Take a favorite piece of of media (but not something YOU created,) and reverse engineer an outline from it.
Back when I first thought about writing, I had an idea for a story that involved a fairly standard twist - the antagonist identified at the beginning of the story would turn out to be something else (a dupe, or a red herring) while the real antagonist would be revealed at or after the climax of the action. About 2 weeks later, I read ASCENSION by Meljean Brook, and realized she’d written a story using exactly that plot, with a secondary romantic story line woven through it. I tried reverse-engineering the outline, and was moderately successful. Now that I know more about plot and structure, here’s the rundown:
CH1
Scene 1
A: Main Plot: Protagonist is investigating
a. Antagonist is subtle, working behind the scenes
b. Backstory explains the setup
c. Protagonist notices something that could be the Main Plot, but...
B: Subplot introduced
a. Secondary character introduced - history between Protagonist, Secondary
b. Backstory explaining subplot/history between characters
C: Main Plot - minor characters introduced
a. One is related to subject of murder investigation
b. Suspicions raised about characters
c. Relative didn't hang out with others until after the murder
d. Protagonist has a lead - former friend of the girl who's related.
CH2
Scene 1
D: Secondary plot
a. backstory regarding relationship
b. decision to continue to figure things out
E. Main Plot
a. Protagonist interviews former friend of grieving relative
b. Relative had been hanging around with other girls before murder, not after - but more obviously after
c. Relationship issues
F. Secondary Plot
a. Relationship issues reflect history of the Protagonist and Secondary
b. More backstory, some movement toward reconciliation (or at least the
possibility)
CH3
Scene 1
G. Main Plot -
a. Another lead is interviewed
b. Girls at same location?
c. Red herring - girls parked there, but are somewhere else.
d. Second red herring - subject not demon.
e. Pacing slows a bit - investigation slightly bogging down?
f. Dialog and character development.
g Interview commences.
h. Dialog to provide information on how much this character knew, and when
H. Secondary Plot -
a. Interplay between Protag and Secondary - her interest is growing.
b. So is his. Among other things.
Scene 2
I. Main Plot -
a. Protagonist and Secondary go to another location to interview another source
b. Source has been killed
c. Investigation undertaken
d. More deaths - not just source, but another vampire and a human
e. Can't be a demon acting directly, unlikely but possibly vampire - more likely human
CH4
Scene 1
J. Sub Plot -
a. more backstory about the main characters
b. Character details
c. Decision is made to pursue relationship, but carefully (subplot climax)
CH5
Scene 1
K. Main Plot
a. More Investigation - details about the dead vamp and relationship with coroner revealed
b. also a revelation that one of the girls is related as well.
c. Murders occurred after sunrise, so definitely human
Scene 2
L. Main Plot
a. They leave the morgue.
b. Phone call - antagonists want to meet
c. It's a Trap!
Scene 3
M. Main Plot
a. Meeting at football field
b. details revealed - girls misled about nature of things
c. conflict - girls attack, attack ultimately fails
CH6
Scene 1
M. Main Plot -
a. Protagonists recover
b. Previous encounter analyzed - they weren't acting on their own
c. Previous hints about the library point to conclusion that it's at the center.
Scene 2
N. Main Plot
a. Demon is the librarian.
b. confrontation and trickery ensue
c. Antagonist is defeated
O. Subplot -
a. reiteration of intent to have relations.
b. The end.
It's interesting to note that I kind of skipped over a lot of the romantic secondary plot points in favor of the major plot - shows my initial bias, since I had no interest in putting together a romantic plot. There is definitely room in the story for a secondary plot, however, so looking at how Brook wove the two together is instructive. In the early part of the story, the plot lines alternate - Main, Second, Main, Second, Main, Second. Then, she ramps up the tension to a (literal) climax in the Secondary plot line (which, depending on one's point of view, could also be the main plot if you're viewing this as a romance story with a mystery subplot). Then the main story takes over, with a few lines of secondary plot tucked in here or there (mostly as character interaction, not as an entire scene), peaking and then tapering off, with a final romantic interaction between the two main characters to close out the story.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Writing Excuses 10.8: Q & A on Character
Sketch out the events before and after your dead-drop scene from last week and three weeks ago.
