Gaia: DIVING DEEPER: A Writing Workshop - Diving Deeper: PROSE

Re: Sandra's NaNo thread - excerpts ii

http://sandrajensen.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 16:21:35 GMT

Ayla, Andrea. I can't believe you are still reading...((((hugs)))!

Day Twelve

We ate supper on our laps in the living room. Aaron shoved a pile of books aside and sprawled across the carpet, Pia and Bella curled up together on an enormous red bean bag. I knelt next to the coffee table, as close to Terence as I could without looking possessive or needy. Someone had cleared some space in the middle of the table, filled it with baskets of warm, roughly torn French bread and bowls of salad. A new candle flickered, the dirty wine glasses replaced by clean ones.
    Claret anyone? Aaron said in an over-the-top plummy accent. He held the bottle high, inspected its label. I think it's a good one, Mis en Bouteille en Château and all that.
    Yeah right, said Bella, delicately dipping bread into her soup. As if you'd know. American's don't know crap about wine. Or anything else for that matter.
    Hey! Aaron said, twisting his face into a caricature of pain while mock stabbing himself in the chest. His head lolled ridiculously to the side, tongue hanging. I laughed. I was beginning to like him, beginning not to feel an outsider, the wine going quickly to my head, making everything feel warm and soft. I stretched my legs out, gave Terence a sideways look but he was somewhere else, staring into space, his soup uneaten.
    Wine? I asked, reaching for the bottle to pour him some. He turned to me as if out of a dream. His skin looked incandescent, as if lit from inside. He looked at me unsmiling for a moment, as if trying to remember why I was there. And then he smiled, touched my hair lightly. No, no thanks. I've got a meeting with the boss.
    Oh for fuck sakes, Aaron said, slamming his fist on the carpet. Can't you take a break? Surely it can wait. Susan's here, all the way from bonny Ireland - he flashed me a look - Max's coming over, Julie too. You said you wanted to see them. Can't we take a night off for once?
    Max? Julie? I thought. More people? Part of me didn't want more people, the other part felt a tinge of excitement. I took another gulp of the tannic wine.
    Terence didn't answer. He looked at Aaron, and then at Pia and Bella. And then at me, and finally down at his uneaten soup. Everyone was silent, watching him. He started to eat, slowly at first, and then hungrily, reaching for the basket of bread. I took out a piece, handed it to him. He winked slowly at me. In a flash I was back in Cheltenham, the first time I saw him, elegantly leaning against the pale gold wall of the courtyard, a dark silhouette watching me. It seemed so very long ago, years even. Another life. And I was here now, in his house, with his friends, eating minestrone soup, the night still ahead, when I was sure I'd be in Terence's arms. I stuffed a spoonful of soup into my mouth in an attempt to stop my thoughts getting ahead of themselves. Later. It will come, I told myself.
    I have to, Terence finally answered Aaron, wiping his bowl clean with his bread. You know that. Auditions are next week. Bella gave a little cough, her angular face momentarily child-like. She saw me looking and the moment was gone, she was her spiky adult self again.
    I've told them I want you, Terence said. I just can't promise, you know that. You're an obvious choice for the part.
    Bella nodded, but her face was hard. Pia put an arm around her shoulders, pulled her close. Of course they'll choose you, she said with some force. Carlson knows Tavia is based on you.
    A needle of anxiety poked into my stomach. What had he written? I wondered for a small, horrible minute, if I could get my hands on the play and read it. Now. In the bathroom. Somewhere hidden. So I'd know. Know what? I wanted to know everything. All of it, his whole life, every woman he'd ever loved, ever touched, ever slept with. There must have been dozens. More. He couldn't be the way he was and not have had lots of women. I stood up, too quickly, dizzy, dropped back down, everyone staring at me. I laughed, too loudly, feeling my hot, stinging cheeks, my head looping. I felt exhausted. The buses, the flight, the trains, the anxiety and hope and wishing and trying not to think about Terence and the almost unbearable contrast between where I had been - who I had been - that morning, sitting at my mother's kitchen table, trying to get some toast down, her rushing about making sure I had my tickets, my papers for the interview, enough warm clothes, to now, the sensation of Terence's leg against mine as if a hot coal were being pressed into me, surrounded by talented, interesting people, me, drinking claret and eating soup made by a beautiful Italian actress.
    Is there a toilet down here? I asked. I had to get away, be alone, I had to collect the bits of me that were scattering, falling, like pieces of torn tissue.
    Sorry, only the one upstairs, Pia said, standing up, taking the empty bowl from my hands. Do you want some more? she asked, her nut brown eyes searching mine. I smiled, looked away, too much concern and a piece would touch the candleflame, destroying the part of me that was in control, handling all this just fine, thank you very much.
    I slid the bolt across the bathroom door. Pressed my forehead against the hard cool surface, listening to the low murmur of voices from the living room. Pia laughing at something, then Aaron, Then Terence. I listened for Bella. Were they talking about me? Had Bella said something? I sat on the edge of the bath. Put my fingers in my ears. Slipped down to the cold, black and white tiled floor. Stared at my knees. My blister, forgotten until now, stung and burned. I pulled the boot off, inspected it. Red, very sore. I got up, opened the medicine cabinet. Bottles, plastic, glass. Pharmaceuticals. Dental floss. A plastic pink cup holding several squished tubes. Antibacterial, antibiotic. hydrocortisone, others. A roll of flesh coloured bandage. I took out a box of Band-Aids and the plastic cup, sat on the toilet. Wondered which ointment would be best, found myself holding a tube of haemorrhoid cream. It felt slightly oily. I dropped it back in, leaned over to the sink and turned the tap on, holding my hands under hot water. God. Did Terence have haemorrhoids? Pia. Must be Pia. I'd read somewhere that large people got them more than thin. I finally chose antibiotic, spread it over the blister, wincing as I did. Stuck the plaster over. Stood one-booted at the sink, staring again at the contents of the medicine cabinet. I pulled out a small bottle of pills. The label was faded, half torn. ence Whyte. One to be taken at bedtime, when .. When what? I wondered. For sleep? For sex? I fingered another bottle, smaller. Turned it so the label faced forward. Bella Melchiorre. Antibiotic: one to be taken twice daily for five days. I recognised the pills. I'd been given them for cystitis. You're too young to have cystitis, my mother had said when I told her, giving me one of her What have you been doing that you shouldn't have? looks.
