Monday 1 July 2013

Where I justify my insanity

It's July 1st (holy crap) which means we're more than halfway through this year AND it's Canada Day. July 1st also happens to be the first day of my Alphabet series. This is the fifth year I'll be doing it which is pretty awesome.
The Alphabet series is a fan fiction thing

 (yes, you all sigh and roll your eyes) it is a fan fiction thing in which I write a scene every day for 26 days using a different alphabetized theme. One year it was flowers from Ambrosia to Zinnia; another year it was fruit from Apple to Zizyphus Mauritiana. This year I'm using the Hebrew Alphabet which only has 22 letters but I doubled up on a few words so it adds up to 26. All the prompts are in Hebrew so I'm kind of excited to write it.
I won't be posting it here, though, unless there's a day that I need to fill (which there shouldn't be but whatever). The other fan fic story I'll be working on is a story called "P.S. I Love You" which is based on the story I posted last month "I Don't Love You". I also won't be posting it here. I just needed a segue.
You see the story, P.S. I Love You, is centered around a murder investigation - well two, but one is caused by the other - and so when it came time to plot, I needed a way to figure out the logistics of the investigation. That's where STORYBOARDING came in. My way of storyboarding is to find a flat surface (this time it was my wall), a bunch of sticky notes and to go crazy writing down plot notes and forensic evidence and whatever I need to figure out how a cop would solve this murder. It's actually kind of fun.
But then at about 2am I paused and stepped back from the wall. Why the hell was I spending so much time plotting a piece of fan fiction. Most people don't even consider this legitimate writing. It didn't take long for me to realize that...screw them! I'm not writing for the people that don't believe in me. I'm writing a story about characters that I care about and sharing it with people that also care about these characters. More than that, I'm writing these stories for me. I'm developing good writing habits:
I'm learning how to write consistently, how to tell a story. I'm developing my own writing style, my own method of plotting and storytelling. I'm learning to stay true to a character regardless of whether or not the character is mine.

That's one of my favourite parts about fan fiction; the pre-made characters. You don't have to spend pages and pages introducing the character to the reader, you can just dive in and get down to the meat of the story. That's something I always strive for in my non fan fiction stories: just bringing the character into the scene and... going.
Okay well I think that's it for my ranting. It is Monday so I should post something of my own creation. This is from a play I was writing last year called "Love Letters". I need to rethink some of the relationships before I keep going but you guys should tell me what you think in the comments below.

Act I
Scene 2
(Washout revealing a still empty stage but immediately, MARIE picks up the briefcase and begins moving with distraction and purpose, stuck in her own little world. She walks with a straight back and a tilted chin displaying her confidence and self-importance that she’s acquired. As she heads DR she suddenly bumps into a man carrying a cardboard box and they both crash to the floor as her briefcase opens and her papers fly everywhere. GREG, in his early-thirties wearing a pair of well-fitted jeans and an unzipped black hoodie over a stained white t-shirt, immediately fumbles around on the ground to help her.)
                Oh geez I’m so sorry I-
(With an apologetic laugh)
                No it was my fault I wasn’t paying attention.
(GREG hands her the final piece of paper and stares at her with vague recognition but MARIE doesn’t glance at him as she stands and he grabs his box.)
(Stands to leave, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at her own foolishness)
                Thanks again and I am so sorry about that.
(GREG watches her leave, adjusting the box on his hip when he gets a good look at her. His world stops and he might have to pinch himself)
(In wonderment and quiet disbelief)
(MARIE pauses, instantly recognizing the voice she hasn’t heard it what seems like forever and she holds her breath for a moment.)
(On an audible exhale)
(MARIE slowly turns to face GREG, her face is still. She swallows and blinks in disbelief at the man before her. Is it really him? Her chest swells with unshed emotion)
(With a lighter tone)
(The air is thick with memories. They are both silent, trying to find the best way to proceed. It’s evident that they’re both still hurt by the past. MARIE is unconsciously rubbing her pants with her free hand and GREG is licking his dry lips)
                How long has it been?
(Nodding for no real reason)
                Twenty-Seven months, eleven days.
(Nodding; she already knows the answer)
                That long? Wow.
(Suddenly anxious; looking for an out so she looks at her imaginary watch)
                Listen, I-I gotta get going; it was really nice seeing you again.
(MARIE lifts her hand in a wave but doesn’t make eye contact as she turns to leave. GREG steps forward to stop her)
                Call me?
(MARIE stops in her tracks, opens her mouth but can’t find the words. There’s too much to be said)
(Almost a whisper)
                I don’t have your number.
(Still facing her back, GREG blinks and suddenly shifts the box to his left hip to dig in his right pocket, producing a business card)
                Oh. Here, it’s my business card; you can almost always find me at the office.
(MARIE turns to take the card and reads it away from him, still shielding herself from him. After reading the card, her eyebrows raise in surprise)
(Genuinely impressed)
                Architecture; wow.
(Looks up at him with a small smile, using the card to indicate the box)
                That’s really good. So what are you doing now?
(Laughing anxiously)
                Oh, I’m just moving into a new place; this is the last box. You know; new job, new home.
(Her smile fading; her voice a mumble)
                A fresh start.
(Considers her words and then nods enthusiastically in agreement)
                Yeah I guess it really is.
(MARIE looks at him and for a moment she looks like she may cry but she quickly composes herself and her shoulders straighten, her chin held high)
(Forced but reassuring)
                I’ll call you.

1 comment:

  1. "I'm writing these stories for me. I'm developing good writing habits."