Possible backstory from earlier? Lachlan and Livonia met each other as the result of a kidnapping adventure story, and have kept in touch with each other despite their social disparity.
Scenes included mention of prior surveillance by Pembroke - more to this story than starting with market drop scene?
When did Lachlan learn carving? Possibility of other coded messages?
Possible earlier scenes:
- carving the item while on return trip from New Glasgow/New Edinburgh (need to figure out which city Livonia’s family inhabits - nobles as colonists? In the absence of a plantation system in the Darien colony, what are they there for?
- earlier scene where they set up the arrangement with the toy seller? Need to make him an actual character, rather than a piece of the scenery.
- run this through either short form template or STC to see where the market scene fits?
Possible later scenes:
- Conversation with Livonia. How do they arrange more face time?
- Party invitation? Butler not the final word…
- Are there any circumstances in which a young man in trade could be in the company of a young lady of quality? Chaperones? Public events?
- Another rescue? Rewrite original rescue outline to include this scene?
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Writing Excuses 10.7: Who Are All These People?
Pick one of the dead-drop characters from the exercise two weeks ago, and turn them into a secondary character. Now take one of the characters with whom they interacted, and write the same scene again, but from this new character’s POV.
Pembroke stalked through the marketplace. How could he have been so oblivious? The young mistress had always been obstinate, and her interests were vexingly eccentric, but it was his job to notice patterns of behavior and curtail any that posed a danger to her person - or her station. This obsession with carved figures of animals had seemed harmless enough, after all. The family’s peculiar attachment to Presbyterianism meant that a carved Noah’s Ark was one of the few toys deemed acceptable, and it dovetailed neatly with her new interest in “Natural Science”, which was considerably less acceptable to the elder Stewarts - but as long as she kept the scientific interest quiet, it was easy enough to explain away the growing collection of carved animals as a young girl’s whimsy.
The carver being the actual object of interest hadn’t even occurred to Pembroke, until one of the maidservants had happened to complain that MIss Stewart always went to a particular stall that was inconveniently located at the other end of the market from a stall operated by the maidservant’s particular object of interest - a tall native fellow with intricate tattooing on his face and chest. It was at that point that Pembroke suddenly realized that the Ark was not only full of native Panamanian animals, but contained pairs of European and African animals, carved with the same cunning skill. In hindsight, it was certainly possible that a Native carver had consulted the same picture books available to colonists - after all, the bookseller was only a few stalls down from the carver - but it was at that point that his suspicions were aroused.
Taking his liberty on the day before market day had been no great trouble, and he had staked out the carver’s shop for nearly a month before the connection finally made itself clear - the MacAuslander whelp. He’d been sneaking his own carvings into the inventory of the toy shop, with the obvious collusion of the carver. Pembroke waited in the bookseller’s stall, peering carefully around the bookshelf that formed an interior wall as Lachlan made his own cautious approach to the toy dealer. He smiled grimly to himself as the youngster ducked inside, and followed silently as only a butler can.
Pembroke stalked through the marketplace. How could he have been so oblivious? The young mistress had always been obstinate, and her interests were vexingly eccentric, but it was his job to notice patterns of behavior and curtail any that posed a danger to her person - or her station. This obsession with carved figures of animals had seemed harmless enough, after all. The family’s peculiar attachment to Presbyterianism meant that a carved Noah’s Ark was one of the few toys deemed acceptable, and it dovetailed neatly with her new interest in “Natural Science”, which was considerably less acceptable to the elder Stewarts - but as long as she kept the scientific interest quiet, it was easy enough to explain away the growing collection of carved animals as a young girl’s whimsy.
The carver being the actual object of interest hadn’t even occurred to Pembroke, until one of the maidservants had happened to complain that MIss Stewart always went to a particular stall that was inconveniently located at the other end of the market from a stall operated by the maidservant’s particular object of interest - a tall native fellow with intricate tattooing on his face and chest. It was at that point that Pembroke suddenly realized that the Ark was not only full of native Panamanian animals, but contained pairs of European and African animals, carved with the same cunning skill. In hindsight, it was certainly possible that a Native carver had consulted the same picture books available to colonists - after all, the bookseller was only a few stalls down from the carver - but it was at that point that his suspicions were aroused.
