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Hehe, I've never started a meme before, but this came up in Chat (because of a snip that made it into Dark Moon Seasons). So I'm sending this out to all my writer friends - share with us something that you'd NEVER, in a million years, submit, because it's that bad.
Here, for you, hidden behind a cut to protect the guilty, is the beginning of a short story I did with some of the characters from Belladonna Dreams lo, these many years ago. And those who have read Not Your Father's Horseman will recognize one character as well: this is the original story Rick came from (he was supposed to be Sapph's romantic foil.)
A Very Pendragon Christmas
I peered up the chimney and tried to stifle my laughter. "Don't say ANYTHING," came the sour comment from somewhere above my head.
Deke Eddings was wedged partway up in the chimney, and only his feet were visible as they hung down into the living room fireplace. HOW he'd become stuck was fairly obvious; his shoulders had become wedged when the chimney opening narrowed partway up. WHY he'd done it was the question that was plaguing me.
I pulled my head back into the living room and grinned at my cousin Kassidy and Rick Jackson, a good friend. "In my professional opinion, he's stuck," I announced.
"Thank you, doctor," Rick said, trying unsuccessfully to keep from laughing. "And what would you recommend as a cure?"
I looked appraisingly at the brick fireplace. "Well, we could yank him out..."
A muffled groan came from the fireplace.
"Let's give it a try." Kassidy took a hold of one of Deke's feet. I joined her, and Rick took the other one.
We pulled for about five minutes, to the accompaniment of Deke's moans and groans. All for naught - he was well and truly stuck.
"Could you ghost him out?" Kassidy asked, giggling.
I looked at the fireplace again, chewing my cheek thoughtfully. That was a good question.
If Deke had been Alis, or Peter, or myself, the question would have been academic. The three of us were spiritwalkers, able to transform our physical bodies to bodies of spirit, much like the ghosts that hover on the edge of our awareness.
But Deke's talents lay in other areas - pyschometry and clairvoyence. It made him very valuable to our group of psychic ghostbusters, but left him quite stuck in the chimney.
Most spiritwalkers cannot assist non-spiritwalkers into the Change, as it is calle. I'd done it, once before, with a frightened child, but not consciously, and I wasn't certain the kid hadn't been a latent spiritwalker herself. But it was worth a try.
I closed my eyes and grounded myself, triggering the internal switch that began the Change.
It's an odd, sort of melting feeling. Everything changes: all sensation of ambient temperature disappears, and there is the faintest stirrings of something, like that barest whisper of a breeze, that moves around you. Open your eyes, and everything has faded into a grey, surreal version of itself. This is the Shadowlands, the nether region between the living and the Border, beyond which is Heaven, Hell and whatever other afterlife you happen to believe in.
I drifted over to the chimney and then drifted through the stones themselves. A little mental nudge sent me drifting upwards, til I stood (or floated, as the case may be) beside Deke.
The problem was immediately obvious. He'd been worming his way up the chimney when he'd become wedged around an outcropping that now pinned one of his shoulderblades against the wall of the chimney.
-I told you you needed to lose some of those broad shoulders,- I teased him telepathically.
He winced. -Bite me, Sapph.-
I chuckled soundlessly and reached for his hand. With the little girl, I'd simply touched her and she'd shifted to spiritform. In theory, the same should hold true here, I reasoned.
Apparently not. My hand passed through his, and Deke remained solid.
Frowning, I tried again. Then I tried a different approach. Instead of reaching for his hand, I reached inside, looking for a switch similar to mine.
Nothing.
Frustrated, I dropped back down to Kassidy and Rick and Changed back. "I guess that kid was a latent," I sighed. "I can't budge him."
Rick touched the fireplace. "This is pretty solid, Sapph," he sadi. "How are we going to get him out?"
"Get who out?" Alis Richmond glided easily into the room, her green eyes curious. When Kassidy told her, she sighed and buried her face in her hands for a moment, then directed a succinct thought at Deke. -Moron.-
-If Santa can get down, I should have been able to get up, right?- he shot back defensively.
The four of us started, openmouthed, at each other for a couple of seconds and then lost it. Kassidy and I howled with laughter, Rick moaned and Alis stood shaking her head. It was typical Deke reasoning, and we all should have realized it.
Too funny. No, I never finished it, but they did get around to calling a stone mason and getting him out.
