WIP Slut
I have a confession to make: I am polyamorous.
Oh, I'm not talking about my love life. I mean on anything creative. I can't keep my attention on one thing at a time. I throw myself into flirtation with that brand new yarn that just moved in down the street; I make moon eyes at the bad-girl story idea who just showed up at the bar and bought me a drink and tried out her best lines. Yeah, when it comes to anything requiring creativity, I'm easy. I'll put out for just about anyone.
This results in the slightly embarrassing situation of walking into my Little Yarn Shop and having the nice ladies behind the counter (who know us quite well; we often make their one late weekday night profitable, just by coming in at the last minute and buying $300 of yarn) exclaim, "Don't you ever finish anything?" (Yes! But I start more, okay?) Or you guys, my faithful friends list, seeing me gushing over a new idea and -- very gently -- asking, "But what about the story you were teasing us with hints about? I want to see that one, dammit!"
I'll 'fess up. I'm a slut for the creative vibe. There's nothing like the breathless new-relationship-energy of starting with a blank text document and saying "okay, story, let's figure out who you are". Long walks on the beach, late nights sitting up and talking, cuddling on the couch and telling stories about formative experiences ...
And there are advantages to being easy like this. I mean, when I get stuck on a story, and I don't know how to fix it, I can put it away for a while and work on something else. When I don't feel like climbing into one character's head, I can go and hang out with someone else to keep me company. When I'm just not feeling something, instead of pushing through and writing crap that will need to be completely thrown out instead of getting rewritten, I can go and write on something I like a little bit more at the moment.
On the other hand, it means that I've currently got something like 175,000 words' worth of writing that, uh, isn't going anywhere right now. Yeah. I'm kind of sorry about that.
So I make references to some of my WIPs from time to time here, and if you chat with me on AIM or what-have-you, you've probably seen some or all of these. I thought I'd make a listing of all my semi-active WIPs -- by which I mean, the ones that have a chance of getting done, the ones that haven't proven to me that there's no there there -- and list off where I am in the story, how much work I think they still need, and what the major I dunwanna WRITE this is coming from. This is just the stuff I've started, too; I have a list of "stuff I plan on writing at some point when I figure out the hook into the story", but unless something's got word count, it's not on this list.
(You can always tell when I've settled into a fandom. It's when I stop producing weekly short stories and suddenly every idea I have is a novella at the least.)
Hm, let's go with chronological by date I started 'em.
So, what are you working on? :)
Oh, I'm not talking about my love life. I mean on anything creative. I can't keep my attention on one thing at a time. I throw myself into flirtation with that brand new yarn that just moved in down the street; I make moon eyes at the bad-girl story idea who just showed up at the bar and bought me a drink and tried out her best lines. Yeah, when it comes to anything requiring creativity, I'm easy. I'll put out for just about anyone.
This results in the slightly embarrassing situation of walking into my Little Yarn Shop and having the nice ladies behind the counter (who know us quite well; we often make their one late weekday night profitable, just by coming in at the last minute and buying $300 of yarn) exclaim, "Don't you ever finish anything?" (Yes! But I start more, okay?) Or you guys, my faithful friends list, seeing me gushing over a new idea and -- very gently -- asking, "But what about the story you were teasing us with hints about? I want to see that one, dammit!"
I'll 'fess up. I'm a slut for the creative vibe. There's nothing like the breathless new-relationship-energy of starting with a blank text document and saying "okay, story, let's figure out who you are". Long walks on the beach, late nights sitting up and talking, cuddling on the couch and telling stories about formative experiences ...
And there are advantages to being easy like this. I mean, when I get stuck on a story, and I don't know how to fix it, I can put it away for a while and work on something else. When I don't feel like climbing into one character's head, I can go and hang out with someone else to keep me company. When I'm just not feeling something, instead of pushing through and writing crap that will need to be completely thrown out instead of getting rewritten, I can go and write on something I like a little bit more at the moment.
On the other hand, it means that I've currently got something like 175,000 words' worth of writing that, uh, isn't going anywhere right now. Yeah. I'm kind of sorry about that.
So I make references to some of my WIPs from time to time here, and if you chat with me on AIM or what-have-you, you've probably seen some or all of these. I thought I'd make a listing of all my semi-active WIPs -- by which I mean, the ones that have a chance of getting done, the ones that haven't proven to me that there's no there there -- and list off where I am in the story, how much work I think they still need, and what the major I dunwanna WRITE this is coming from. This is just the stuff I've started, too; I have a list of "stuff I plan on writing at some point when I figure out the hook into the story", but unless something's got word count, it's not on this list.
(You can always tell when I've settled into a fandom. It's when I stop producing weekly short stories and suddenly every idea I have is a novella at the least.)
Hm, let's go with chronological by date I started 'em.
- The Only Winning Move
The One Where... The SGC holds its biannual all-hands training scenario. You know, the one that started out as Formal and Military, and has degenerated over the years until it's now a sort of bastard stepchild of LARP and paintball. Set during S7. It's an unrepentant romp.
Currently at: 7853 words.
It'll probably run: 10,000 or so.
Started/Last Updated: Created 5/13/06, last updated 9/30/06.
I dunwannawrite: All that damn action.
Here, Have A Bit: At 0955, after reading the instructions in their second envelopes, the two SFs guarding the door to Isolation Room 2 looked at each other.
"We're gonna get shot," Brooks said.
"Yup," Ramirez said, glumly.
