fic writing processes
Aug. 28th, 2015 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sealieSo as folk who read this journal know I write stuff in long hand sometimes (http://jimandblair.livejournal.com/175243.html) and then type it into the wip Word.doc. I’m currently working on the next story in the ‘Uhane series – yes, I know, I was supposedly finished with it.
Today, I had the opportunity to pull out my notebook and pen some text. I also went back and read some of the previous scribbles.
Interestingly, whilst I had written some earlier text, I had forgot to transcribe it into the Word.doc. And in the meantime, I had (previously) revisited that part of the story in my Word.doc. Does that make sense?
Compare and contrast? FYI, Danny’s suffering from hypothermia
From the notebook (Kono and Chin are speaking):
“Share body heat?”
“Yeah, let’s make a puppy pile.”
“Puppy pile?” Danny latched onto the words. “Puppy? Grace likes puppies. Where’s Grace?” He pushed at the hands plucking at his shirt. “Grace?”
“No. No, Grace. She’s with her Mom.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred and ten percent, cross my heart,” Kono said seriously.
“Cross your heart,” Danny intoned and drew a cross over Kono’s t-shirt, unerringly focussing on her beating heart.
“We’ve got to get them warm.”
“Why are they so cold?”
Cold? Who is cold? It was all a little confusing. Danny clasped Steve close.
“Steve is cold!” he told them finally understanding. “We’ve got to get him warm.”
“Yes, brother,” Chin said. He turned Danny about , as if they were in a four person three-legged race, and they all dropped onto the ratty couch.
NOW this is what I wrote completely separately forgetting about the notebook text.
Danny’s calves hit the back of something, and they all toppled gracelessly onto a sofa that creaked alarmingly.
“Danny? Let go of Steve.”
“No.” Danny thought, clasping his guide even more closely. They could not have him. Fingers plucked at his shirt. His skin crawled.
“Danny. “Warm hands cupped his cheeks. “Please, let go of Steve.”
Danny bared his teeth.
“No,” Chin enunciated clearly. “We’re helping you, Danny. Helping.”
“Helping?”
“We’re ‘ohana.”
Reluctantly, Danny let Chin unpeel his fingers that he couldn’t move himself.
“You’re chilled. Why are you so chilled?”
Who was speaking? Danny wondered.
“Steve’s like an ice cube.”
“We’ve got to get them warmed up.”
“Is there a first aid kit? We’ve got to wrap that cut on Danny’s arm.”
There was a tug and a distant, disconnected hurt, that Danny figured had something to do with his forearm.
“Get them out of their wet clothes.”
“Share body heat.”
“It’s like trying to undress a toddler.”
“Toddler?” Danny tried to see where Grace in the room. “Where’s Grace?”
“Grace is safe. She’s with her mom.” A soft hand cupped his cheek. “Grace is safe, Danny. I promise. My word of honour. Grace is safe.”
His shirt was peeled away, and the relief at being free from the tacky, damp clasp was immeasurable. He watched the swath of blond hairs on his forearm stand proud. Every pinprick was a mountain.
“Don’t zone, Danny.” A narrow, smooth hand -- not Steve’s cupped his cheek.
“Here.”
A musty, heavy coat, sharp with hard edges enfolded him. The owner’s scent was unfamiliar.
“Interloper,” Danny growled.
He pushed his nose into Steve’s damp hair to escape the odour. The siren call of his guide was all encompassing. Relaxing was suddenly all too easy.
Interesting, eh?
Today, I had the opportunity to pull out my notebook and pen some text. I also went back and read some of the previous scribbles.
Interestingly, whilst I had written some earlier text, I had forgot to transcribe it into the Word.doc. And in the meantime, I had (previously) revisited that part of the story in my Word.doc. Does that make sense?
Compare and contrast? FYI, Danny’s suffering from hypothermia
From the notebook (Kono and Chin are speaking):
“Share body heat?”
“Yeah, let’s make a puppy pile.”
“Puppy pile?” Danny latched onto the words. “Puppy? Grace likes puppies. Where’s Grace?” He pushed at the hands plucking at his shirt. “Grace?”
“No. No, Grace. She’s with her Mom.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred and ten percent, cross my heart,” Kono said seriously.
“Cross your heart,” Danny intoned and drew a cross over Kono’s t-shirt, unerringly focussing on her beating heart.
“We’ve got to get them warm.”
“Why are they so cold?”
Cold? Who is cold? It was all a little confusing. Danny clasped Steve close.
“Steve is cold!” he told them finally understanding. “We’ve got to get him warm.”
“Yes, brother,” Chin said. He turned Danny about , as if they were in a four person three-legged race, and they all dropped onto the ratty couch.
NOW this is what I wrote completely separately forgetting about the notebook text.
Danny’s calves hit the back of something, and they all toppled gracelessly onto a sofa that creaked alarmingly.
“Danny? Let go of Steve.”
“No.” Danny thought, clasping his guide even more closely. They could not have him. Fingers plucked at his shirt. His skin crawled.
“Danny. “Warm hands cupped his cheeks. “Please, let go of Steve.”
Danny bared his teeth.
“No,” Chin enunciated clearly. “We’re helping you, Danny. Helping.”
“Helping?”
“We’re ‘ohana.”
Reluctantly, Danny let Chin unpeel his fingers that he couldn’t move himself.
“You’re chilled. Why are you so chilled?”
Who was speaking? Danny wondered.
“Steve’s like an ice cube.”
“We’ve got to get them warmed up.”
“Is there a first aid kit? We’ve got to wrap that cut on Danny’s arm.”
There was a tug and a distant, disconnected hurt, that Danny figured had something to do with his forearm.
“Get them out of their wet clothes.”
“Share body heat.”
“It’s like trying to undress a toddler.”
“Toddler?” Danny tried to see where Grace in the room. “Where’s Grace?”
“Grace is safe. She’s with her mom.” A soft hand cupped his cheek. “Grace is safe, Danny. I promise. My word of honour. Grace is safe.”
His shirt was peeled away, and the relief at being free from the tacky, damp clasp was immeasurable. He watched the swath of blond hairs on his forearm stand proud. Every pinprick was a mountain.
“Don’t zone, Danny.” A narrow, smooth hand -- not Steve’s cupped his cheek.
“Here.”
A musty, heavy coat, sharp with hard edges enfolded him. The owner’s scent was unfamiliar.
“Interloper,” Danny growled.
He pushed his nose into Steve’s damp hair to escape the odour. The siren call of his guide was all encompassing. Relaxing was suddenly all too easy.
Interesting, eh?