What's the writing skeleton sample hiding in YOUR closet? Hmmm??? :)
Here, for you, hidden behind a cut to protect the guilty, is the beginning of a short story I did with some of the characters from Belladonna Dreams lo, these many years ago. And those who have read Not Your Father's Horseman will recognize one character as well: this is the original story Rick came from (he was supposed to be Sapph's romantic foil.)
A Very Pendragon Christmas
I peered up the chimney and tried to stifle my laughter. "Don't say ANYTHING," came the sour comment from somewhere above my head.
Deke Eddings was wedged partway up in the chimney, and only his feet were visible as they hung down into the living room fireplace. HOW he'd become stuck was fairly obvious; his shoulders had become wedged when the chimney opening narrowed partway up. WHY he'd done it was the question that was plaguing me.
I pulled my head back into the living room and grinned at my cousin Kassidy and Rick Jackson, a good friend. "In my professional opinion, he's stuck," I announced.
"Thank you, doctor," Rick said, trying unsuccessfully to keep from laughing. "And what would you recommend as a cure?"
I looked appraisingly at the brick fireplace. "Well, we could yank him out..."
A muffled groan came from the fireplace.
"Let's give it a try." Kassidy took a hold of one of Deke's feet. I joined her, and Rick took the other one.
We pulled for about five minutes, to the accompaniment of Deke's moans and groans. All for naught - he was well and truly stuck.
"Could you ghost him out?" Kassidy asked, giggling.
I looked at the fireplace again, chewing my cheek thoughtfully. That was a good question.
If Deke had been Alis, or Peter, or myself, the question would have been academic. The three of us were spiritwalkers, able to transform our physical bodies to bodies of spirit, much like the ghosts that hover on the edge of our awareness.
But Deke's talents lay in other areas - pyschometry and clairvoyence. It made him very valuable to our group of psychic ghostbusters, but left him quite stuck in the chimney.
Most spiritwalkers cannot assist non-spiritwalkers into the Change, as it is calle. I'd done it, once before, with a frightened child, but not consciously, and I wasn't certain the kid hadn't been a latent spiritwalker herself. But it was worth a try.
I closed my eyes and grounded myself, triggering the internal switch that began the Change.
It's an odd, sort of melting feeling. Everything changes: all sensation of ambient temperature disappears, and there is the faintest stirrings of something, like that barest whisper of a breeze, that moves around you. Open your eyes, and everything has faded into a grey, surreal version of itself. This is the Shadowlands, the nether region between the living and the Border, beyond which is Heaven, Hell and whatever other afterlife you happen to believe in.
I drifted over to the chimney and then drifted through the stones themselves. A little mental nudge sent me drifting upwards, til I stood (or floated, as the case may be) beside Deke.
The problem was immediately obvious. He'd been worming his way up the chimney when he'd become wedged around an outcropping that now pinned one of his shoulderblades against the wall of the chimney.
-I told you you needed to lose some of those broad shoulders,- I teased him telepathically.
He winced. -Bite me, Sapph.-
I chuckled soundlessly and reached for his hand. With the little girl, I'd simply touched her and she'd shifted to spiritform. In theory, the same should hold true here, I reasoned.
Apparently not. My hand passed through his, and Deke remained solid.
Frowning, I tried again. Then I tried a different approach. Instead of reaching for his hand, I reached inside, looking for a switch similar to mine.
Nothing.
Frustrated, I dropped back down to Kassidy and Rick and Changed back. "I guess that kid was a latent," I sighed. "I can't budge him."
Rick touched the fireplace. "This is pretty solid, Sapph," he sadi. "How are we going to get him out?"
"Get who out?" Alis Richmond glided easily into the room, her green eyes curious. When Kassidy told her, she sighed and buried her face in her hands for a moment, then directed a succinct thought at Deke. -Moron.-
-If Santa can get down, I should have been able to get up, right?- he shot back defensively.
The four of us started, openmouthed, at each other for a couple of seconds and then lost it. Kassidy and I howled with laughter, Rick moaned and Alis stood shaking her head. It was typical Deke reasoning, and we all should have realized it.
Too funny. No, I never finished it, but they did get around to calling a stone mason and getting him out.