Taking his liberty on the day before market day had been no great trouble, and he had staked out the carver’s shop for nearly a month before the connection finally made itself clear - the MacAuslander whelp. He’d been sneaking his own carvings into the inventory of the toy shop, with the obvious collusion of the carver. Pembroke waited in the bookseller’s stall, peering carefully around the bookshelf that formed an interior wall as Lachlan made his own cautious approach to the toy dealer. He smiled grimly to himself as the youngster ducked inside, and followed silently as only a butler can.
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Writing Excuses 10.6: The Worldbuilding Revolves Around Me (“The Magical 1%”)
Think about the last time you lost at a game. What was the process of thought that led to your loss? Now, replicate that moment in the dramatic structure of the story, except the story isn’t about games.
Casual games (especially those available on smartphones/tablets) often employ randomization. The ability to successfully complete a level may be set up to depend on the player giving in and buying one of the micro-transaction items that’s available to make winning easier. If one doesn’t, finishing the level is dependent on blind luck, and may be impossible without giving up and doing something else for a while until one has enough in-game currency to buy whatever item they’re trying to get you to purchase.
For example, in a particular level of Plants Vs. Zombies 2, the boomerang trees need something to block zombies so that they have enough time to fire enough boomerangs to finish them off. The Bonk Choy are more capable, but still need a little delay for some of the tougher zombies. The zombies carried by birds aren’t held up by the Spikeweed, so they wind up chewing through the randomly available defense units - unless one has enough money to buy butter pats to take them down, at 300 coins per shot…
Lachlan tossed and turned in his bunk, not sleeping at all. He kept running through that morning’s encounter, trying to figure a way in which it could have gone better. Having it go worse was easy enough to imagine - punching Pemberton in the nose would have been briefly gratifying, but that was assault and would have led to arrest and scandal. What he couldn’t figure was why Pemberton (and by extension, the rest of Miss Stewart’s household) was so dead-set on keeping the two of them from being friends. They’d gone through the whole ridiculous spy novel charade of passing carved animals back and forth just to maintain some connection, and now even that was gone.
When the obvious truth finally broke in Lachlan’s brain, he sat up suddenly enough that he smacked his forehead into the bunk above him. They’d both been thinking like children, when it came right down to it - not just the toys, or the playing at spycraft in the marketplace, but the whole situation between them. And if there was one thing a daughter of old money had to be aware of, it was her future beyond childhood.
And her household was making sure that Lachlan was not to have a place in that future. It wasn’t about his family’s wealth, or his working on a ship, or his personality - it was about him knowing his place. MIss Stewart would be presented to society soon, and while it was perfectly acceptable for her to dance with a junior officer or three at balls, service on a commercial ship didn’t carry the same social status that a commission did. The answer had been staring him in the face this whole time - and it all came down to the very thing they’d both decided didn’t matter - Class. She had it, he didn’t, and that was all there was to it. He’d never win over Pemberton, or finagle an invitation to one of their balls, or be allowed to approach her in public as anything more than a tradesman - certainly not as a friend.
Because they were worried about him becoming more than a friend.
Casual games (especially those available on smartphones/tablets) often employ randomization. The ability to successfully complete a level may be set up to depend on the player giving in and buying one of the micro-transaction items that’s available to make winning easier. If one doesn’t, finishing the level is dependent on blind luck, and may be impossible without giving up and doing something else for a while until one has enough in-game currency to buy whatever item they’re trying to get you to purchase.
