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Thinking on Madrigar

Run Dark Alley
Madrigar’s Chappi Stall
Drangee Purple with Milk

I’m glad I thought to come back to this. I wish I’d thought to do so 45 minutes ago. I’ll punt and see what I can talk about.

I’ve written this scene a couple times, and in different places. None of them ever accomplishes what I set out to reveal. I’m wanting to detail the sights, sounds, smells, and life of a flea market. Color here. Noise there. A smell from over there. Each time I’ve attempted to set such a scene I end up navigating through the eyes of some character, but that character selfishly starts storying up my description. I don’t mind at the time.

I think my most basic trouble is that I expect to discover the market as I write through the stalls and vendors like I discover a real market. I figure I can make up the details of who sells what and where as I go—maybe I can—but then I give my descriptive POV a name and a life. That character sees the same place differently then I do. If they are a scared orphan they fear the vendors will catch them stealing apples or bunches of rough sweet naggi. If they are a veteran stallman they have no fear and no curiosity instead they wonder how their sales will do today of if Krilla will finally pull down that stupid sign of hers. I don’t mind at the time.

Maybe I just need to mechanically map the place out. Give each of the stalls a product to sell and a name and a proprietor to hawk it. Then I can dolly through the place on a neutral camera. Focusing my scope as I roll past fish mongers, craftspeople, dressmakers, and jewelers.

288 words on day 545

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Death Hugging an Idea

As a programmer I work with what my Mom would call parameters but what I call requirements—parameters are different to us. Requirements define for me what task I need to accomplish but not necessarily how to accomplish that task. Sometimes these requirements handcuff me to a bench and order me to “Stay there.” Other times the just encourage me to stay put, but they don’t mean I can’t get up to get a drink of water and sit back down.

If you’ve stuck with me through that strained cop metaphor then I applaud you.

I read a post this morning concerning First Ideas. This post asserted that newbie writers latch on to their initial inspiration, but they forget that the inspiration belongs to them and that they are allowed to manipulate, change or discard that idea. Death hugging this idea almost always leads to bad stories. When I read this, at first I felt a little bit baptized—hey, it all seems so clear now…wait, wait, maybe not—but then I brushed the holy water from my brow and went back to my sinning ways.

Sorta.

I like an absolute. I like gravity pulling me down. I like hearing I can do anything I want, but I can’t ignore this one parameter. This one requirement.

Maybe my first idea and their first idea are different things. Or maybe I’m a naive new writer and can’t tell the difference. I think of it this way: some ideas—maybe not the first ones, maybe not the inspired ones—anchor a story. These anchors provide the writer and the reader an immutable structure they adhere to during the course of the story. Down is down.

I’m doing this right now with the Benhá story. I’ve slipped Brother Gane in from the Shanty thread, and I’ve locked him down. This means I bring along some worldbuilt baggage destined to effect Charming’s story in ways I may not have expected at first. However, that baggage—mostly industrial magic and maybe spaceships—works as a backboard to Benhá story development. It helps me, not hurts me.

Requirements like these keep me from speculating crap up.

362 words on day 544

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Drop One

“Drop One. Drop Two. Drop Three. Drop Four!”

Four five hundred meter long cylinders separated from the hull of the ship. Ejecting from their forward moorings and craning outward and back from the slender ship the whole affair looked like a flower blossoming.

Hours later, well clear of the ship and their gravimeters defining down, they each issue several bursts to orient themselves longitudinally. Once aligned, container Two fires a steady thrust to degrade its orbit. Moments later Three, Four, and One do the same. As their orbits shrink they separate from each others. Several revolutions of the planet from now they will strike the surface nearly equidistant from each other and nearly along the equator.

I liked the opening line, but I couldn’t figure out what to do with it next. I guess I’m invading a planet here?

150 words on day 543