rj_anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rj_anderson) wrote2007-01-29 03:48 pm
rj_anderson) wrote2007-01-29 03:48 pm
Help! and an offer of fic
After spending the last six months tearing my old novel to pieces and rebuilding it, and the last few weeks outlining a new novel, and reading endless discussions about the craft and business of fiction, I seem to have forgotten how to write. No matter how many times I remind myself of Elizabeth Bear's dictum that "Writing is not a performance art," I can barely get a sentence onto the page without telling myself it's no good and erasing it. I think I am just trying too hard to get this book right the first time, and somehow I have to shake that mindset. So now I'm looking to you to help me out with some stretching exercises:
Tell me what you want me to write.
The caveats are that it has to be a scenario or a fandom I'm familiar with -- so no use asking me for Stargate fic, okay? But if there's a scene or an incident you'd like to see, a particular pairing or tag-team of characters, romance or action or suspense or what-have-you, tell me and I'll write... something. It might be a sentence, a drabble, or a vignette, depending on how much your idea inspires me and how well the writing's going. In a pinch I'll just set the timer for 15 minutes and you'll get whatever I can hammer out in that space of time.
Ready? Go.
Tell me what you want me to write.
The caveats are that it has to be a scenario or a fandom I'm familiar with -- so no use asking me for Stargate fic, okay? But if there's a scene or an incident you'd like to see, a particular pairing or tag-team of characters, romance or action or suspense or what-have-you, tell me and I'll write... something. It might be a sentence, a drabble, or a vignette, depending on how much your idea inspires me and how well the writing's going. In a pinch I'll just set the timer for 15 minutes and you'll get whatever I can hammer out in that space of time.
Ready? Go.
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***
"This is a joke, right?" said Wilson. "Ha-ha, that sort of thing. Except... not especially funny, and more along the lines of bizarre and slightly disturbing?"
House eased a hip over the divider between their two balconies, stretching out his bad leg and leaning back against the sun-warmed brick of the wall. Below, the grounds of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital basked in the afternoon sunlight, and a faint smell of tarmac and grass clippings wafted toward them on the breeze. "Nope," he said. "Scout's honor. She's taking me out to dinner Friday night."
"Cameron. Is taking you. To dinner." Wilson's voice was flat with disbelief. "You mean it was her idea?"
"No," said House, "it was my idea, and she fell for it. Clever, huh?"
Wilson shut his eyes and put his fingertips against his forehead, in the manner of a man performing some complicated feat of mental logic. "Let me get this straight," he said. "A couple of days ago you told me you weren't interested in anyone, Cameron very much included. And last I checked, she was still mad at you for spying on her. Now all of a sudden the two of you are dating? What did I miss?"
"It's not dating," House corrected him, "it's a date. Dating implies repeated activity and possibly even some degree of commitment. I'm not signing up for anything, I'm just scoping out the territory."
"Uh-huh," said Wilson. "The last time you scoped out anyone's territory, you ended up living with her for five years, and it took you another six years to get over it."
"Well, aren't you just a little ray of bipolar sunshine. You're telling me not to go out with Cameron? A couple of days ago you were practically drawing up the wedding invitations."
"I'm not telling you anything. I'm just --" Wilson made a vague, helpless gesture. "Confused. That's all."
"Aw, don't worry," said House. "We'll make sure to take things nice and slow so you can catch up."
"You seem awfully... relaxed about this."
"That's just my patented devil-may-care façade. Inside I'm all a-quiver. See?" House held out a theatrically trembling hand. "I mean, you never know what may happen on a date with Allison Cameron. She may launch herself across the table and ravish me right in the middle of Earl's Seafood Shack."
"Maybe a little too relaxed," said Wilson.
House let his hand drop. "Oh, come on. I've known Cameron for four years. The element of surprise is not exactly a factor. And if the evening sucks, so what? Been there, done that, bought the puttanesca."
"True," mused Wilson. "And if she hasn't snapped and beaten you to death with your own cane by now, she probably never will."
"Wow, you're good," said House. "Have you ever thought of going into sales?"
***
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