Tag: dialogue

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A Monstrous Gear

Yesterday I said I’d write two disembodied dialogues, but I only wrote one since it got rather involved. I couldn’t remember the second series I’d planned yesterday yesterday. I can’t remember it today. That sucks. I was hoping to inject a little personality into my main character and I feel certain that dialogue was key to a scene.

Oh well. I’ll mark that up to my subconscious editor cleaning house.

I think the best I can do is make a bit of a scene listing here:

  • Introduce MC
  • MC discovers skin writing
  • MC explores SW
  • MC consults with ‘medical personnel’
  • MC is discovered
  • Murdered fisherman is discovered
  • MC is linked to dead fisherman
  • Mayor is introduced
  • Brother Gaine arrives
  • Jury is summoned
  • MC is convicted/denounced/shunned
  • MC and Gaine escape fire
  • Gaine takes MC to [monastery/school]
  • MC meets fellow SWrs
  • MC finds acceptance with fellow SWrs
  • MC overhears Gaine speaking suspiciously about the fire/circumstances
  • MC abandons [monastery/school]
  • MC returns to Song to find out what happened during the fire

>pop<

Now I recall the conversation. It wasn’t long at all.

“You’ve been playing God with my life,” MC said. She wished she could drop dead that moment so those could be her last words. MC expected a slap or a denial or a retort. Gaine sighed. Before he turned his back on her his head dipped slightly. She interpreted the movement as shame, but hardly believed it so.

“Yes. And I’ve played God with many other lives over the sprawl of my life. Doing so is my curse.”

Her mind thought, “Fah!” but her lips never parted to interject.

“Most of those lives lesser than your own. Maybe a handful greater.”

Her anger croaked out: “Who else?”

“Mine for one.”

She was glad he still faced the window or she never would have loosened her throat to ask, “And how does that life, your life, measure against those others? How does it measure against mine?”

He turned like a monstrous gear in a huge machine. His arms crossed during the motion and his eyes met hers. He held that contact until she had no other choice but to simply vacate his room.

366 words on day 499

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Yes to Both

I thought of a few sceneless conversations I’m going to just hang here—somewhat—disembodied for now.

This one stems from my speculation that my MC would be young enough to be associating the feeling she was having about her skin writing with having gotten her period only a few years prior. From that came some wondering if her condition might only manifest during menstruation or at least might peak then. In this I’m still thinking of the aged Brother Gaine playing the role of monk.

“Is it possible this particular incident is linked to menstruation?”

She sensed his hesitance to use the long word at the end of his question, but since she didn’t recognize it, she didn’t know why. “What?”

“I apologize. I don’t know the customs of Song as well as I’d thought. I don’t know if speaking of this is proper.” He raised his hands as loose fists near his face like he was trying to hide his face or maybe hit something. She could see he was uncomfortable about something, but it made no sense. So far Brother Gaine, an Outy, had been the only one to understand her skin writing.

“I don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t know what men’s ‘truation’ is.” Gaine tightened his lips into a light smile and shook his head.

“Uh, your monthly cycle,” he offered.

What was so hard about that? “I don’t think so. I think it was barely a quarter moon that day. Or the day before.”

Gaine pressed his open hands to his face and mushed on his eyes. The tight smile opened to a tight chuckle. He seemed like a hooked fish giving in.

“Not the lunar cycle,” he circled his palm in front of her mirroring the moon around the earth. Then pointed directly at her with his eyes closed, “Your womanly bleeding cycle.”

A laugh erupted from her. She caught up his hand like a butterfly at the end of her sputtering and hugged it to her chest. She dropped it gently at the fear she felt from the unexpected closeness.

“The Leaks? Is this what you’re talking about?”

“Leaks?” He looked incredulous.

“Yah. It’s not some fancy word like your, but it’s…descriptive.”

“I forget how practical the Song is. I’m sorry not to have gotten to the point more swiftly. Do you think that may have been a factor?” She ignored his return to the original question. She liked seeing him unsettled and needed to erase [feeling she had earlier witht he hand-hug thing].

“That’s what women here call it. The men say Gon’s Prow. The Gons used to paint the prow of their boats bright red. [One more sentence about that].” Brother Gaine looked like he could wait her out. So she swam deeper.

“At least that’s what they say to us. When their out on the water with just the rest of the boys fishing they use a different word: chum.”

Gaine groaned. “Yes. Well, it freaks some men out. Plus we’re all rather gross.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, we’re gross or yes, the incident might be linked to that?”

“Yes to both.”

Ok, so that ate up all my time this morning. I can’t even recall what the second conversation was going to be. So you just get the one.

553 words on day 498

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And Many Things He Hopes Not to Hear

I’m writing from a prompt I was to have written to for my writing group last month. So at least you know that I’m behind everywhere.

That prompt: you leave the baby’s occupied car seat on the hood of the car. When you drive away the car seat and the baby roll off the hood and bounce into the street. The baby’s fine but the next day you must fess up to your spouse. Write that scene.

I should note that two couples in our group are pending their first child–I’ve got four. Still.

“Um, so…when I took the baby…”

“Veronica.”

“Right. When I took Veronica to Loews yesterday while you were napping I kinda forgot something.”

“You want me to watch her while you go back to get it? What? The caulk?”

“Dammit now I forgot two things. Well, one thing still really.”

“I’ll watch her. You can go. I’m fine. I put the keys up on the hook and I think I saw your wallet in the door.”

“OK, cool, but this was different than that. I…ileftthebabyonthehoodanddroveaway.”

Everything in the room stands still. Then his wife carefully places the fork on the edge of the plate next to her eggs. It tinks. She’s clearly considering what to say next; he’s running down the list of things he expects to hear and many he hopes not to hear.

The husband wishes he’d admitted to fucking the receptionist at work instead.

“Thank you for telling me that. Now I should tell you something too.”

“…”

“Ididthesamethinglastweek.”

“OK then.”

“We should probably try not to do that again.”

“Yeah. Probably not.”

269 words on day 493