     I pulled out the other prescription bottles, wanting to find other names, Aaron's, Pia's, but all I found was one for a Jack Weatherly, empty. I shoved them back in, upset crawling up my throat, threatening to reach my eyes. Splashed water on my face several times, and then thought, Oh shit I've washed away my glitter but I carried on, it was too late, any glitter was swirling down the plug hole. I dried myself with a slightly smelly hand-towel, and inspected the damage. I looked hot. Angry. Was I? I didn't know. Voices I didn't recognize in the background. A sweet smoky smell. A door closing. I wanted to be down there, with them, not shut up here in this bathroom with other people's (Bellas!) pills and haemorrhoid creams. I pulled my boot on, flipped my head down and up to fluff my hair, unbolted the door and dashed into my bedroom for a quick dab of lipgloss. Terence's door was open. Dark. I could go in there, I could check for signs. I bit hard on my lip. Stop it, I told myself, and I ran down the stairs, almost crashing into a thick-set man yanking off a heavy leather jacket.
    Whoa there, he said, looking me up and down and then up and down again, hovering somewhere around my breasts. And who might you be?
    Susan, Susan Newman, I said, giving him my hand and then taking it back when I saw he just stood there, arms hanging like great slabs of meat.
    Well. Delighted I'm sure. Terence still here?
    Yes, I think so, in the living room, I said, but he had already sidled past me, rather closer than was necessary and then ducked out of the hall into the living room. I followed. Another candle had been lit. Another bottle of wine, white. Aaron had swapped places with Bella - who was not in the room - and was crammed onto the bean bag with Pia, who was smoking a slender cigar. I'd never seen a woman smoke a cigar. She laughed when she saw my face. Darling, she said, you should try it. Men find it sexy.
    Sexy enough already in my opinion, the thick-set man said, not even glancing at me, pouring himself a glass, spilling some onto an ornate-looking magazine. Watch out, Aaron said, that's got Terence's interview in it. He pulled his shirt cuff down and mopped the wine up. You're a lumbering oaf, Max, anyone ever tell you that?
    All the time, Max said flopping onto the floor. Where's Terence? Bella?
I was wondering the same thing.
    A little pep-talk. Aaron said. Bella's upset he can't guarantee her the part.
    Man that woman gives a lot of aggro. She'd drive me barkers.
Pia frowned. Pursed her lips. Blew a smoke ring.
    So, Max continued, ignoring Pia, slowly turning his big head in my direction. And just who, exactly, are you?
    I already said, I mumbled. I'm Susan.
    So you said, so you said. He downed his glass, not taking his eyes off me. They looked like fish eyes, I thought. Buggy and slippery.
    She's a friend of Terence's, don't give her a hard time, Aaron said. I shot him a grateful look.
    Of course she is. Tell me this, would you. Tell me how that wanker manages to, how do you American's say it? Corral all the foxy dames around here?
    Max! What's got into you? Pia, her voice kind and firm at the same time.
Max suddenly looked crumpled, his massive shoulders slumping, his face hang-dog.
    Sorry. Sorry everyone, he said, glancing around the room, sounding like he meant it. Fucking matinees. A bus load of pensioners. That's it. Worse than a charity show for fucks sakes. One of them even said, Speak up lad, I can't hear you, in the middle of my monologue.
    We all burst out laughing, Max's eyes brightened. He raised his glass.
    Cheers, here's to good company and everlasting friendship. Things that really matter.
    Cheers, we all said. I had a glass in my hand, filled. I wondered how it got there. I looked up, straight into Terence's eyes. He was standing in the doorway, watching us. He gave Max a nod. I tried to catch his eyes, but he was buttoning up his jacket. Black, soft, it looked. Warm.
    I'm sorry to be a party pooper, he said. I've got to go.
    Will you be late, Pia asked.
    Depends on whether or not I keep my temper.
    Clarence? Max asked, and then said to no one in particular, Who else.
    I stood up, Terence finally turning his head in my direction.
    I'm sorry, Sue. He glanced around the room. They'll take care of you. Ignore Max, he's doesn't mean to be a jerk. Max grinned at me, nodded.
    I followed Terence to the front hallway. Touched him on his arm. I couldn't believe he'd leave without saying another word to me. He turned. The dull yellow light made him look much older. We stood there, holding each other's eyes . Mine felt like they were trying to search inside him, trying to have him say something to me, what? That he loved me? Something, anything. His were steady, just looking.
    Are you with Bella, I blurted. Shocked at myself. I hadn't even thought of asking.
    Terence pulled me to him, held my face against the soft jacket. He lifted my hair, slipped a hand underneath, cradling the back of my head.
    Sweetheart. Is that what you think?
    I sniffed, certain tears were smearing my mascara.
    We once, well, had a thing. It was a long time ago. But she's too unstable. Actresses are not good for me.
    I lifted my head, looked up at him. I thought I'd like to try it, I said.
    Acting?
    Yes. Just experiment, you know. I did a lot when I was younger. Wrote plays even. But I'd like to act.
    You are full of surprises, he said, taking my face in his hands. It's a mean, nasty business. Soul destroying. Anyway, you're too much yourself to be an actress.
    He kissed me on the forehead.
    I've got to go.
    Will I see you later?
    I don't know. You should get to bed. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is important. For me too, I've a meeting with someone who wants to produce Benedicte. Early, I might be gone before you leave.
    Oh, I said, struggling to articulate my disappointment, my chaotic, random thoughts: he'd catapulted me into tomorrow, to my interview at the Classics Department - I didn't even know where it was - and then, immediately afterwards, the train back to London, the plane to Dublin. Ireland. My mother. I shook myself. It was only three weeks until term started. Not even a month. And then I'd be gone. Forever. I fingered his collar, my nose brushing his cheek. The faint, acrid smell of him intoxicating. It wasn't over yet, I told myself, he'd be coming back tonight. I'd wait up.
    Don't wait up, he said, pulling away. Not for the first time I felt transparent, flimsy nothing there at all, just a tissue-thin girl with a desperate crush. He lifted my hand, brushed his lips briefly against my fingertips. And then he was gone, the door clunking behind him, the slap of his shoes drumming against the concrete path, my heart an off-beat pitter patter.

