idiosyncreant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
idiosyncreant) wrote2007-10-10 09:54 pm
idiosyncreant) wrote2007-10-10 09:54 pm
Entry tags:
Viable Paradise--Homework Commenced
Monday I spent digging into World Domination 101's rewrite. I just couldn't face that today.
While I usually try not to post every day I'm sifting through a lot of stuff right now, post-VP, so blogging is getting a lot of abuse as a way of talking to my other brain. But first...
Anecdotal Evidence of a Good Time:
How could Pam have known when she left Denver that one of her missions in travelling to Mass. would be to reveal to an Oklahoma residing 80's baby that the subgenre of the decade she'd always liked was Hair Metal? No one could have known. It is inscrutible.
How could I have guessed it would not be the Shakespeare (...ow...the puns...) reading that I would have most fun at, but an impromptu initiation in the "horror of the literary life", a respite in a weary labor, and that Bear would volunteer to read me a bed-time story?
Likewise, inscrutible.
I think I like Bear. A lot.
As an exercise, I'm writing every night with the sole intent of upping conflict every scene of the story. It's a silly premise, but is perfect for a "cheap mistakes" excursion into words. I'm posting it on Writer's Digest forums (which has suddenly palled in appeal) but I'm also committing myself here. For you, though, gentle reader--
Blech. But what I've done tonight so far does have more problems stacking up BECAUSE of Malene's solution. A point to Hufflepuff.
While I usually try not to post every day I'm sifting through a lot of stuff right now, post-VP, so blogging is getting a lot of abuse as a way of talking to my other brain. But first...
Anecdotal Evidence of a Good Time:
How could Pam have known when she left Denver that one of her missions in travelling to Mass. would be to reveal to an Oklahoma residing 80's baby that the subgenre of the decade she'd always liked was Hair Metal? No one could have known. It is inscrutible.
How could I have guessed it would not be the Shakespeare (...ow...the puns...) reading that I would have most fun at, but an impromptu initiation in the "horror of the literary life", a respite in a weary labor, and that Bear would volunteer to read me a bed-time story?
Likewise, inscrutible.
I think I like Bear. A lot.
As an exercise, I'm writing every night with the sole intent of upping conflict every scene of the story. It's a silly premise, but is perfect for a "cheap mistakes" excursion into words. I'm posting it on Writer's Digest forums (which has suddenly palled in appeal) but I'm also committing myself here. For you, though, gentle reader--
I swung my glossy hair off my shoulder, as if unaware of Drae, and slid a little on the seat, perching a discotheque shoe on a bar of the stool. My mother taught me the "wrong trick", for a time like this, for desperation. Forcing away the bad memory of what I was asking for, I filled myself with a confidence like lungs fill with breath. The sex potential in me I focused on hurts, but I put that away and tried to be breasts and hips and legs. But personality, too. I didn't push myself out like this in body to be treated like it, so I know it's not the only thing that matters.
"Where do you keep the really expensive bottles, like the Gavortin?" I asked Mardo, the bartender.
"There's a padlocked cellar," he told me.
Drae turned to me, too.
"You know about Gavortin?"
Arrogant dog--'Andrae Magnifick' can't imagine a kid like me knowing wine.
"We're comparing notes--she worked at the Falcon's Perch club for a little while."
If Mardo had agreed to flirt with me to pique Drae, it couldn't have been so perfect. He turned in further, so the bar became his armrest and our knees almost grazed. I don't look at him right away, infusing potential throughout me again.
Which was a good thought, because you don't look Drae square in the face and hold your posture. His wet-coal eyes drew mine as quickly as if I'd been infatuated with him for years. Drico men are all hot to the white girls. They say things like "smoldering" or "passionate" when Drico girls know that means bitter or bad-tempered. Drae was something else again, and rumor has it that's not all magic.
He was smiling a little bit. My mouth curled, too, but I dropped my eyes to avoid him.
"Andrae Magnifick. I know better than to talk wine near you."
"You know who I am ?"
"Anyone could tell who you are."