For example, in a particular level of Plants Vs. Zombies 2, the boomerang trees need something to block zombies so that they have enough time to fire enough boomerangs to finish them off. The Bonk Choy are more capable, but still need a little delay for some of the tougher zombies. The zombies carried by birds aren’t held up by the Spikeweed, so they wind up chewing through the randomly available defense units - unless one has enough money to buy butter pats to take them down, at 300 coins per shot…
Lachlan tossed and turned in his bunk, not sleeping at all. He kept running through that morning’s encounter, trying to figure a way in which it could have gone better. Having it go worse was easy enough to imagine - punching Pemberton in the nose would have been briefly gratifying, but that was assault and would have led to arrest and scandal. What he couldn’t figure was why Pemberton (and by extension, the rest of Miss Stewart’s household) was so dead-set on keeping the two of them from being friends. They’d gone through the whole ridiculous spy novel charade of passing carved animals back and forth just to maintain some connection, and now even that was gone.
When the obvious truth finally broke in Lachlan’s brain, he sat up suddenly enough that he smacked his forehead into the bunk above him. They’d both been thinking like children, when it came right down to it - not just the toys, or the playing at spycraft in the marketplace, but the whole situation between them. And if there was one thing a daughter of old money had to be aware of, it was her future beyond childhood.
And her household was making sure that Lachlan was not to have a place in that future. It wasn’t about his family’s wealth, or his working on a ship, or his personality - it was about him knowing his place. MIss Stewart would be presented to society soon, and while it was perfectly acceptable for her to dance with a junior officer or three at balls, service on a commercial ship didn’t carry the same social status that a commission did. The answer had been staring him in the face this whole time - and it all came down to the very thing they’d both decided didn’t matter - Class. She had it, he didn’t, and that was all there was to it. He’d never win over Pemberton, or finagle an invitation to one of their balls, or be allowed to approach her in public as anything more than a tradesman - certainly not as a friend.
Because they were worried about him becoming more than a friend.
Writing Excuses 10.5: What Do You Mean My Main Character is Boring?
This particular episode was very helpful with regard to a story I'm working on. The plot arc made sense, but the stakes weren't as high as they could have been, and the whole thing just felt a little flat. Sure enough, the main character was kind of boring. Changing up the climactic scene so that his reason for "running away from his responsibility" has less to do with him being a huge chicken and more to do with needing to respect the chain of command before making a decision that will definitely have repercussions either way has me far more excited about doing more work on the story. But first, an exercise...
This week's Writing Prompt:
Take three different characters and walk them through a scene. Convey their emotional states, their jobs, and their hobbies without directly stating any of those. The scene in question: walking through a marketplace, and they need to do a dead-drop.
1. Mary stalked purposefully through the aisles of the home improvement store, heading for the nuts & bolts section. Flakes of mud from the morning's trail ride exploded from her riding boots as each heel hit the tile floor The kidnappers had been very clear on exactly which bin of metric lock washers she should place the locker key in, which meant that one of them had to be watching from nearby. An older man wearing a vest looked her way, began to offer assistance, and then very quickly decided that continuing to restock the duct tape was a better course of action.
She turned down an aisle to get away from the lines at the registers, and then realized she was in a dead end. Gritting her teeth, she retraced her steps while cursing the marketing geniuses who decided that the grid layout common to big-box stores wasn't good enough for this one, nooo. Her own tastes in retail decor ran to overstuffed armchairs, artfully arranged impulse purchases by the register, and aisles that encouraged browsing without trapping anyone in a back corner.
They'd taken her apprentice. Idiots. Evidently, given the ransom they'd demanded, they either had very optimistic ideas about metaphysical book sales or else they believed the old stories about her late husband's financial acumen. Odd, since most of those stories also had lurid details about his alleged ties to the Russian Mob. Maybe they hadn't heard that part of the stories. They certainly hadn't figured out that Mary was by orders of magnitude more dangerous than the mobsters whose money they were extorting.
The nuts and bolts aisle finally appeared, and she turned in, searching for the metric lock washers. She dug through a couple of drawers as if looking for a particular size, dropping the locker key into the one specified in the ransom demand, and then made her way back down the aisle, stopping to pick up a blister pack of Wobble Wedges. They'd be just the thing for that one bookshelf in the store on Colfax, and then it wouldn't look like she'd been stomping all over the store for no reason. Besides - now it was her turn to watch.
2. Lachlan made his way through the market crowd as if they were standing still. He wasn’t quite running, exactly - that could have called unwanted attention to his progress, and he had a mission to complete. He was, however, very good at finding spaces to move into that allowed him to flow through the market like a drop of quicksilver. Compared to making one’s way through an airship’s galleys during a storm, this was easy as anything. He grinned to himself, and increased his pace just slightly.