Re: Lady for a Day - an excerpt from Preserving Grace

http://drechanteuse.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 16:17:44 GMT

I know it's hard to find the time to read these exceprts, but I am going to post it anyway, just in case anyone has time to offer a little feedback or support.

Day 11 - Evening writing

The museum lobby was filled with warm beams of sunlight entering through the highest windows and crossing each other in strong chiseled blocks that seemed carved by an art deco artist. Even though there was a definite chill in the air that morning, it couldn’t be felt inside the building.

Charisse removed her jacket and strode through the spacious room. Azure was there, at her station, waiting for enough visitors to gather for the first tour. She was involved in deep conversation with a dark-haired man. Not unusual for Azure. Men loved her for her blonde hair and stereotypical ditziness. She was like a playboy bunny with a degree in film history and criticism.
“Good morning, Azure Skye.”
“Oh, Charisse. There she is.”
Charisse had continued walking, but she stopped, cringed, and did not turn around. There was something about Azure’s ‘there she is’ that told Charisse the dark-haired gentleman was waiting for her, and really, this morning, she had no desire to have anyone waiting for her. It was so Garboesque, but she couldn’t resist.
“I want to be alone, Azure.”
She heard footsteps rushing towards her, male footsteps judging by the weight and the sound when the shoe hit the tile.
“Charisse.”
It was Mark’s voice. She was supposed to call Mark yesterday, her brain flashed to her, in between the flat tire and the romance novel and the Mexican movie and the mother returning from the depths. It really was her fault he was here. Worse than that, he put his hands on her shoulders and ever so tenderly turned her around. Then he smiled. When Mark smiled, his hazel-blue eyes turned down like a sad puppy’s. And they sparkled in such an enticing way. He got these wrinkles that ran down the sides of his chiseled cheekbones, and his slightly buck teeth broke the aura of perfection just enough to give him a quality of humanness. Humanness as opposed to looking like one of those faces off the cover of a GQ Magazine. When Mark smiled at her, her heart always melted like a puddle of sweet dark chocolate. Nothing had changed.