If not by mere experience in the boro he held a house on, there was only one man in the city who would wear purple velvet over a canary silk shirt as well as a totem bolero. If he had any imitators, they would never have dared the skinny-jeans with galoshes.
My glance at the colors of him didn't go unnoticed.
"Are you blinded?"
"Maybe not enough," I said, honestly cranky at that point.
Mardo and Drae both laughed. Drae had signaled for something so Mardo moved off.
"Who are you?" Drae asked.
I didn't need the sexy act anymore, baby. He had asked the right question. The next part was still harder, though--remember, when you're embarrassed, I was asking for you.
"I came to find you, actually, because I have to ask a favor of you. I'm Malene."
"You need something, Malene?"
His tone became kind, which made me much more uneasy.
"I want to hear the truth. Did you really swear that even marriage couldn't keep you from finding girlfriends?"
If he was balancing ego and discretion, his manly pride won out.
"I won't marry, I said. Because I keep finding girls I like."
"It would mean nothing," I agreed.
"Is that all? Are you just trying to prove me a callous player?"
"No. I want you to marry me, but for protection only."
Drae tilted his head, as if to get a new angle on me. Then he picked up my gin and choked it down, setting the empty glass back with a blink to resort the world. I was still sitting by him, though. Still waiting for an answer.
He turned back into the bar, folding his arm on it as if unaware of the velvet's integrity, and mused on the labels across from our stools. Mardo was coming back with his drink.
"Protection for what?"
"I'm having a sorcerer's baby I don't want him to know about, or take away from me. So it would be just until it was born, as if it were yours."
"Are you going to get it after I marry you? I'm not sure I approve."
But his eyes lit up at the mischievous idea. It wouldn't be a first try for a sorcerer's baby to profit another, but it would be a first where marriage to that other preceded it. Such an abhominable idea.
"No, I'm pregnant now, but I've been careful to watch for it so I could run away before it told, if I had to."
We were silent as Mardo set down the drink. He took the hint and went off without another look. There was a clump of livelier patrons on the far end of the bar--he'd been with me just because I was alone.
Drae's glass was full of shaved ice--he must have done it for Mardo, to have it done so fast. He poured out the shots onto it and downed a good portion at once. The ice was melting quickly in the liquid. To drink it hard on ice, undiluted the way I've heard the connoisseurs demand, you had to gulp it down. The two clear substances mixed in an uneasy peace, not together but looking the same.
When it was gone, Drae asked, "So you want me to take you home?"
"No. Your night's just starting, right? Give me your answer tomorrow. I live over the quilt shop in Dameboro."
"The answer will be yes, probably." Sorcerers hate each other; what I was planning on. "Be packed before siesta. I think I can wrangle a license that soon."
I slipped off the stool and went without a goodbye.
It's occurring to me that escaping a sorcerer by marrying one is really idiot-sounding. It may be. I did it despite how the idea makes my skin crawl. I'm going to keep a record for you, baby. If your body-dad can get you away from me, I know Drae can spell this to appear to you at the right age, so you'll know I tried, and I loved you despite him.
It appalls me how much I've latched onto you, even when you were microscopic. The only good thing to come out of treachery. I ignore my body's treachery because I think you'll be the only child I can ever have. I do want to be a mother. I don't know what will happen to me if they take you away, sorcerer baby.
"Where do you keep the really expensive bottles, like the Gavortin?" I asked Mardo, the bartender.
"There's a padlocked cellar," he told me.
Drae turned to me, too.
"You know about Gavortin?"
Arrogant dog--'Andrae Magnifick' can't imagine a kid like me knowing wine.
"We're comparing notes--she worked at the Falcon's Perch club for a little while."
If Mardo had agreed to flirt with me to pique Drae, it couldn't have been so perfect. He turned in further, so the bar became his armrest and our knees almost grazed. I don't look at him right away, infusing potential throughout me again.
Which was a good thought, because you don't look Drae square in the face and hold your posture. His wet-coal eyes drew mine as quickly as if I'd been infatuated with him for years. Drico men are all hot to the white girls. They say things like "smoldering" or "passionate" when Drico girls know that means bitter or bad-tempered. Drae was something else again, and rumor has it that's not all magic.
