michelel72 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
michelel72) wrote2019-12-08 08:38 am
michelel72) wrote2019-12-08 08:38 am
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Sunday snippet 12/8: Winding down
I thought I was 95% done with something last week. I was wrong about that, but maybe not as wrong as I briefly thought I was, because I'm only up to a little under 26k words and I might be near an actual ending point?
(ETA: This is still my surreal dreamscape thing. Sat down and finished this up a few hours after I originally posted. Done at 26,500 words. Have vague thoughts about a more "canonical" short set in the same 'verse; may or may not try to work it out.)
The weird, driving obsession that got "Sound of Silver" written, as well as the vast majority of this strange sequel, seems to have passed. I don't know if it's because I'm back in the swing of work (which is ... a thing that is happening lately), or if I've run out of anything to say, or what.
It doesn't help that the resolution on this thing took a hard turn on me. Which you'd think I WOULD HAVE EXPECTED, since that's exactly what happened last time, but ... who knows what's going on in my head. (Ha.)
They're not even ignoring him. They've all dismissed him, and they're taking even less notice now than ignoring would require. He might as well be just as invisible to them as older-him apparently is.
"You can make them." Older-him doesn't raise his voice, doesn't even lift his head away from the wall, but his words are somehow clear despite the noisy three-way conversation over by the stove.
"Make them … what?"
"Make them care. Make them give a shit you ex— you're here."
With a shuffling of feet, the entire family is suddenly there in the kitchen, Mom-Dad-Mary Ellen-Chris-Katie-Jamie. Every single person is looking at Jonathan with bright eyes and bright smiles.
"Hello, Jonathan," they all say together.
(ETA: This is still my surreal dreamscape thing. Sat down and finished this up a few hours after I originally posted. Done at 26,500 words. Have vague thoughts about a more "canonical" short set in the same 'verse; may or may not try to work it out.)
The weird, driving obsession that got "Sound of Silver" written, as well as the vast majority of this strange sequel, seems to have passed. I don't know if it's because I'm back in the swing of work (which is ... a thing that is happening lately), or if I've run out of anything to say, or what.
It doesn't help that the resolution on this thing took a hard turn on me. Which you'd think I WOULD HAVE EXPECTED, since that's exactly what happened last time, but ... who knows what's going on in my head. (Ha.)
They're not even ignoring him. They've all dismissed him, and they're taking even less notice now than ignoring would require. He might as well be just as invisible to them as older-him apparently is.
"You can make them." Older-him doesn't raise his voice, doesn't even lift his head away from the wall, but his words are somehow clear despite the noisy three-way conversation over by the stove.
"Make them … what?"
"Make them care. Make them give a shit you ex— you're here."
With a shuffling of feet, the entire family is suddenly there in the kitchen, Mom-Dad-Mary Ellen-Chris-Katie-Jamie. Every single person is looking at Jonathan with bright eyes and bright smiles.
"Hello, Jonathan," they all say together.