“Mark,” she objected under her breath as he maneuvered her over to an alcove in the corridor.
“I’ve missed you,” he pulled her close, so close that she couldn’t breathe and she thought she might die until he put his hand on the back of her neck to support her head, and he bent her over almost halfway to kiss her the way they did in the movies. Charisse’s left foot slid up her right leg, in that famed Hollywood style. Mark pulled her upright, and wrapped her up with him inside of his jacket. It was flocked inside and tweedy outside, and smelled musty-good all over. She felt faint.
“Can you get the day off?” Mark asked. “I want to talk to you. Make things up to you.
I just want to be with you.”
Charisse couldn’t find words. She wasn’t sure what he meant, and when she looked into his eyes she became even more confused. He looked at her with the level of infatuation that they had for each other in high school. Could it be ‘be with you’ meant just that? Did he mean he was going to do it with her? She looked at him again, and he winked, and she was pretty sure even though she was really lost whenever anyone threw a pass.
“I can’t really afford to take a day off. We’re only working…”
Charisse heard a noise that sounded like a buzzer going off on a game show when the contestant gives a wrong answer. She looked over Mark’s shoulder and noticed that Irma and Azure were both there, watching every scorching detail of this tete a tete, and not agreeing with the answer she had given.
“Uhhh, let me ask.”
“Ding,” she surmised it was Irma. It could have been God. She wasn’t sure.
“I’ve already asked,” Mark admitted. “I made reservations someplace special.”
“For lunch?”
“We can start with lunch.”
The room became a merry-go-round, funky carousel music and all. She couldn’t get off. The scenery was coming by too fast. Mark held her and she felt completely protected. She wanted to go with him, but she wanted to be in control, to gain her sea legs. The spinning prevented it. It was impossible. She would have to follow his lead, completely vulnerable, and trust him to take care of her until she could regain her senses.

Lunch was food served amidst a garden of drooping tendrils of flowers and slightly overgrown greenery that kept effusing scents that made her woozy. He fed her the food, and she fed him, and she still could not make sense of any of it. He put butter on it, spread the knife suggestively over it. She watched. She knew that much. He wanted her to drink the glass of wine, but he lifted a glass of ice water to her lips first, maybe because she was smoldering and he could see that. She wasn’t sure.
“Mark, where are we?”
“Here,” he offered, “together.”
That was helpful. Soon, people in white shirts came and took away the food that he was taunting her with, that she was offering him and he was biting playfully. Soon, the candle had been extinguished and the flowers were winking at her, and Mark was telling her something about their next stop. It was right here somewhere. Just down the path. He knew the way. He didn’t need a trail of breadcrumbs. They strolled, and she felt like she had drank all the wine, though she had barely sipped, and his hazel-blue eyes echoed in the colors of the pool and the waterfalls they passed.
There were white double doors with fancy French doorknobs, and he magically waved a card and opened them. Flowers from the garden had danced into the room and landed in baskets that trimmed each surface. There was a couch and a TV and a nice Louis XVI chairs flanking a table draped in gorgeous floral chintz.
“This is nice, Mark. Are we in Beverly Hills?”
“Bel Aire.”
She felt herself being lifted off her feet, floating, no, being carried through a set of louvered double doors with more French door handles. There was a bed with a carved white (oh Lord!) rococo headboard and as he dropped her into it and she bounced once or twice, she figured the most fluffy, heavenly bed clothing she had ever experienced.
“I bought you something,” Mark removed a gift box from the bedside table.
Charisse began pinching herself in inconspicuous places as Mark handed it to her, and then eagerly helped her untie the ribbon. It was lingerie, and it was beautiful, and an amazing purplish-blue just a few shades lighter but just as rich as the blue dress.
“Are you going to change?”
Charisse nodded, now sure of what was happening, though still walking through a state of disbelief. She wasn’t sure if today was like a painting by Salvador Dali or a song on a classic Beatles album, but she knew it was weird, in the best sense of the word.

The teddy fit perfectly. Mark knew her body. He knew her style. She emerged from the changing room to find him clad only in one of the hotel’s terry cloth robes. He led her to the bed, and he climbed in right after her. He kissed her , at first tenderly and then passionately, and then he began to feel her body, her breasts.
“I’ve always liked your breasts.”
“Thank you,” she guessed was a good answer.
He continued to explore and she let him, then she touched him and he didn’t pull away like he had done so many times before. She could feel his heart pumping and she knew he wanted her, finally, after all these years. It was real. It was time. He slid her lacy purpley-blue undies off and he was ready. This was it. She closed her eyes. She separated her legs. She imagined what it would feel like. She waited. She felt him. It felt good, kind of, but too soft, and …
“Oh, no.”
He lost his erection.
God, what have I done to deserve this? I have loved Mark for so many years, and now, now that I’m not sure that I really do love him anymore, I want to know what it would have been like. Please, dear God, please. Give me a chance. God, do I sound tragically pitiful?
“Let’s just wait a while, Reesie.”
Charisse wanted to cry because she knew that it was something about her that wouldn’t let Mark fuck her, and she wanted him so badly.
“Please, Reese. Don’t be mad.”
“It’s o.k., Mark.”
She caressed his chest until he turned to the other side.
“It’s o.k.” She knew it wasn’t
She felt herself getting sleepy, and she wondered how she might wake up. Would he be here with her or would he be gone, evacuated? Maybe she shouldn’t even close her eyes, but she had to. She was coming down off of such an emotional high, and she felt drained.

