One crisis averted. Time for a meme
Mar. 11th, 2010 05:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdThis is from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
celestineangel
What was the last thing you wrote? Literally, a packing list. Fictionally speaking, the opening of a post-apoc novel.
Was it any good? It's not bad. It will be better in rewrites.
What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have? Probably the fantasy novel I started in college. Maybe one of my HS lit mags if I dig deeply enough.
Write poetry? Sometimes. Usually in prayer format these days.
Angsty poetry? Sometimes. I mean, a prayer to Persephone, Queen of the Underworld isn't going to be exactly cheery, is it? Neither are unrequited teenage lesbian crushes.
Favourite genre of writing? GLBT. I get on kicks, where it's all paranormal or all dark future, but it's always GLBT.
Most fun character you ever wrote? Bess from Heart of A Forest. She gets all the best lines.
Most annoying character you ever wrote? On a personal level, Nick. He pesters me ALL time time. On a fictional level, Nick Harper. He is all my bad religious issues rolled into one closet-case.
How often do you get writer's block? Often enough I have a condo at that address thatnbrooks time-shares.
How do you fix it? I do hand-work, garden or watch movies
Write fan fiction? Not anymore. The last I wrote was Boromir/hobbits.
Do you type or write by hand? Type when I can, handwrite when I must
Do you save everything you write? No.
Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it? Sometimes. And sometimes it pans out.
What's your favourite thing that you've written? Heart of a Forest It's one I've re-read several times and always enjoy.
What's everyone else's favourite thing that you've written? Apparently Shell-Shocked judging by sales and reviews.
What's your favourite setting for your characters? My dark future Disunited States of America
What's one genre you have never written, and probably never will? Cozy mystery. The Vicar always does it anyway.
How many writing projects are you working on right now? *hollow laugh*
1) Chainmale
2) Long-Term
3) trucker
4) post apoc
5) Kestrel rewrites
6) Autumn Make & Do
7) queer zombie piece
and that's just the "Actively writing some on every day" There are many more that have a fair chunk written and will be picked up after these are done.
Do you want to write for a living? Not really. I would like to make what Thad Beaumont in The Dark Half calls "Fuck You Money." Enough that I can quit my job if I want.
Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper? Just letetrs to the editor.
Have you ever won an award for your writing? no, but I've lost the Darrell five years running!
Ever written something in script or play format? There are things of which we do not speak.
What are your five favourite words? I'm not sure.
What character that you've written most resembles yourself? The various incarnations of Nick, I suspect. Most of the characters have some aspect of me in them.
Where do you get ideas for your other characters? Movies, often. Or a foil for the others.
Do you ever write based on your dreams? Now and then
Do you favour happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers? I like happy endings. in my genre, they're transgressive.
Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write? Sort of? They come pretty naturally.
Does music help you write? yes. It gives me a beat to pound the keys to.
Quote something you've written. The first thing to pop into your mind.
From "Between Despair and Ecstasy"
The warehouse reeked of blood and death, the industrial moan of Bauhaus chanting “undead undead undead” over the club speakers setting Marcus' teeth on edge. Newly-made vampires, especially young ones, would sometimes set up a club like this, welcoming humans in as refreshments. Tonight, Halloween of all nights, he and Samil had attended, dressed for the occasion and appearing as lovers in public for the first time. Marcus smiled grimly. All Samil's fears of being outed to the criminal element he controlled were put to rest, since there would be no living witnesses to that appearance.
Now, they were nearly through with the evening's work and Marcus was thoroughly pissed off. His favorite black silk shirt was drenched in slimy undead blood, his chaps were stained and one of the dying vamps had caught the handcuffs on his belt as she went down and shredded the leather beltloops. His eyeliner and warpaint had streaked from backsplash and he dreaded trying to wash both blood and product from his hair.
The dancefloor was cluttered with bodies and more sagged over tables and on benches. It had been easy at first. A dance with a pretty girl or pretty boy that ended with a quick and quiet stake. Then the body propped quietly in the corner with a drink and a rebuke that the dancer hadn't needed another. But that had only eliminated a dozen or so before someone realized the dead ones weren't just drunk and raised the alarm. Then he and Samil had fled to the stairs, peppering the room with crossbow bolts, eliminating the rest.
At his feet, one vampire twitched. Marcus rammed his halberd into the thing's face with unnecessary brutality and far too much satisfaction. Samil, on the other side of the room, shoved the withering DJ aside and turned off the sound system. Marcus breathed more easily and continued patrolling.
He never saw what hit him. One instant, he was stabbing a mostly-dead bloodsucker in the face. The next, a metal piece--one he took a moment to recognize as the tip of a sword--protruded from his own chest. He couldn't catch his breath to cry out.
He heard Samil scream with rage as he went to his knees. Cold pain, a warm wash of blood and darkness swallowed him. The sound of Samil shouting “Eli, Eli!” as a battle-cry followed him down into death.
Marcus startled awake, expecting to see the sun-drenched cream walls of his own room and feel the soft blue sheets of his bed after a nightmare. He did not expect to see the vampire club and have his nose assailed with its stench. The only sound in the room was a steady shoop noise that he recognized as the weed-killer hand-pump Samil used to spray accelerant.