What's the writing skeleton sample hiding in YOUR closet? Hmmm??? :)
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From:
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Ok, here's a lovely dab of description I used to put at the beginnings of some chapters:
When Roderic had handed the letter given to him by King Henry to one of the pageboys and requested to meet Duke Heinrich, he was led into the main hall, the Rittersaal. It covered the entire size of the main building's upper floor, a splendidly decorated room. Two rows of reddish porphyr pillars supported the ceiling. The marble floor showed ornaments in mosaic style; the walls were lavishly gilded and painted, the dominating colours shades of red and brown, gold and bronze, and some green. Intricately wrought candelabras hanging from the ceiling illuminated the hall. It was a rich but tasteful splendour.
The attirements of the people in the hall matched the decoration. Expensive fabrics, bright colours everywhere, capes and coats in scarlet and crimson, yellow and seagreen, dark blue and violet; embroidered in silver and gold and lined with fur, mail shirts polished to a shine, swordhilts inlaid with diamonds, emeralds, topazes and sapphires, sheaths encrusted with enamel and ivory.
Or what about a bathetic cryfest? I really should stop imitating opera scenes. ;-)
"Kjartan," Roderic said, his voice tender, but trembling, "Kjartan, do you hear me? Kjartan, it's me, Roderic, your friend, your brother."
Raoul knelt at his side. "Give me the cloth," he said, "and hold the head of your friend."
Roderic gave him a look of sincere gratitude. The Sire de Coucy pressed the cloth against the wound. Roderic supported Kjartan's head on his knees.
Slowly, the Norseman opened his eyes. "Roderic," he whispered, "are you here?"
"I am." Roderic gently pressed the hand of his friend, and with his other hand caressed the fair hair of the young Viking. "I am with you. Everything will be well," he said soothingly.
"No, I am dying. I can feel it," Kjartan whispered. "But you, you will be safe. ... Say that you will be safe. Your king ... no, he can't do that."
"I will be safe." It was the first lie Roderic had ever told. He glanced towards Edward Bruce, imploring him to wait with his arrestation. Edward himself had tears in his eyes. He nodded.
"Oh Kjartan, and I have brought you into this situation. You followed me and now you find death on this way. Forgive me." Roderic sobbed. "You should have gone to Norway."
Kjartan spoke slowly now, his voice a whisper. "I thank you my life. ... You have gone into exile for me. ... I don't fear death - it's only a transition to a better life. ... Roderic ... it is so dark ... I can't see you any more." With a last effort he pressed the other man's hand. "My friend ... my brother ... farewell." His voice broke, his body became limp.
"Kjartan, Kjartan!" Roderic threw himself over his friend's body, weeping and sobbing desperately.
None of the bystanders was unmoved. Edward Bruce and Raoul de Coucy wept, and the viscount of Carcassonne folded his hands in prayer. Even the Scot who had wanted to arrest Roderic murmured."Unhappy man."
From:
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"There she sits alone again". Edward Bruce looked out of the window into the castle garden where Florence had made herself comfortable on a wooden bench with a book she did not read. "Poor lass, she mourns her father, and nothing can give her comfort, it seems."
Geneviève came to his side. "Brother, I have long considered whether I might tell you something that was trusted to my confidence. But I can't stand to see you hankering after Florence like that. Believe me, she cannot forget that Norseman who had been the captive of her brother."
"Kjartan!" Edward stumbled back from the window. "Kjartan! She thinks about him! Oh unhappy fate. But then ... after so long a time ... she doesn't even know whether he is still alive."
"Edward, she tries not to speak about him, but she often does so despite herself. Alive or dead, she cannot forget him. One day she might succomb to the necessity of marrying someone to protect her, and in that case she may prefer a man she knows and trusts. But I doubt that she will ever be able to return your love."
Edward sank onto a chair, his head buried in his hands. Geneviève touched his hair in passing and left the room. Florence in love. In love with this Norseman. He had never mentioned Kjartan when he had spoken about the time at Toulouse, because Girart Sinclair hated the Viking who had bereft him of his son. Thus, Florence could not know what had become of him after he and her brother had left Scotland. But she might hope that Roderic would look favourably to a marriage between his sister and his best friend. Shall I tell her that I have met Kjartan? It would rekindle her hope - and end mine forever. But some time has passed after I have left Kjartan, he could as well have met death in the meantime. Will she ever forget? A rival like Kjartan, handsome and gallant. How can I cope with him? No, let him be lost to her - perhaps he IS already lost. Edward rose and began to pack his belongings for the journey to Normandy. And I can't even wish for death in battle, since I have promised Girart to protect his daughter.
In the revised version, Edward is going to become much darker and Florence has been replaced with a certain Estrild who's a more interesting character as well. Sometimes, changing a name helps change a character.