It was hard not to sleep comfortably with such luxurious bedding swaddling her, She could feel Mark, feel his chest rising and falling against her, he was holding her, gently, naturally, like he used to. It felt old-shoe comfortable. Maybe this is what marriage was like – supposed to be like – maybe at it’s best, you could feel this tenderness between two people who really loved each other. But Charisse couldn’t bear to think of the reasons why Mark could screw any other female thing with legs that spread, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it with her. No matter how many times everyone, including Mark, assured her that it was his problem, completely his trip, she always felt the need to take responsibility. At least share it.

Maybe she needed to go through a regression back to high school when Robert Barbagiovanni used to pick her up in his convertible muscle car and head out to a secluded Malibu beachside alcove where he could screw her brains out in the back seat. What had changed about her? Sex was supposed to come easy. Love was what was hard. Why did she have to do everything backwards?

When she woke, it was getting dark, and she no longer felt Mark’s breathing beside her. She knew he was gone and she despised him for it. At least if he would have stayed and they could have talked about it. She felt naked inside and out. Her eyes were crying inward, but she just felt to spent to actually go through the motions. She had cried over this so many times before.

Then she remembered that Mark had driven her, and she wasn’t even sure where to. How would she ever get home? She lifted the telephone receiver and dialed “0.”
“Front Desk.”
“Yes, front desk where?”
“Hotel Bel Aire.”
Charisse hung up the phone. Mark had laid out a load of bills for this spread. Now she knew he had really tried. How embarrassing. He must have been feeling his own devastation. Well, she wasn’t going to let his investment in her go to waste. She picked up the phone once more and dialed her mother’s phone number.
“May I speak to Marlon?”
When all else failed, she knew she could rely on her flaming cousin, her absolute best friend. He would come to her rescue, and if she made it sound devastating enough, he might even bring multiple flavors of ice cream with him. The ultimate comfort food.
“Marlon,” she sniffled. “Mark abandoned me at the Hotel Bel Aire. Can you come?”
She never had any doubt.

“What happened?” Irma’s message played on Charisse’s cell phone. Azure and I want all the details. Charisse, call us.”

“Charisse, I am so happy for you. By now, you must not be a vegan anymore." Lord, Azure. Vegan? "I mean virgin anymore, Well, not that you were, but a Mark virgin, I mean. Just call me.”

Re: GenieInABottle's NaNo Excerpts

http://drechanteuse.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:57:03 GMT

Oh, those humans. They just show up everywhere, don't they? It does sound like quite the interesting story. Keep at it.

xo

Re: Capricorn's Moon (NaNo excerpts)

http://drechanteuse.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:54:13 GMT

Oh, yay! Lately when I want to comment on the prose threat, it has been freezing so I have to close my browser and try again. So, I did, and here I am. I want to say I agree with everything that Ayla and Gabriele said. Oh, those control issues that the men have. It tells me that both of these women may be in trouble. I should know.
I cannot wait to read more and find out where the sisters go next.

xo

Re: Sandra's NaNo thread - excerpts ii

http://drechanteuse.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:38:15 GMT

I have to agree with Ayla, Terence doesn't sound alright. Yet, I can understand Susan wanting t believe that everything wll be. Oh, what a setting, Greece. It feels very foreign and unfamiliar to me. I am glad Pia and Bella are there, and I can't wait to get to that minestrone. Such great detail makes me feel as though I am right there. Lovely. What's next?

Love,
Andrea

Re: Capricorn's Moon (NaNo excerpts)

http://GabrieleStehle.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:29:22 GMT

Ruth, I read the third, new piece this morning, while checking my email. Only wanted to have a short look but got hooked immediately and had to read the whole thing. Loved it. Great interaction, first the Mahmud scene, then the two siserters. Loved everything, the dialog, the themes, the undercurrent, especially in the second piece. That sister and her fatal dream! Oh boy! VERY interesting stuff.

Just now I read the piece intbetween and loved it too. Very different feel to it. I think it's masterfully done. Painful, but good. The inner dialog, her relationship to men, to her self, her body... I worry about this character!

Re: GenieInABottle's NaNo Excerpts

http://ayla.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:28:52 GMT

Sounds interesting, Meenakshi. 13,000+ is no small feat with a busy schedule and visitors! xo

Re: A Little Bit of Grace (excerpt)

http://drechanteuse.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:25:25 GMT

Oh, Ayla, there is just something so special about the tone of your characters when you write teenage girls. I still remember your story, "I Think I Can," and how much I loved those characters. What I really love is that Amber is letting all of the adults hash this out but she has already decided that no matter what, she is not going to the authorities. It gives her quite a bit of power over the situation, but she doesn't even realize that, I don't think.

I also love the ending. So funny! Classic horse humor, I'd say. Maybe Ebony likes her new hairdo.

Keep it coming, love. Oh, is that like a KC and the Sunshine Band song or something? I think so, but I mean it.

