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Author Topic: Fooz's Fiction Fracas  (Read 9358 times)
Everace
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« Reply #15 on: November 01, 2007, 11:05:24 PM »

***
    The door creeps open as one last person walks in, he is greeted by the sight of his somewhat dismayed avatars.
    "What's the matter?  Didn't you guys manage to get fooz to relax a bit?"  Varn turns with a synical smile.
    "Apparently getting bum rushed by hordes of furs just isn't as calming an experience as we thought it would be."  The author blinks and grins.
    "Oh, is that so?  Well, whatever.  It's fine as long as he knows we're all supporting him."  This causes Varn to shake his head.
    "Actually I'm fairly certain you should say 'as long as he knows I'm supporting him.'  The rest of us aren't even real."
    "Semantics!  To encourage is to encourage!"  The author waves away Varn's correction as Lumis straightens suddenly.
    "Wait... encourage!?  Errr..."  He hastily scratches out a nasty limerick he'd been writing on the wall and instead writes 'we love you, fooz!'  The author vents an irate sigh.
    "That's just about enough.  Everybody out!"  For the most part they comply, excepting a certain half-demon who makes no effort to move from his position leaning over Jay's desk.  He's flexing for her flirtatiously as he chats in a seemingly nonchalant manner.  The author takes out a blowpipe with smooth, sure movements that seem to suggest he's done this before and fires a dart into the back of Shaed's neck.  The feline doesn't seem to notice the impact, but the effect is clear as his speech slurs suddenly.
    "Ya, I kin presh abou'd haff a ton... y'know yer 'lot blurrier then y'wer jus' a sec'n ago..."  He falls backward into the author's arms, who curses and strains with the weight as he drags him from the room.
***

    A good bit to show us, being that it hints at possible racial tensions as well as the more obvious warring.  It also establishes the mythological flavor that is so much a part of that world.  Walk the path, fooz, and don't look back.
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foozzzball
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« Reply #16 on: November 02, 2007, 12:24:59 AM »

Zzzngk?

Zzz...

2081 words.

Okay. Not great, but okay. It'll do for now.

I spent so much time today looking up setting stuff. Like the term for an egyptian kilt-ish loincloth is apparently a 'Shenti'. And then I spent a lot more time kind of staring at my prose and going, 'that description is not adequate', or 'this piece of phrasing does not really convey anything useful', or 'that is really just not conveying how scary it is to have an army of more people than you can conceptually count show up on your doorstep'.

:|

Just write, just write. Just write.

... Just write it all, and let the editor sort it out?

Also: Where are status updates from other nanowrimo participants?

***

Meanwhile, a certain secretary glances at the time and grumbles. "Razzinfrazzin overtime. No it does not matter if you friggin call something blue orange, just frickin' call it something and be done with it!"

She huffs out a sigh.

"Yeah, yeah. Encouragement is encouragement, and not that I don't appreciate lunk-headed attempts from overgrown kitties to impress me..." She leans on her desk. Pouts, just so. "But callin a girl blurry. Oh, that's harsh. I mean that other little kid said I was really cute, and, y'know. My heart just broke. Reduced to 'really cute' is awful enough... but blurry?" Another sigh, a smirk, and she gets the hell out of the office.

***

XD Encouragement is hugely appreciated, actually.
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foozzzball
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« Reply #17 on: November 02, 2007, 01:10:01 PM »

Wolves. Wild Wolves.

They might not eat their dead, but they do skin them, hauling around the pelts as parts of shrines to their ancestors.

Live fast, die young, leave a great looking pelt so that your sons can all take a piece.

I have no idea if there's an equivilent burial practice among human society, but it would not really surprise me if there were.

Also, my big exciting news about the wild wolves is that I found a picture of a goleyo! Which is a kind of weapon they use, and has featured in their mythology.

http://southernsudan.prm.ox.ac.uk/details.php?a=1884.25.2&show=1884.25.2_b.jpg

And here is a collection of them.

http://southernsudan.prm.ox.ac.uk/details/1998.203.1.58.1/

Apparently you get some wildly differing designs/configurations.

Anyway.