The market stall he was heading for popped up on his right. He casually passed by it, glancing quickly inside to see if anyone else was there. Miss Stewart’s servants, especially her manservant Pemberton, didn’t much care for Lachlan as his family was ‘in trade’. As if they didn’t make their money from being ‘in trade’ - what did it matter whether one operated the cash box directly, or hired someone to do it?
The shop was empty aside from the proprietor. Lachlan casually drifted back toward the entry, moving like the airship he’d just disembarked from. He moved back to the shelf where he and Miss Stewart had arranged their drop site, digging a carved wooden jaguar out of a cargo pocket. Some of his best work if he did say so himself. Livonia - Miss Stewart, he chided himself - would enjoy the new addition to her collection when she visited the market next. Palming the figure, he looked over the other carvings on the shelf, and when he turned away, the new occupant looked as if it had been there all along, between a giraffe on one side and a howler monkey on the other. Lachlan caught the proprietor’s eye and nodded, then turned away - and nearly collided with the middle button on Pemberton’s waistcoat.
3. Bob walked quickly through the mall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His head twitched from side to side as he looked back over his shoulder, ignoring the instructions (repeated over and over and fucking OVER) given by his unexpected guest not to look around, but just to walk through the mall until he got to a specific bench - the only one in the courtyard near the Macy’s with both a fake streetlamp and an operational trash can. The briefcase was getting heavier and heavier in his grip, and he nearly dropped it as a small child ran across his path. He managed not to scream, so at least there was that.
This didn’t seem nearly as cool as it did on TV, with people casually meeting in public places to make exchanges of money, information or hostages. On the other hand, those guys were trained professionals , and their training videos were probably better quality than the ones he’d sat through on customer service, proper topping placement, and the legality of taking one’s lunch breaks on time. The briefcase slipped again, and Bob tightened his grip, trying not to think about how much blood must have soaked into the handle before he’d been entrusted with it.
The bench! There it was. Bob almost ran toward it, then stopped himself. Just a few more minutes, and then he could go back to his apartment and escape back into his shows. Maybe he’s skip “Burn Notice” tonight, though. He sank onto the bench, his knees suddenly rubbery with relief. Checking his watch, he marked off the 4 minutes he was supposed to wait before wandering off, leaving the briefcase behind. He was hyperventilating now. So close…
A voice rasped in his ear. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?”. A large man in a windbreaker sat down next to him, his hand ominously tucked into the front of the jacket as if holding something heavy out of sight.
This week's Writing Prompt:
Take three different characters and walk them through a scene. Convey their emotional states, their jobs, and their hobbies without directly stating any of those. The scene in question: walking through a marketplace, and they need to do a dead-drop.
1. Mary stalked purposefully through the aisles of the home improvement store, heading for the nuts & bolts section. Flakes of mud from the morning's trail ride exploded from her riding boots as each heel hit the tile floor The kidnappers had been very clear on exactly which bin of metric lock washers she should place the locker key in, which meant that one of them had to be watching from nearby. An older man wearing a vest looked her way, began to offer assistance, and then very quickly decided that continuing to restock the duct tape was a better course of action.
She turned down an aisle to get away from the lines at the registers, and then realized she was in a dead end. Gritting her teeth, she retraced her steps while cursing the marketing geniuses who decided that the grid layout common to big-box stores wasn't good enough for this one, nooo. Her own tastes in retail decor ran to overstuffed armchairs, artfully arranged impulse purchases by the register, and aisles that encouraged browsing without trapping anyone in a back corner.
They'd taken her apprentice. Idiots. Evidently, given the ransom they'd demanded, they either had very optimistic ideas about metaphysical book sales or else they believed the old stories about her late husband's financial acumen. Odd, since most of those stories also had lurid details about his alleged ties to the Russian Mob. Maybe they hadn't heard that part of the stories. They certainly hadn't figured out that Mary was by orders of magnitude more dangerous than the mobsters whose money they were extorting.
