood. I’ve heard women of other planets have this cycle that causes them to bleed, but every girl on Earthadon is treated from birth onward to prevent her from undergoing this painful and dangerous process. I am nineteen years old and understood that I would never have this experience. In the middle of the night, in the middle of the woods with no recollection of how I have arrived here, I am at once very afraid.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Pondered, arrived at these. Wasn't sure what tone you'd need, so I played with a few, some idealistic, some brutal. I find that personally, one word names work best for memory, and catchiness. Otherwise, translating one word characteristics and using them as if they were English can sound ultra modern--ex: The Espada, which would translate to gibberish without it's proper Spanish article, but is a combination of the Spanish for "sword", and the English article that makes it sound more casual and flippant. This works especially well for cultures meant to be portrayed as superficially all inclusive, but domineering in actuality; they have absorbed all culture, and now spit it out as their own. Makes an effortless statement while keeping the convoluted details out of it--you aren't having to explain why they have that name, or act a certain way.
Militärische Polizei (literal German)
Der Schutz (German, "The Guard")
Montagna (Italian, "Mountain")
they are what they sound like, a specialized branch of the military, a little 1984ish....I've been trying to think of other things to call them, but they're lame. Any ideas?
11:40AM - Here I am!
Home and very very ill with a nasty period and the remains of my flu. I actually feel more like being in school than here....I get so frustrated with the unproductiveness which is being sick!!! It has given me some time to work on my book, which I feel will be nothing more than my version of a sad imitation of greater novels. My main characters are as follows.
Rathea: 18 years old, 5' 8", mousey brown hair chopped shoulder lenght. Very pale skin and pointy features. She's a strong individual, and was raised in a work academy, training her whole life to be a labortatory technitian.
Iam: 19 years old, 6' 1" muscular guy with medium length curly blonde hair and somewhat tannish skin. An unconventional homebirth, he was raised by his single mother rather than turned in to a military academy after his father was killed in warfare. Iamic is kind but somewhat pensive. He's very interested in science, as much as he hates how it controls his country.
Orpheus: 21 years old, roughly 6', very lean and wiry. Copper skin and black hair which is in short, neat dreads. He's got a great sense of humor and is quick in a fight. He's Iam's adopted brother, and somewhat of a failed genetic recomination experiment.
There's also a mother, who is serving as a minor character for the time being. The plot has a lot of developing to do, and I will post more on that as time (and my attention span) permits.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Ch. 77 nearing page 8, but thinking of hacking off last ten chapter or so and starting the next book. Did not think Five was going to last this long, but it seems she has things to finish up, and she wants another volume. Grr. Shall have to go back and consider where to separate chapters--hard to find a decent spot to end narration, tie up loose ends, etc. when one is already ten chapters past. Also will have to deal with annoyance of re-saving as new book, but is better than having 195 chapters. Lyndon narration freeflowing, but difficult to write; he's not as detailed as Ace, and he tends to ignore scenery in favor of body language and whiplash pace dialogue. Still, he's sunny enough without being Stefen's sicky sweet golden boy, and he has enough edge to carry more difficult styles. Wish he would stop blabbering about Connor's attitude problem and move on. Antigone has developed a rough style more in keeping with her background, and is busy abandoning all little girl motifs in her speech. Look what happens when you give her a gun! Should add more sci-fi elements; drama is excellent, but I'm losing the distopia edge I loved. Hate thought of adding more gadgets; might play around with gun styles, update subtle technologies. Also should make note that Antigone's interactions with her team need to be extended; why would you spend so much time with a war team, and only address your close friend? Dialogue with Connor was stilted, she was blandly aggressive with Powell, and has not interacted with either Nine nor Carrick beyond barking orders. Could be because they haven't been major players since book two and I'm bored with them. Should have Antigone-Lyndon scene discussing baby and Jer-ad, but doesn't seem well placed right now; Antigone is trying to forget her child had been taken from her, and scene shows potential to become overly dramatic, or else flat. Discussing her child with the best friend doesn't seem to be a high point right now. Suggest adding short barrage scene to next chapter; this is a painfully quiet war, and some action needs to take place. Wandering around old houses talking about one's tragic former love life is not enough to hold up ten chapters, let alone another book. Is it good? Yes. Is it moving the plot? Yes. Does it emphasize that they're in constant danger? Pfft, no. Have made more than ten pages of paper notes, and then resorted to doodling in margins. Worried Lyndon doesn't have the war element for his narration, but then, didn't think Nine could carry the massacre scene in book one either. Connor needs to act less like a flyboy, or someone's going to go after his butt. He's semi-dispensible anyway, but would a shame to kill the Welv-human cop. Should go play with Lyndon's word choice; his vocabulary has been stunted this week. Found excellent photo for his adopted family's Atlanta home:
Glad that his adopted family has money: gives me some release from the grimy scenery he's currently submerged in (team took over New York's Governor's mansion last chapter as political move; mansion is decommisioned museum, and highly boring once they boarded everything up). Shall have to remove fans from room description, add faucet handles to stress private residence, and dump candles on the shelves for effect. Am throughly sick of opulant Southern scene the book began with, but does give a nice break if I need to relocate him back home to track down Britton. May stick with interlude scene involving writing Britton a letter about Jer-ad taking the baby, and Antigone becoming captain in the rebellion army. Lyndon writes a nice letter, and would show his concern for Antigone's private life. Not sure what to do with Britton; ex-boyfriend jerk should be married off to prevent him from popping up again. Boring socialite Dresden may be best choice for that. Should dress her in something suitably low cut, preferably a white, Great Gatsby-esque for when Britton receives letter. White dress will be equally ironic, excessive, and foreshadowing; lace overlay would be best, drop waist to accentuate thin, money pampered body. Yes; good idea there. Contrast between war team in battered mansion and pair on Southern plantation porch will make a good interrupting scene. Shall go develop that.
10:10AM - Opening Curtain
Welcome to Corner of the Room! Marielle, this community has been created to allow you to post me whenever you wish, without fear. You can fill it with your random thoughts on life that you don't feel comfortable posting in your journal, or leave notes about your story. My book notes will be posted here also, so we can keep track of each other's progress without worrying about dumping lengthy entries on our private journal pages, or sounding like lunatics in front of friends. This is, in effect, your online sanctuary, for you to access and post to when the mood strikes you, and leave your private thoughts. We shall become excellent pen pals this way, and make a marvelous mess of words while at it. Enjoy.