Love, An-dray-a

Re: Sandra's NaNo thread - excerpts ii

http://ayla.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 15:22:00 GMT

What a strange and bizarre reception for poor Susan. Ah, I have a feeling that everything is not alright. Susan is so young, so innocent -you've portrayed that beautifully, Sandra. I hope we get some more Pia and Bella as well. Such interesting characters, especially Pia.
more please xo

Re: Capricorn's Moon (NaNo excerpts)

http://ayla.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:45:14 GMT

What a surprise that Mahmud really did just want to talk. As I read, I was just thinking, "uh huh, a hotel room to just talk, sure!" I'm curious about the relationship between the I-characters sister and Mahmud in their younger days ...hoping for a flashback? What were these sisters like as teens or very young women? What was their relationship like then? Were they always so close? (I don't have a sister and am always fascinated to know more about how sisters interact and love). And these marriages ...lots to work with here, Ruth. Certainly leaves me wanting more!
Thank you for posting. This has a completely different feel than the first two posts and I'm just crazy to keep reading because I've been pulled in head first.(with every post that is, not just this one)
Love you

GenieInABottle's NaNo Excerpts

http://Meenakshi.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 04:37:06 GMT

Since I'm GenieInABottle on NaNoWriMo, I decided to name this thread after that nom de plume. Hope the genie comes out and does her thing, because I'm WAY behind - not unanticipated with usual overwhelming schedule and visiting parents and relatives to distract me [happily]; but not to be ignored either.

I am not sure of the genre or the title, but for now, it is:

Novel: Chasing Humans
Genre: Mainstream Fiction

I had started with
Genre: Other;

toyed with Science Fiction as it started with characters un-imaginatively named Blip and Byte and Child and Whiff [wind] ...but then a human being showed up on the fourth or fifth day, much to my surprise, with a name, and the surprisng though slow unfolding of the tale is delightful for me!

I never know who'll come next!

Synopsis:

A shockwave runs across the cyberworld when they learn that humans, having lost confidence in their ability to live with Gaia, are about to leave Earth.

Re: Rob's NaNo Thread - excerpts

http://nestingwave.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 04:32:09 GMT

OK. Sandra made some very constructive criticism about my excerpt piece here. So, here is my analysis. The italics part is burdensome and even unreal. Why? Because it is me trying to inform the reader. It is the author force-feeding far too many details all at once (spread out they might work) ... because... I egotistically want them to know. They should know. They need to know. I'm screaming at them to know because it makes me scream inside, not as Martin but as Rob. However, Rob is not in the story... that is not the story I'm writing here. (of course in reality the whole thing is Rob as a buncha scizoid multiples some of them not very nice who act like robotic automatons with a poker up their ass) Nope. So, here is the part of the except that needs something:

It was that forced march through the snow, daddy. I nearly lost my feet. It’s so ironic. Oh daddy… way back then you thought this was about to happen. You were so frightened that the nuclear war was about to start. That Cuban missle crisis even had the officials in Washington saying goodbye to their wives for the last time. You were sure that the atomic bombs would start to fall and the Red Chinese would come pouring into southern California. And in the middle of that night… I remember… you woke us up at 3 in the morning and threw mom and me into the car and there we went… up to the isolated mountains of New Mexico. Truchas. You were so scared daddy… ever since you got back from Korea. It crippled you forever. You wanted me to live… so the combat training, how to kill, taught me to resist torture, deprived me, played Russian roulette with me, please… please daddy… I don’t want to pull the trigger with that gun to my head, and you starved me, made a marksman out of me, interrogated me, made me run through freezing snow up to my waist barefooted, made me eat snakes… raw. I was only six years old, daddy… forty years ago. Oh if you could be here now.

BUT there is another line that follows that I had Laura whispering instead of ruminating.

“Totally ironic,” she whispered to herself as she poured the tea. “It finally did happen dad. Yes it did. You weren’t so far off after all. Just a little out of date.”

uh...huh. OK. Here it is now:

It was that forced march through the snow. I nearly lost both feet. It’s so ironic. Oh daddy… way back then you thought this was just about to happen.

“Totally ironic,” she whispered to herself as she poured the tea. It finally did happen dad. Yes it did. You weren’t so far off after all. Just a little out of date.”

Taking all the excess away makes that whispered line really stand out and really, it is the punch line. It could have ended a chapter but the chapter doesn't end here because there is more happening. But it makes a good ending to Larua's PTSD flashback. A kind of transition between the italics block of "thoughts" and the regularly 4D present present dialogue. Good tense present present but it deserves straying away from for short intervals in order not to get dull. A bit of rabbit trailing is called for.

Now see, I wanted to use this line: "Please... please daddy, I don't want to pull the trigger with that gun up to my head."

However, it doesn't fit here. I may use it further on or further back. That, I have to decide. Or if I wish to develop the PTSD in Laura, I could break up all of the paragraph that are in that big block of italics and intersperce parts of it throughout the story to help build Laura's PTSD a little. Or do only part of the italics. But, Laura had actually overcome her PTSD, and only has occassional falshbacks. Otherwise she would never have been able to get through this and gone bonkers instead. Or, more likely, she would have become a suicide bomber for the underground having already been militarily indoctrinated from the age of six on up through her childhood.

Now those are decisions which one must make as a writer.

What will I do? Well.. something that's for sure and I think for right here I should just keep it short and sweet.

