Much of what I intended to do today did not get done because I spent most of it trying to reassemble my somewhat dented psyche. Sigh.
After discussions yesterday (but before I went insane), I found myself with a profound urge to edit The Devil's Due, which probably means that its time-in-drawer is coming to a conclusion. However, since we did a lot of the review of it over the phone, I am not certain what edits I need to make right now; I don't have notes. And it's all fiddly stuff, detail and incluing.
Though I have a scenelet that I need to add somewhere, something that strikes me as a bit of important backstory not for the people, but sort of at the world level, and I know what category of scene it has to go in in theory -- one of the ones with Tiu in, probably with him as the POV.
. . . and now I'm reading the early parts . . .
After discussions yesterday (but before I went insane), I found myself with a profound urge to edit The Devil's Due, which probably means that its time-in-drawer is coming to a conclusion. However, since we did a lot of the review of it over the phone, I am not certain what edits I need to make right now; I don't have notes. And it's all fiddly stuff, detail and incluing.
Though I have a scenelet that I need to add somewhere, something that strikes me as a bit of important backstory not for the people, but sort of at the world level, and I know what category of scene it has to go in in theory -- one of the ones with Tiu in, probably with him as the POV.
. . . and now I'm reading the early parts . . .
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Let me pull out a chunk of the first section of what I'm doing an editing pass on as an example:
Let me comb your hair." When she spoke, her preoccupation became a taste, thick and metallic, rather than just a noise at the edges of my attention.
"Do you want me to move?" The question did not so much require an answer as provide me the time to finish reading a paragraph and put my book aside.
She did not speak; I knew from the feel of her what her expression would be when I turned around: chin down, green eyes up, raggedly cut dark hair framing her face and in that instant shading one eye, the comb in her left hand and tapping gently against the palm of her right, the exaggerated patience and mock impatience flowing up from her like the tide and lapping at my attention.
"Well?" she said as I stood, challenging me with her eyes.
I grabbed a cushion with a gesture and grasped it like a shield when it came to hand; as she stepped forward, she flipped the comb around to hold it like a knife and prodded the pillow with it. And laughed; she had learned how to laugh again, and the sound was golden.
A knife appeared in her other hand almost before I heard her thinking of it, and she poked the pillow again with the comb. "Move."
I let myself study the threat lengthily, and manufactured a hefty sigh. "You really don't need to be like that about it."
She lifted an eyebrow, thrust the comb into the cushion and held it there, and radiated good-humored menace.
I transmitted acquiescence and sat down on the edge of the bed; by the time she sat down behind me, the knife had vanished again. Her hands tugged at my braid gently, and she started to untie the ribbons.
"Do you ever miss the green ones?" she asked, as she draped strips of scarlet over the footboard. Her thoughts turned inwards, further than I could follow politely.
"No."
"They suited your eyes better."
"Red and blue are just as good as green and blue."
"Not really." Hints of images came to the edges of her thoughts, possibly by design, looking up at me and seeing my long tail of yellow hair bond up with green and brown ribbons. Silently, she added, with appropriate imageing, "Though with the russet vest I suppose the colour is acceptable."
It was barely a mental whisper in my response: "You never saw me with the solid green ones, you know."
She did not formulate any words, but brushed me with apology and started to run the comb through the bottom of my now-unbraided hair.
That's something I consider a very incluing-heavy passage. I'll just pull out facts that I allude to but don't state outright: these people are telepathically linked. He is a telekinetic and an empath; he is also an academic. She is the sort of person who has a knife on her, has a first response to most situations with either violence or an insinuation of violence. She has been through some sort of recent trauma that she has only begun to recover from. Ribbons are status markers; he has recently changed status, and this is an emotionally fraught change.
There's probably other stuff in there, too, but that's a quick once-over. Some of that is more explicitly there than others, but none of it is directly said; it's all in the way things are put, the sort of information that's there, the way they talk about things.
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This sentence rather profoundly describes large portions of the past month. Interspersed with periods of intense activity to catch up, and then a retreat into mindlessness.
I really need to work on better coping strategies, before I flunk college.
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We got the Hordeling guild going, by the way -- thanks for the signature. :)