I had really friggin' get to writing, hadn't I?
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Everace
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« Reply #18 on: November 02, 2007, 01:21:22 PM »

Hrm... I was picturing something a little more circular.  At any rate, I recognize this stage of novel production.  I went through it myself a couple times.  'Gee, what kind of wound do I need to immobilize the hero for exactly two weeks?  Gee, should that be a flanged mace or a drum mace?  Gee, would they have had this certain color dye back then?'  So I research and research and research.  Wanna know how many pages I wrote in that project?  Five.  I'll come over there with a whip to add a little extra 'encouragement' if I have to, fooz!  *pauses*  Gee, I wonder if I should use a cat-of-nine-tails or a galley lash... I should probably do some research...
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foozzzball
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« Reply #19 on: November 02, 2007, 01:28:24 PM »

http://www.africamint.com/GabonPrimitive.jpg

That's pretty circular!

(Gyahaha, oh how I amuse myself!)

Okay, okay! I'm writing, I'm writing!
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foozzzball
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« Reply #20 on: November 02, 2007, 03:33:48 PM »

Another snippet, which for those who read the original draft of The Wounded Heart, may help to illustrate how different this one is.

----

"No." Amakazi shook his head. "You think you can come here, and show us your army beyond number, and we must simply run away? No. We will fight, champion to champion, until no one is willing to fight."

The squirrel laughed out one breath at him. "Army beyond number? Amakazi of the wild Hounds, this is the immortal five hundred of the Kith Athara." He gestured about. "They are champions, as you say, among champions. An army? If my father's full army assembled here, twenty ranks deep, they would stretch more than two miles across the land."

Some of the rabbits shifted impatiently, though not the two at the squirrel's sides.

"We do not need to fight in the old way. We could just take you, your people. Kill you, or bind you as slaves."

The squirrel's small black eyes glared, and he held his tail caringly, brushing away the few drops of water that clung to the bushy red fur.

But stilll Amakazi stood grim. Anger beat fear. "I am not afraid of you."

"Fine then. Draw a circle. We will kill you one by one until you run, if that is how you prefer it. Who is your champion?"

"I stand for my people. I am Amakazi, the Chieftain, with eight burns, and a strong son to carry my lineage. I am the biggest and the strongest. I am champion."

"Fine. Pauth will stand for the city of Suthatis," the squirrel replied, gesturing at the rabbit on his left with the greyish brown fur, heavily muscled.

But still. The rabbit was small. He had no burns.

Amakazi nodded. "I hope you have a son, Pauth of Suthatis, for you will need him to carry your lineage."

Pauth tilted his head, eyes squinting, as if trying to understand. "Why would I have a son?"

---

Okay. That's one chapter done.

Better get on with the next.
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Everace
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« Reply #21 on: November 03, 2007, 03:43:15 AM »

    Well, now!  This time Amakazi actually seems to have a sense of honor!  He acts alot more like a real champion and alot less like...
***
    Shaed stirs and sits up groggily, rubbing his eyes and wondering why he was laying on the sidewalk.  He thinks back, trying to remember the last few hours, but fails.  "Tchaa, I blacked out again!"  He looks a bit put out at first, but after a moment he simply shrugs.  "Guess I was so damn sexy I even blew my own mind."
***
    ...some furs I know.
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foozzzball
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« Reply #22 on: November 03, 2007, 04:22:33 PM »

Oh Shaed, that character.

(... I really abuse puns...)

My word count is not up enough. But I do have another piece for comparison with the previous draft.

A quote from the first version,

---

"No, Papa, no!" Davith squealed, pulling at his father's hands. His father turned away, and Davith had to leap to catch his father's sandals, holding tight to his father's long rabbit's foot.

Davith's father let his ears droop, sighing. "Davith. You have ten brothers and sisters who are hungry. Your mother is pregnant again. Please, Davith. Don't make this more difficult than it is."

"Don't leave me, Papa," Davith cried, scrabbling forward and hugging tight around his father's leg. "Don't leave me here, I want to go home, I want to go home Papa." Davith's tears turned his father's fur from a rich brown to a dark colour. "I can make another basket like Mama, we can sell them in the market, please, Papa, please..."

