QUIT IT, fandom.
Dec. 5th, 2004 05:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holliI'm working on this story for my short fiction workshop, and it keep wanting to be fanfic. Or, no, I keep trying to use all the handy shortcuts I CAN use in fanfic, but they don't work because these characters only exist in my HEAD. It is (because this is just where my head is at right now) about superheroes, and secret identities, and all sort of REALLY INTERESTING things, and also it gives me an excuse to make up dorky superhero and supervillain names, which is always a good time.
Unfortunately, I don't think I have a good handle on my characters at all. Right now, I'm at the level of "she's quite Battish, in her way, but much less messed up! He's basically Captain Carrot from Discworld with superpowers! They fight crime!" I'm much more comfortable with her than with him (or at least she has more backstory, which in this instance is much the same thing), but I still feel like I'm playing dollhouse, and not creating characters. Also, I think my voice sounds kind of like Te, only, you know, not as good.
I do have one scene that I think works really well, though, and I will share it with you:
For their third date, June and Owen go to a party for a friend’s book launch. The friend in question set them up, so of course she’s thrilled to see them getting on so well. June’s a little thrilled by it herself, to be honest, and the sight of Owen in formal wear is certainly helping. The party’s held in one of the big, glassy towers at the heart of the City, one of the buildings every tourist sends home a post card of, usually with two or three people in flight around them, capes billowing in the wind. They’re high enough up that most of the City is visible from the wide windows, the lights like a night full of fireflies. June smiles to herself; she’s getting romantic, or possibly maudlin, and she’s got no reason for either, really.
Owen’s hand on her shoulder reminds her that she might possibly have a reason for the former, and none whatsoever for the latter. “I’ve got to go,” he says, and June realizes that the party has been winding down for some time now; it is, in fact, getting quite late. “I’ve got to meet with my editors first thing tomorrow. Do you think, in the afternoon, we could--’
“No good,” June says, and he looks as disappointed as June feels. “I’m spending tomorrow with my aunt, remember? But maybe later, after that--?” Owen beams at her.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He kisses her, and June forces herself to keep it PG, if only because most of the people around them gossip like madmen. With one last hundred-watt smile, he leaves.
June watches him go, just because. He doesn’t see her looking, though. He looks preoccupied, a rare frown furrowing his brown as he gets into the elevator. Which, June notices, is going up, not down. That’s not a problem, of course, so long as Owen can fly--
“Oh, shit,” June says, under her breath, and catches the next elevator up.
When she arrives on the top floor, she steps out cautiously. This high up in the building, the cleaning crew’s been and gone, and there’s only one set of marks across the freshly-vacuumed carpet. June follows them to a room with a light on, and peers through the half-open door to see--
Owen, standing in some executive’s office by an open window, Owen with his tie slung loose around his neck, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the costume underneath. Owen stepping ot of his shoes to retrieve a brightly-colored pair of boots from behind a potted plant-- he must have stashed them there before they even arrived at the party, June thinks, and realizes that’s not actually the important part. The important part is Owen doing something complicated to his jacket that results in a cape-- June allows herself to be distracted again, and supposes he must have kept it in the lining of the coat, which is rather clever. Last of all, Owen slipping on a mask, a blue domino that can’t possibly hide a thing from anyone who knows him. And Owen climbing out the window and flying away, carrying his tuxedo and his dress shoes with the laces tied together.
“Crap,” June says softly, “I should have seen this coming,” and she covers her face with her palm.
Unfortunately, I don't think I have a good handle on my characters at all. Right now, I'm at the level of "she's quite Battish, in her way, but much less messed up! He's basically Captain Carrot from Discworld with superpowers! They fight crime!" I'm much more comfortable with her than with him (or at least she has more backstory, which in this instance is much the same thing), but I still feel like I'm playing dollhouse, and not creating characters. Also, I think my voice sounds kind of like Te, only, you know, not as good.
I do have one scene that I think works really well, though, and I will share it with you:
For their third date, June and Owen go to a party for a friend’s book launch. The friend in question set them up, so of course she’s thrilled to see them getting on so well. June’s a little thrilled by it herself, to be honest, and the sight of Owen in formal wear is certainly helping. The party’s held in one of the big, glassy towers at the heart of the City, one of the buildings every tourist sends home a post card of, usually with two or three people in flight around them, capes billowing in the wind. They’re high enough up that most of the City is visible from the wide windows, the lights like a night full of fireflies. June smiles to herself; she’s getting romantic, or possibly maudlin, and she’s got no reason for either, really.
Owen’s hand on her shoulder reminds her that she might possibly have a reason for the former, and none whatsoever for the latter. “I’ve got to go,” he says, and June realizes that the party has been winding down for some time now; it is, in fact, getting quite late. “I’ve got to meet with my editors first thing tomorrow. Do you think, in the afternoon, we could--’
“No good,” June says, and he looks as disappointed as June feels. “I’m spending tomorrow with my aunt, remember? But maybe later, after that--?” Owen beams at her.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He kisses her, and June forces herself to keep it PG, if only because most of the people around them gossip like madmen. With one last hundred-watt smile, he leaves.
June watches him go, just because. He doesn’t see her looking, though. He looks preoccupied, a rare frown furrowing his brown as he gets into the elevator. Which, June notices, is going up, not down. That’s not a problem, of course, so long as Owen can fly--
“Oh, shit,” June says, under her breath, and catches the next elevator up.
When she arrives on the top floor, she steps out cautiously. This high up in the building, the cleaning crew’s been and gone, and there’s only one set of marks across the freshly-vacuumed carpet. June follows them to a room with a light on, and peers through the half-open door to see--
Owen, standing in some executive’s office by an open window, Owen with his tie slung loose around his neck, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the costume underneath. Owen stepping ot of his shoes to retrieve a brightly-colored pair of boots from behind a potted plant-- he must have stashed them there before they even arrived at the party, June thinks, and realizes that’s not actually the important part. The important part is Owen doing something complicated to his jacket that results in a cape-- June allows herself to be distracted again, and supposes he must have kept it in the lining of the coat, which is rather clever. Last of all, Owen slipping on a mask, a blue domino that can’t possibly hide a thing from anyone who knows him. And Owen climbing out the window and flying away, carrying his tuxedo and his dress shoes with the laces tied together.
“Crap,” June says softly, “I should have seen this coming,” and she covers her face with her palm.