The nuts and bolts aisle finally appeared, and she turned in, searching for the metric lock washers. She dug through a couple of drawers as if looking for a particular size, dropping the locker key into the one specified in the ransom demand, and then made her way back down the aisle, stopping to pick up a blister pack of Wobble Wedges. They'd be just the thing for that one bookshelf in the store on Colfax, and then it wouldn't look like she'd been stomping all over the store for no reason. Besides - now it was her turn to watch.
2. Lachlan made his way through the market crowd as if they were standing still. He wasn’t quite running, exactly - that could have called unwanted attention to his progress, and he had a mission to complete. He was, however, very good at finding spaces to move into that allowed him to flow through the market like a drop of quicksilver. Compared to making one’s way through an airship’s galleys during a storm, this was easy as anything. He grinned to himself, and increased his pace just slightly.
The market stall he was heading for popped up on his right. He casually passed by it, glancing quickly inside to see if anyone else was there. Miss Stewart’s servants, especially her manservant Pemberton, didn’t much care for Lachlan as his family was ‘in trade’. As if they didn’t make their money from being ‘in trade’ - what did it matter whether one operated the cash box directly, or hired someone to do it?
The shop was empty aside from the proprietor. Lachlan casually drifted back toward the entry, moving like the airship he’d just disembarked from. He moved back to the shelf where he and Miss Stewart had arranged their drop site, digging a carved wooden jaguar out of a cargo pocket. Some of his best work if he did say so himself. Livonia - Miss Stewart, he chided himself - would enjoy the new addition to her collection when she visited the market next. Palming the figure, he looked over the other carvings on the shelf, and when he turned away, the new occupant looked as if it had been there all along, between a giraffe on one side and a howler monkey on the other. Lachlan caught the proprietor’s eye and nodded, then turned away - and nearly collided with the middle button on Pemberton’s waistcoat.
3. Bob walked quickly through the mall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His head twitched from side to side as he looked back over his shoulder, ignoring the instructions (repeated over and over and fucking OVER) given by his unexpected guest not to look around, but just to walk through the mall until he got to a specific bench - the only one in the courtyard near the Macy’s with both a fake streetlamp and an operational trash can. The briefcase was getting heavier and heavier in his grip, and he nearly dropped it as a small child ran across his path. He managed not to scream, so at least there was that.
This didn’t seem nearly as cool as it did on TV, with people casually meeting in public places to make exchanges of money, information or hostages. On the other hand, those guys were trained professionals , and their training videos were probably better quality than the ones he’d sat through on customer service, proper topping placement, and the legality of taking one’s lunch breaks on time. The briefcase slipped again, and Bob tightened his grip, trying not to think about how much blood must have soaked into the handle before he’d been entrusted with it.
The bench! There it was. Bob almost ran toward it, then stopped himself. Just a few more minutes, and then he could go back to his apartment and escape back into his shows. Maybe he’s skip “Burn Notice” tonight, though. He sank onto the bench, his knees suddenly rubbery with relief. Checking his watch, he marked off the 4 minutes he was supposed to wait before wandering off, leaving the briefcase behind. He was hyperventilating now. So close…
A voice rasped in his ear. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?”. A large man in a windbreaker sat down next to him, his hand ominously tucked into the front of the jacket as if holding something heavy out of sight.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Writing Excuses 10.4 Exercise - Ideas
This week's writing exercise:
Take one of the ideas you're excited about, and then audition five different characters for the lead role in that story. Make sure they're all different from each other.
Technomancer in the music-inspired story - who should the character be?
Take one of the ideas you're excited about, and then audition five different characters for the lead role in that story. Make sure they're all different from each other.
Technomancer in the music-inspired story - who should the character be?
1. Initial idea was to write a character very much NOT like myself - an anti-Mary Sue. Female, sexuality somewhere at the other end of the Kinsey scale, loves electronic/techno/dance music, one rent payment shy of being homeless, dark-skinned (specific ethnic background TBD), young (early 20's), skinny, hyper - sleeps a couple of hours at a time, then goes for hours on a project. Employment? TBD. Magically aware - knows that something's happening, is fusing magic and tech to create a new Path.