Davith's father bowed his head, and reached down, pulling Davith's hands off his leg. "I can't give you the life you deserve, Davith. I am only a weaver, this way, this way you will grow up to be something more than that. You will become a warrior, a defender of the people!"

"I don't care," Davith wept, wiping at his wet face, his long ears flat back against his head, their tips jogging up and down with his every sob. "I want to go home, I want to stay at home, please, Papa, please."

---

And from what I'm currently writing,

---

Davith pulled his hand free from his papa's and wrapped his arms around his papa's leg, clutching tight. "I'll be a good boy. Please, papa," Davith said, very soft, so nobody but his papa would hear. "I'll be good, don't sell me."

"You are a good boy, Davith," his Papa said. His papa put a hand on Davith's head, between his ears, scratched, like he did before supper when Davith came to tell him something.

The voice beyond the curtain was hard, harsh. "This boy is five! Too young."

Davith could hear the boy crying.

"He's strong for his age. Show them, you're strong, aren't you?"

"He's too young, we won't take him. Leave!"

Davith could hear the boy crying, and Davith cried too, pushing his face against his papa's tunic. "Please," he whispered. "Tell them I am five, papa."

But his papa only shook his head. "You know that's not true."

The tall rabbit by the curtain lifted it slightly, sticking his head through. "Go on."

Davith's papa tried to walk, but Davith dragged at him. "Please, Papa. Tell them I am five, then they won't want me. Don't sell me, please!"

His papa stopped, but only to pull Davith's hands away. "Don't you want to be a warrior, Davith? Wouldn't that be better than a weaver? Don't you want to grow up to be more than that, to conquer cities, to defend our king?"

"I want to go home. I want to go home," Davith plead. First softly, then loudly when his papa dragged him through the curtain. "I want to go home! Papa please, I want to go home!"

There was a tall rabbit, with kohl around his eyes, standing at a table like a merchant. And another, with the same kohl around his eyes. And another, and another, and they all stared at him as his papa dragged him, watched him squeal.

"Please Papa! Tell them I am five, please!"

"We can't take him if he's that young," one of the tall rabbits with the kohl said. "He's not really that young, is he?"

"He's not. He's just frightened. Oh Davith..." His Papa crouched down for a moment, taking his shoulders. "Don't make this more difficult than it is. You have ten brothers and sisters. They're hungry, Davith. Your mother is pregnant again, please."

His papa was frightened. He was sad. His face was also wet with tears. He patted Davith's shoulder once, and stood.

Davith tried to stop crying. He wiped his face. "I want to go home," he wept.

One of the rabbits with the kohl looked down at Davith. "How old are you, really?"

Davith looked at the ground. "I am seven." He tried not to cry, but he did anyway.

---

Wow, re-imagined, just like battlestar galactica!  Shocked
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Everace
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« Reply #23 on: November 03, 2007, 10:04:16 PM »

    "Does that mean the new battlestar galactica series is just as good as your writing?  That's great news!"  He plops down in front of his TV, pleased that he has something interesting to watch.  Little does he know that he will soon be vomiting painfully simply to have an excuse to do something other than finish watching the episode, cursing the name of fooz for misleading him (which is difficult to do while vomiting).
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foozzzball
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« Reply #24 on: November 04, 2007, 11:32:07 AM »

Shocked

We'll just have to disagree about BSG, then. Perhaps I am too much of a 'huge spaceship' fanboy, I admit!

Okay, wish me luck as I start diggin' into the typing again.
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« Reply #25 on: November 06, 2007, 12:16:50 PM »

You've got your basic plot, so just go berserk typing it out!  I think you'll find that everything's alot easier once you have a rough draft to go by, no matter just how rough that draft is.