“I'm not dead.” The words were a whisper even in the empty club.
celestineangelWhat was the last thing you wrote? Literally, a packing list. Fictionally speaking, the opening of a post-apoc novel.
Was it any good? It's not bad. It will be better in rewrites.
What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have? Probably the fantasy novel I started in college. Maybe one of my HS lit mags if I dig deeply enough.
Write poetry? Sometimes. Usually in prayer format these days.
Angsty poetry? Sometimes. I mean, a prayer to Persephone, Queen of the Underworld isn't going to be exactly cheery, is it? Neither are unrequited teenage lesbian crushes.
Favourite genre of writing? GLBT. I get on kicks, where it's all paranormal or all dark future, but it's always GLBT.
Most fun character you ever wrote? Bess from Heart of A Forest. She gets all the best lines.
Most annoying character you ever wrote? On a personal level, Nick. He pesters me ALL time time. On a fictional level, Nick Harper. He is all my bad religious issues rolled into one closet-case.
How often do you get writer's block? Often enough I have a condo at that address that
nbrooks time-shares. How do you fix it? I do hand-work, garden or watch movies
Write fan fiction? Not anymore. The last I wrote was Boromir/hobbits.
Do you type or write by hand? Type when I can, handwrite when I must
Do you save everything you write? No.
Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it? Sometimes. And sometimes it pans out.
What's your favourite thing that you've written? Heart of a Forest It's one I've re-read several times and always enjoy.
What's everyone else's favourite thing that you've written? Apparently Shell-Shocked judging by sales and reviews.
What's your favourite setting for your characters? My dark future Disunited States of America
What's one genre you have never written, and probably never will? Cozy mystery. The Vicar always does it anyway.
How many writing projects are you working on right now? *hollow laugh*
1) Chainmale
2) Long-Term
3) trucker
4) post apoc
5) Kestrel rewrites
6) Autumn Make & Do
7) queer zombie piece
and that's just the "Actively writing some on every day" There are many more that have a fair chunk written and will be picked up after these are done.
Do you want to write for a living? Not really. I would like to make what Thad Beaumont in The Dark Half calls "Fuck You Money." Enough that I can quit my job if I want.
Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper? Just letetrs to the editor.
Have you ever won an award for your writing? no, but I've lost the Darrell five years running!
Ever written something in script or play format? There are things of which we do not speak.
What are your five favourite words? I'm not sure.
What character that you've written most resembles yourself? The various incarnations of Nick, I suspect. Most of the characters have some aspect of me in them.
Where do you get ideas for your other characters? Movies, often. Or a foil for the others.
Do you ever write based on your dreams? Now and then
Do you favour happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers? I like happy endings. in my genre, they're transgressive.
Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write? Sort of? They come pretty naturally.
Does music help you write? yes. It gives me a beat to pound the keys to.
Quote something you've written. The first thing to pop into your mind.
From "Between Despair and Ecstasy"
The warehouse reeked of blood and death, the industrial moan of Bauhaus chanting “undead undead undead” over the club speakers setting Marcus' teeth on edge. Newly-made vampires, especially young ones, would sometimes set up a club like this, welcoming humans in as refreshments. Tonight, Halloween of all nights, he and Samil had attended, dressed for the occasion and appearing as lovers in public for the first time. Marcus smiled grimly. All Samil's fears of being outed to the criminal element he controlled were put to rest, since there would be no living witnesses to that appearance.
Now, they were nearly through with the evening's work and Marcus was thoroughly pissed off. His favorite black silk shirt was drenched in slimy undead blood, his chaps were stained and one of the dying vamps had caught the handcuffs on his belt as she went down and shredded the leather beltloops. His eyeliner and warpaint had streaked from backsplash and he dreaded trying to wash both blood and product from his hair.
The dancefloor was cluttered with bodies and more sagged over tables and on benches. It had been easy at first. A dance with a pretty girl or pretty boy that ended with a quick and quiet stake. Then the body propped quietly in the corner with a drink and a rebuke that the dancer hadn't needed another. But that had only eliminated a dozen or so before someone realized the dead ones weren't just drunk and raised the alarm. Then he and Samil had fled to the stairs, peppering the room with crossbow bolts, eliminating the rest.
At his feet, one vampire twitched. Marcus rammed his halberd into the thing's face with unnecessary brutality and far too much satisfaction. Samil, on the other side of the room, shoved the withering DJ aside and turned off the sound system. Marcus breathed more easily and continued patrolling.
He never saw what hit him. One instant, he was stabbing a mostly-dead bloodsucker in the face. The next, a metal piece--one he took a moment to recognize as the tip of a sword--protruded from his own chest. He couldn't catch his breath to cry out.
He heard Samil scream with rage as he went to his knees. Cold pain, a warm wash of blood and darkness swallowed him. The sound of Samil shouting “Eli, Eli!” as a battle-cry followed him down into death.
Marcus startled awake, expecting to see the sun-drenched cream walls of his own room and feel the soft blue sheets of his bed after a nightmare. He did not expect to see the vampire club and have his nose assailed with its stench. The only sound in the room was a steady shoop noise that he recognized as the weed-killer hand-pump Samil used to spray accelerant.
“I'm not dead.” The words were a whisper even in the empty club.