What you see above is the principle of the red pencil (not a communist pencil either) Moreso this italics burden is a clear case of telling not showing. That's why it is not believable.

I do have some narrative style portions in this book but those are clearly a shift of perspective and are a back-away from the up close involvment with the characters. A breath of fresh air relaxation during a portion of the character's great upswing. A needed change of rhythm.

Here in this italics passage, the content is (unbelievably) believable but the way it is used is not believable. It's the author trying to inform the readers.

So, I've learned something from Sandra's incredibly vectored gnosing nose. She knows exactly if something is working or not because she has.. a little experience, to put it mildly.

Anyhow dear Sandra, in a months time I have learned from you and thank you once again so much.

Namaste,

Rob

P.S. Finishing this novel has inspired me to write a long essay which will be in parts. I will probably put it up on my Gaia blog as well as nestingwave.net. It's not about writing the novel but about something else far more important.

Re: Rob's NaNo Thread - excerpts

http://nestingwave.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 03:06:46 GMT

Dear Sandra,

I am greatly honored. Thanks sister.

Namaste,

Rob

Re: Capricorn's Moon (NaNo excerpts)

http://gospelwriter.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 02:45:58 GMT

from Day 10

A motel? I asked. I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. I’m a married woman now, I said, and didn’t tell him what a disaster the marriage was turning out to be. And you’re married... I let the words hang, knowing he had been but not knowing any more than that, some marriages don’t last very long.

Just for talking, he assured me. Not for cheating on your husband. As for me, nah, my marriage didn’t work out, went the way of the dodo. He laughed. He didn’t seem any too sad about it. Now you, he half teased, if it had been you... he looked at me quite seriously for a moment. You’re looking good.

Oh Mahmud, I said, and sighed. If only... But you weren’t ready for marriage, not then, not with me.

I'll admit it, he said, I was afraid. I was crazy about you but you seemed so fragile, so vulnerable. You never talked about it, or very little — I remember something about your father — and I didn't know if I'd be able to handle being with someone... you were so emotionally charged... So I said that, about not being ready to settle down. And you split...

I started crying, or not really crying but the tears started in my eyes and he looked at me and in the gentlest voice said: Can you hold those for a sec, hon? I’m just going to go over to the office and get a key. I nodded, I couldn’t have said anything then no matter how hard I tried.

In a few minutes he was back with a key and a room number and he came round to open my door and pulled me out of the car and guided me, in the shelter of his arm, to the room. As soon as we got in the door and he had closed it, he wrapped both warm strong, familiar arms around me and we stood there, him not hugging me so much as holding me, one hand reaching up now and again to remember my hair, shoulders, face, his fingers wiping at the tears that wouldn't stop coming, and all the time he was crooning softly into my ear, little nothings really, the kind that are so comforting to a child when she has fallen down and scraped her knee or maybe just her ego. And when I was all cried out and quiet again, he still didn't let go of me but sidled with me still in his arms over to the window and closed the drapes partially and then he led me over to one of the two double beds in the room, the one furthest from the window, the far side of the bed. He let go of me then and he sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him, reached again for my hand and drew me down. He looked at me and brushed the flat of his thumbs under my eyes that must have still sparkled tears, and then he feathered his fingers over my face so gently that I almost started crying again, but he stopped when he saw that, and just held me, and he grinned at me and said: Well then...

Oh, I sighed, you just can’t even imagine how good it is to see you. Everything...

Sh, sh, he said and placed the blunt forward tip of his little finger over my mouth. And I’m glad we met again too, he said. You are such a special special woman. I’m still crazy about you, he said, but I know you’re married and as far as I’m concerned we’re just here to talk, to catch up.

So we talked and talked, about the old times and I told him a little but not much about my marriage and was torn, I really wanted to do more than talk. I wanted to hold him and love him and I wanted more than anything to be made to feel special, I wanted to be with someone who wouldn’t — never did — ridicule me or put me down.

My sister paused in her narrative and I took the opportunity to edge in a word.

You mean, Ray does? I was guessing, but I knew Marv and I knew Ray was perhaps a bit classier, more educated although I wasn’t sure about that, and definitely better looking and in better shape, but I knew that deep down they had been cut from the very same bolt of cloth.

She just nodded. Marv? she asked.

I pressed my lips together, and didn’t nod, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t need me to, that she could tell from having seen him and the two of us together, the interactions, maybe, and the bulk of him, the attitude, the tough guy hiding behind a veneer of charm as thin or thick as he cared to make it.

At least Ray doesn’t look like dad, I said, showing her the smile side of my face. Her answering smile was even more lopsided than mine and after a while we just couldn’t help it, we both burst out laughing, if a little hysterically.

When we calmed down again, she said, Anyway, so that’s why I was so late, sorry. We didn’t do anything more than talk — although we could have, she added reflectively — but the time just got away on me. There’s more that I haven’t told you yet, something that happened not today but long ago around the time I split up with him.

I always thought, I said, from the way you talked in the past, that he was the one that left you, but you’re saying now — or from what you said a while back it was you? Because he didn’t want to get married then?