***
    "In the interests of encouraging the participants, I've prepared a cheer for all those who might visit this thread."  He steps to one side, waving his arm grandly as a spotlight comes down to reveal Lumis standing alone.  The lion fur wears a pink and lavender cheerleading outfit and a murderously disgruntled expression.  His grip on the two pom-poms, one solid pink and the other solid lavender, tightens as he growls
    "I hate you." at his author.  The author frowns and signals him to get on with it.  Lumis grunts, but as though with sudden magic he switches to his performance face,  Grin.  "One-two-three-four, write until you hit the floor!  Five-six-seven-eight, brew coffee 'till it's nice and late!   Goooooo writers!"   He shakes the pom-poms, dances around with spirit, and closes with a handspring into a split.  His author seems impressed.
    "I didn't even know you could do the splits!  Most guys just can't bend that way at all!"  Lumis answers with a cocky grin.
    "Well of course!  It's me after all.  Now on an unrelated matter... would you mind calling an ambulance?"
***
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foozzzball
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« Reply #26 on: November 06, 2007, 04:14:13 PM »

...

You're a cruel, cruel man.
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Everace
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« Reply #27 on: November 06, 2007, 10:20:39 PM »

We must all make sacrifices for the art.  Especially Lumis.
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« Reply #28 on: November 08, 2007, 03:42:38 PM »

More snippet:

--

The sand was hard. Still hot from the long day. It crumbled a little under Silkozi's feet. He had run, just like he used to run when he was only a small wolf pup. He was not so small anymore. Ten years old. Old enough to take his burns and become a man. He was the biggest and strongest of all the boys, and even bigger and stronger than Korosi, who took four burns two years ago.

But still the other boys called him names. Still his mama refused to play with him and tell him stories, even though as first son of her first husband he should have been foremost. But she had married the cheiftain, to be his second wife. And she treated cheiftain Akonti's sons better than she treated Silkozi, even if they were all mewling runts.

Even Akonti himself would sometimes call him 'little Kuru', not caring if his new wife were offended or not. Silkozi's mother never seemed to be. Kuru, son of Ekoshi, had been banished. How it was to be that when at the end of all days old Ekoshi died, Kuru would recieve no part of his father's pelt. There was no greater shame to give a son.

But it was not given to him. His father Amakazi's body had never been taken for burial, had simply been left in the Khaba so that vultures might peck at his skin until his body would be wasted and turned to dust...

And there was no greater shame than that to give a father.

Silkozi kept walking across the hard sand, the earth packed tight and hard and rocky. Baked hard by the sun, but each footstep would break it again, stay in place for days until the wind and dew washed the marks away.

His shadow was ten thousand times taller than him, but so very faint in the twilight that the red and yellow in the sky washed almost all of it away. He had run away, just like a child, even though he was the biggest and the strongest.

When he was small he had first done it when his legs got sore, on the long walk away from from the north. It was easier to run up the dunes in the desert than to walk slow, pulling your feet through the sand. When you stopped running, ya, it was true that your legs would hurt more. But while you ran, then nothing would hurt. Then there would only be the rush of wind in Silkozi's face and the cool air fluttering through his fur.

And if you ran far enough, you could also be alone. That was why Silkozi would still run sometimes.

--

Gotta get this word count up sometime. Sad

But in the meantime I'm quite happy with what I'm writing, so it kind of balances out. Sort of.
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Everace
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« Reply #29 on: November 16, 2007, 04:00:32 AM »

***
    "Well, Lumis, how are things coming?"  The author addresses the young lion as he approaches.
    "Great!  Jay's really awesome, ya know?  She's super busy, but sometimes when she's got a minute she'll tell me a little story.  She was telling me about back when she was a kid, and get this.  She had FREE room&board, plus tons of naughty movies to watch!"  The author looks confused.
    "I'm not sure how I feel about kids watching naughty movies, but weren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on foozzzball's progress?"  Lumis blanks out, then panics a bit as he suddenly remembers.
    "Oh jeez, I forgot to report!  Sorry boss!"  The lion's distress brings a sympathetic smile to the author's face.
    "It's ok.  Just tell me about the last update."
    "Right!  It was about a week ago..."
    "A WEEK!?"  The author roars, causing the young fur to cringe.  "Curse it all!  Hand me my galley lash!"
    "Uh... you don't have one.  You couldn't decide what kind to get so we ended up going home, remember?"
    "...seems like nothing goes right anymore.  So be it, we'll just have to buy one now.  To Walmart!"  He throws an arm around the avatar and the two of them hail a cab.
***

You're on top of it, right fooz?  Halfway there already?
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