2. Chaos magician side character from UF novel? I'm planning to kill him off in the novel, but this could be part of his backstory. Some tech elements possible with chaos magic - conspiracy theories definitely cross over, and it would flesh out the character's moral compass (or complete lack thereof) - he finds the MacGuffin, and is out to get as much for it as he can without actually getting killed in the process. Youngish - 30's? Male, white, suburban, kind of an asshole when it comes down to it - would have to spin him as an antihero, perhaps.
3. Female lead, based loosely on X? Loves music, especially country (much to her boyfriend's dismay). Does karaoke regularly, downloads MacGuffin while looking for new tracks to practice with. Completely out of her depth when things go sideways, and nearly as disoriented by the Itchy-O performance as the thugs chasing. Not aware of the magical reawakening - could be horrified by the idea, reacting from a strongly anti-magical bias (it's all Demonic...)? Not a technomancer, obviously - might need to add a character if I go this route.
4. Fish out of water - the person who downloads the file is computer-savvy enough to know it's not what they thought it was, but has no idea what it actually is. Engineer pulls a copy off of a shared directory that shouldn't have been shared? Leads down the rabbit hole - weird phone call(s), people following, foot chase on Broadway, cue Itchy-O in 3...2..1... mass hysteria. Could do this with or without the UF framework, as a straight-up mystery/thriller.
5. Or push the competency slider up - the person who downloads the files knows exactly what she's looking for. Perhaps she's actually a member of Itchy-O? Could pump my sources for road stories - the West Coast Tour would have been a perfect opportunity to do some research on an unconnected laptop, then ditch/disperse/pass along the file in California to a Silicon Valley bigwig (either technical or magickal or both)
5. Or push the competency slider up - the person who downloads the files knows exactly what she's looking for. Perhaps she's actually a member of Itchy-O? Could pump my sources for road stories - the West Coast Tour would have been a perfect opportunity to do some research on an unconnected laptop, then ditch/disperse/pass along the file in California to a Silicon Valley bigwig (either technical or magickal or both)
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Writing Excuses 10.3 - Lovecraftian Horror
This week’s writing exercise is:
Take a character, and from that character's point of view, describe their reaction to something horrific and awful, but do so without describing the thing itself.
Take a character, and from that character's point of view, describe their reaction to something horrific and awful, but do so without describing the thing itself.
When I looked around the corner, my brain refused to process the information my eyes were seeing for a couple of minutes. My friends were obviously dead, but there was no way that the indescribable sight before me could have happened between the time they called out and the time I got to the end of the hallway. I think I was in shock. The whole room seemed to pulse and dilate, and I remembered an experiment in time perception that demonstrated that people simply don’t remember all of the visual information that they take in, so when under stress, more stuff gets remembered and it seems as if time slows down because our perception of how quickly things happen gets screwed up by what seems to be additional input, when it’s actually what we’re seeing all the time - we just forget most of it because it’s not relevant.
Gods, I wish I could forget more of what I saw there.
Old fashioned words like “abbatoir” and “charnel house” might work in attempting to describe the scene, but who talks like that anymore? Perhaps if I had been in the military and seen death rained down from above in a shower of high explosives and napalm, I might have the words. Then again, seeing something like this more than once might have driven me to catatonia, and I can't be certain whether that’s not exactly what happened to me at that point. What I remember seems almost as disconnected as the bits of flesh and bone that were once my friends, now littering the room at the end of the hallway. A ring, still encircling a finger bone; a spray of droplets on one wall, outlining a shape that can’t possibly be real; one hiking boot, still smoldering and with a stain I really just don’t want to think about; more will no doubt come back to me in nightmares, should I ever fall asleep again.
Whatever had done this had not come back down the hallway. I looked around the room for another exit, my brain strangely compartmentalized. One bit focused on figuring out where the thing that had done this could have gone, while another processed snapshots of the horror that surrounded me, and yet another distracted my conscious mind from what the second bit was doing.
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I enjoyed this exercise enough that I even started writing an opening chapter - but since I might actually work on that as a short story, I'll keep it under wraps until it's ready for critique.
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