original_lavi: girl wearing mask with hair curling (I win)
[personal profile] original_lavi
ZOMG.

I just wrote something. (Original.) And I freaking like it.

(When has this happened before? Pretty much never!)

It's for an assignment - due tomorrow, naturally, though I actually wrote the first two parts last week (the night before I thought it was due). I'll put the part I'm excited about on top, though.

(Do not ask any questions. There is no backstory developed. I have no clue what's going on and probably won't expand it. All I know is that it's actually rather exciting and interesting and may actually succeed with creating some interesting voices and interest in, you know, the story. Also, it's only a little over 300 words. I have really low standards right now.)


“Okay, are you going to tell me now what you were doing back there? We’re alone now, no one’s going to hurt you.”

“Nothing, I swear. I was just browsing. I don’t know anything, okay? I didn’t see anything.”

“Listen, it’s all right. Calm down. No reason to be worked up. I’m just curious – who told you about that place?”

“No one! I was just messing around –“

“And thought a work on the history of soy-farming technology was great for a weekend read?

“I didn’t even look at it! I just touched it at random, I swear, I had no clue it would open up – what was behind it.”

“Okay, okay. It’s not that important. I just want to know if there’s a new soy club going around. …So, listen. You know about secrets.”

“Shit, yes. You have no clue. I can keep anything. My dad used to hide weed in the bathroom and I never, ever told my mom or anyone. …I mean –“

“You just blab it to random strangers, right?”

“No – God, I’m sorry, listen, honestly, I know when something’s important and I know not to get mixed up with it.”

“Good. You look like a smart kid, you do. What’s your name?”

“…Sam –“

“Don’t bother with anything but the truth. I have access to all the student files with picture IDs. I’m going to look you up anyway before I go home. So come on, I think we’re going to be great friends, let’s not get off to the wrong start. What’s your name, son?”

“…Sean Hamilton.”

“Okay. Sean, good name. Don’t worry about anything, Sean. I think you’re a smart kid and you were right about being able to recognize, ah, sensitive material and knowing when to forget all about it. It’ll keep you safe. So! Go home. Have a good weekend. I’ll see you around.”

***

It took a few tries before I ended up with this, and I did vaguely recall [livejournal.com profile] aquemajere's piece from ages ago, though I didn't re-read it until after I finished the above. I just had the vague idea of Library Secrets in mind.

Now the other pieces! Using summary and indirect dialogue. The first one's pretty blah, and the second one's more eh.

***

Marcella knew how the conversation had gone without remembering any specific lines. Her sister went on steadily about the benefits of adoption, the thorough case files so you could be absolutely sure what sort of parents they would be. She said there would be nothing on her conscience this way, she would know she did the right thing. Her mother had regained her composure, talking detachedly, almost brightly about how smoothly everything would go from now on, like it was just a car accident that could be cleared up with insurance. In her mother’s view, all of this could be forgotten in a year’s time, and nothing would be any different for Marcella. Her father never said a word. Marcella could remember their words if she tried, but what she didn’t want to remember was her father’s silence.

***

I asked him to tell me how the night had gone. Was Donnie there, how drunk did Kimberley get, was there any table dancing? Was Dara there? Did Ryan buy her a drink? How many times did she dance with him? Did she ever ask about me?

No, Mark said. Donnie was already trashed when he got there, he nearly got in a fight with some random dude, Mark didn’t even know who. He’d never seen him before. The bouncers dragged them out. Kimberley was a slut, she left with Brian again, Jesus. That kid was pathetic. Dara left before he got there. He didn’t know with who. Was there any pizza left?

Dunno, I said, maybe.

He went into the kitchen, reappearing a few moments later with a slice of cold pizza in hand. He took a bite, chewed, and said before he swallowed that I should forget about her, you know. She wasn’t worth it. Loads of hotter chicks out there, trust him, I should have come out tonight and I would have seen. Staying here was just pathetic, like some chick would do. Seriously, if I had seen this chick tonight in this –

I couldn’t talk to her now, could I? So pipe down, I was trying to watch the game.

Okay, okay. But Mark had thought I didn’t care about football.

***

Meanwhile, I did write two longer stories of about, um, five thousand words each.  I meant to post them here, but right now I can't stand to look at them, though I suspect those feelings are more habitual justified.  I have to revise them anyway eventually.  I should post them.  But not tonight.

Date: 2008-11-20 05:50 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] treeflamingo.livejournal.com
I deeply admire the vaguely incisive dialogue of the first piece. I deeply admire the utter lack of dialogue in the last piece. I love the run-on quality of the middle piece and the blase with which it is treated, but there is something wrong with the verbs: they don't actually do anything, I think.

Date: 2008-11-20 11:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] original-lavi.livejournal.com
Oh, good God. You discovered my original writing journal.

Yeah, I'm in a severely unhappy place right now with my original work (well, writing in general, but specifically original stuff). I was kind of amazed when I wrote the stuff for this entry that they came out as decently as they did, and I really appreciate your comments agreeing that they aren't worthless. Thank you for the feedback, too, I do really want to hear specifically what doesn't work, versus my own sense of "oh my God you suck so, so much, burn everything."

Date: 2008-11-27 06:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] treeflamingo.livejournal.com
Mwahahahaha! Discovery is mine!

Aaaaah, I know what you mean, with the "oh god oh god oh god it suuuuucks whydoyouwriteeverseriouslyyoushouldstoooooop." And with the bizarrely hormonal nature of the muse. I do believe that all muses are in a permanent state of PMS. *shakes head* I hear you.

These pieces are good, at any rate, and I personally would love to read the story from which Dialogue # 1 is excerpted.

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