He was smiling a little bit. My mouth curled, too, but I dropped my eyes to avoid him.
"Andrae Magnifick. I know better than to talk wine near you."
"You know who I am ?"
"Anyone could tell who you are."
If not by mere experience in the boro he held a house on, there was only one man in the city who would wear purple velvet over a canary silk shirt as well as a totem bolero. If he had any imitators, they would never have dared the skinny-jeans with galoshes.
My glance at the colors of him didn't go unnoticed.
"Are you blinded?"
"Maybe not enough," I said, honestly cranky at that point.
Mardo and Drae both laughed. Drae had signaled for something so Mardo moved off.
"Who are you?" Drae asked.
I didn't need the sexy act anymore, baby. He had asked the right question. The next part was still harder, though--remember, when you're embarrassed, I was asking for you.
"I came to find you, actually, because I have to ask a favor of you. I'm Malene."
"You need something, Malene?"
His tone became kind, which made me much more uneasy.
"I want to hear the truth. Did you really swear that even marriage couldn't keep you from finding girlfriends?"
If he was balancing ego and discretion, his manly pride won out.
"I won't marry, I said. Because I keep finding girls I like."
"It would mean nothing," I agreed.
"Is that all? Are you just trying to prove me a callous player?"
"No. I want you to marry me, but for protection only."
Drae tilted his head, as if to get a new angle on me. Then he picked up my gin and choked it down, setting the empty glass back with a blink to resort the world. I was still sitting by him, though. Still waiting for an answer.
He turned back into the bar, folding his arm on it as if unaware of the velvet's integrity, and mused on the labels across from our stools. Mardo was coming back with his drink.
"Protection for what?"
"I'm having a sorcerer's baby I don't want him to know about, or take away from me. So it would be just until it was born, as if it were yours."
"Are you going to get it after I marry you? I'm not sure I approve."
But his eyes lit up at the mischievous idea. It wouldn't be a first try for a sorcerer's baby to profit another, but it would be a first where marriage to that other preceded it. Such an abhominable idea.
"No, I'm pregnant now, but I've been careful to watch for it so I could run away before it told, if I had to."
We were silent as Mardo set down the drink. He took the hint and went off without another look. There was a clump of livelier patrons on the far end of the bar--he'd been with me just because I was alone.
Drae's glass was full of shaved ice--he must have done it for Mardo, to have it done so fast. He poured out the shots onto it and downed a good portion at once. The ice was melting quickly in the liquid. To drink it hard on ice, undiluted the way I've heard the connoisseurs demand, you had to gulp it down. The two clear substances mixed in an uneasy peace, not together but looking the same.
When it was gone, Drae asked, "So you want me to take you home?"
"No. Your night's just starting, right? Give me your answer tomorrow. I live over the quilt shop in Dameboro."
"The answer will be yes, probably." Sorcerers hate each other; what I was planning on. "Be packed before siesta. I think I can wrangle a license that soon."
I slipped off the stool and went without a goodbye.
It's occurring to me that escaping a sorcerer by marrying one is really idiot-sounding. It may be. I did it despite how the idea makes my skin crawl. I'm going to keep a record for you, baby. If your body-dad can get you away from me, I know Drae can spell this to appear to you at the right age, so you'll know I tried, and I loved you despite him.
It appalls me how much I've latched onto you, even when you were microscopic. The only good thing to come out of treachery. I ignore my body's treachery because I think you'll be the only child I can ever have. I do want to be a mother. I don't know what will happen to me if they take you away, sorcerer baby.
Blech. But what I've done tonight so far does have more problems stacking up BECAUSE of Malene's solution. A point to Hufflepuff.
no subject
Good for you starting to apply what you learned. I have yet to delve into those things. I probably should.
no subject
Albeit edgy 20 years ago, which is JUST like me.
Your hair is definitely as great as most of theirs, Pam. Don't lie and say it isn't. We should make a Glam Rock Fantasy band together with Jean and have three colors of long hair. Once mine's grown out again. Give me a year...