Yes, she nodded. And I did, I just wanted it so desperately and I thought I was ready. I have always wanted to be part of a family, I hated being alone and always feeling I had no one, I didn’t belong anywhere. Always feeling like an outsider.

I could certainly identify with that feeling. And I could remember times when I thought it would be great to be married, but I don’t know, not at any price. I shook myself mentally: that would be true for her too — the not at just any price part. But she had loved Mahmud and from what she’d said, he’d have been perfect for her, the one who would have been able to settle her maybe. Maybe not, I reflected, maybe he would have tired of her neuroses, the kind of neurosis that we all — we sisters — seemed to be saddled with.

So anyway, you did come eventually, I said, to the airport I meant, and that's all that matters. Are you going to see him again now that you’ve reconnected?

I don’t think so, she said, with a sideways look. I don’t think it would be wise, it wouldn’t stay platonic long, and then what?

Well, what about it? I said. It’s not like Ray is your ideal mate. And if he ridicules you and makes you feel like shit, maybe it would be better to dump him and see where another relationship might go? Especially one with someone as wonderful and gentle and caring as your Mahmud?

Not my Mahmud, she answered, stubborn. And Ray isn’t like that all the time, she added defensively, and turned the heat onto me. What about Marv? she said. You’re still with him, right?

I sighed, she was right, who was I to talk when I couldn’t seem to quit the relationship I was in either, and with a man who could be blood brothers with hers, at least as far as intents and purposes and attitudes and control issues and — what else? isn’t that enough? — are concerned.

We’re in the same boat, I said, looking at her. Maybe we should help each other...

She shook her head. I can’t, she said. The dream, remember? I just know it was meant to be with Ray, we met again in this life to be together or to work through things we hadn’t worked out before.

I was silent. I didn’t know enough about how reincarnation and karma and all that stuff was supposed to work. To tell the truth, I didn’t even like to talk about it, it spooked me out too much even when she did. But I hoped that I would never let anything tell me to stay in a marriage or relationship that had such obviously bad effects on me...

I shook myself out of it. Hypocrite! I scolded.

Re: Capricorn's Moon (NaNo excerpts)

http://gospelwriter.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 02:22:32 GMT

Hmm, yes, and I'm coming from having heard but not actually witnessed much of what happened, and wanting to get it 'right' regardless. Like a mystery, working back from some event that was the culmination of everything that came before, trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle life.

Like my I-character said at the end of Day 5 (not posted), I will ask the question again, and maybe I’ll just keep asking it if nothing else comes: Why should I remember when I really haven’t a clue of what went before? Why? What? How?

Re: Heaven

http://poetjo.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 01:43:33 GMT

Shoot, I forgot to tell you all in my last post that Etty Hillesum was a real person in Europe during WWII.......she left her diaries and they are heartwrenchingly beautiful to read....The book is called "An Interrupted Life" and her spiritual growth during one of the most difficult periods in history is inspiring. Worth a read if you're looking for something to read in December, after our month of intense writing is over!
poetjo

Re: Heaven

http://poetjo.gaia.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 01:30:47 GMT

Andrea; Thanks for catching the double post thing - I'm not very good with computers so didn't even know that I had done that...thanks for catching it. You're right - it's a tough call to know how Hitler would handle self-preservation versus redemption...it was an interesting idea to write about.
rudyan; Thank you for the lovely comments - I'm never sure what will resonate with people so it was cool to read what resonated for you.
ayla; Thank you so much! I have struggled for what seems like forever about my writing - I feel that I write very simply and everyone else here has such a lovely gift for prose and flow, characterization and description - it's a surprise to read that this piece of writing has an impact. Thanks again!

Re: Heaven

http://ayla.gaia.com — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 22:30:41 GMT

I don't have much to add to what Ruth and Andrea have already said but I wanted to leave a note to let you know that I've read the whole thing and was as impressed by it as they were. You do have a gift! I loved the characterization of God, and railed against the fact that he might be able to forgive Hitler, but then he wouldn't be God if he couldn't do that, would he? Etty was wonderful. Damn. You're good.
xo

Re: Birds and Invented Cages - day whatever not sure now excerpt

http://sandrajensen.gaia.com — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 18:24:50 GMT

Christ. oops. I mean Font. Damn this is good, Leigh-Anne. That first paragraph of this excerpt. I was going to copy it but I don't want to weigh down your thread. An incredible paragraph, to make a summary like that so sparky and 'showing', it takes a real artist to do that. And the rest. Not a thing I didn't like, I didn't seamlessly gobble up. And if I paused it was to savour something over again..eg Shelley had dumped him in Vegas, left him on his own in the city of sin and sin he did. or He wanted a fight that he could win. And of course, that incredible last line.

This is so good it hurts.

Re: GG's NaNo: Bird Steps

http://sandrajensen.gaia.com — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 18:15:06 GMT

wow, Gabriele. Much of this sounds like one of those examples I read of 'how to write a great summary of your plot'...It feels like a sure thing, to me. Just needs a typist. Or, ahem, someone with a nice pen.