Neither of them moved for a minute. "I have aspirin packs in my pocket," Brooks finally offered. "Intar stun always gives me a bitch of a headache. If you wake up first, feel free to take some."
"Thanks," Ramirez said. "You wanna do the honors?"
Brooks sighed. "Yeah," he said, and opened the door.
Janet made very sure they were both lying comfortably on the floor after she stunned them.
- Cairo Is Burning
The One Where... Daniel accidentally takes over the galaxy in order to save it. AU, quantum mirror story, diverging from the end of season 1 in the "main" universe and far before that in the other one. Y'all have heard me whining about this one enough. :)
Currently at: 127,305 words with 4706 words waiting to be hooked up to the main document.
It'll probably run: About 180,000 words.
Started/Last Updated: Created 6/24/06, last updated 1/27/07.
I dunwannawrite: I am fighting this story tooth and nail trying to negotiate a happy ending for Jack. The story momentum is trying to tell me there's no way, but I know there's got to be and I'm not going to keep writing until I find it, dammit.
Here, Have A Bit (with spoilerish things taken out, that is): But the only things Daniel could think to say were things he already knew Jack didn't want to hear, so he stuck his hands in the sleeves of his robes -- not pockets, not quite, but close enough -- and said, instead, "I would come with you if I could, you know."
"I wouldn't take you," Jack said. "Even if you could."
It almost hurt, but Daniel caught himself before he could let it. Surely Jack meant that Daniel was too important to risk, or that he wouldn't ever put himself in a place where he'd have to watch Daniel get hurt under his command if he could help it. Not any of the other meanings, which all involved Jack not trusting Daniel, or not wanting to.
He cast around for something, anything, to say, but couldn't find anything that wouldn't sound more lost outside his head than it did inside it. Jack stopped him from having to say anything, though, by turning away and securing the last strap on his pack. "Anything in particular Your Lordship wants done on this one?" he asked. It could have been lighthearted, but it was never lighthearted when Jack called him that. Daniel just hadn't yet been able to figure out what Jack meant by it.
- (no title yet)
The One Where... I drop Daniel into Cascade, Washington to visit his old school buddy Blair Sandburg, in the gap between S8/S9 when Daniel thinks the war is over and he's going to Atlantis.
Currently at: 10,010 words
It'll probably run: Very very rough guess, but I'll say maybe 60,000.
Started/Last Updated: Created 7/9/06, last updated 7/13/06.
I dunwannawrite: All the rewriting I have to do to fix the pacing problem. I originally conceived this as a short story, and those 10,000 words have short-story pacing to the various and sundry reveals, but if you're at 10,000 words of your short story and you're realizing you have so much more plot to cover, you need to fix your assumptions. I probably have to back up about 4000 words or so and revise.
Here, Have A Bit: Jim tied his shoes and came down the stairs, noticing as he did that Sandburg had rearranged the books again, probably to hide the fact that he'd recently conceived a guilty passion for John Westlake's Dortmunder novels, which he firmly insisted he read to better understand the criminal mind. In the kitchen, Sandburg's voice changed to sudden compassion, like flipping a switch. "No, no, I didn't mean -- I was worried sick about you, Daniel, that's all --" and Jim's best intentions flew out the window, because Sandburg's face was miserable and hopeful all at once.
The voice on the other end of the phone, tinny with static and with distance, was a soft light tenor with the faintest hint of an accent Jim couldn't place. "I'm so sorry, Blair," he was saying. "Look, I know I've got no right to ask, not after disappearing on you for so long, but can I -- I don't know, come and visit and stop being me for a little while?"
Blair's eyes met Jim's, and Jim could see that Sandburg knew he was listening, knew what he was thinking. Jim tried to remember if he knew the name 'Daniel'. There were a lot of people in Sandburg's network of extended family, people who drifted into Sandburg's life and drifted out again an hour, a week, a month later. He couldn't remember if Daniel had been the friend of Naomi's Sandburg had stayed with the summer he was fifteen, or if that had been David. Or Derek.
He crossed the kitchen and headed for the coffee, dropping a hand on Blair's shoulder as he went. It was the it's your home, too; you don't have to ask touch. Basic fact of life: love Sandburg, love Sandburg's strays. At least this one was probably housebroken.
"We'd love to have you," Sandburg said, smoothly, so smoothly that Jim knew the guy on the other end hadn't even heard the pause while Sandburg asked questions with his eyes. "What? No, I -- my partner, he's a cop -- well, I'm a cop now too, have been for a while --" and that told Jim how long it had been since Sandburg had talked to the guy, since Sandburg was already well past his five-year. "It's a long story. I'll tell you when you get here."
- (no title yet)
The One Where... Daniel gets captured, tortured, raped, and beaten, and he's way less traumatized about it than Jack thinks he is. Set in season 8, when General Jack is having problems coping and Daniel's still deciding whether or not he's going to rejoin the human race.
Currently at: 4703 words.
It'll probably run: Barring major twists, about 30,000.
Started/Last Updated: Created 8/28/06, last updated 1/18/07.
I dunwannawrite: The screaming match Jack and Daniel are about to have, and all the emotional fallout thereof.
Here, Have A Bit: "I'll tell you, if you insist," Daniel says. "I'd rather spare you."
Jack really doesn't want to hear it. He spent eleven days jumping every time the Gate alarm went off, tensing every time the base HVAC system started up and he felt the breeze of the air conditioning, holding his breath every time something happened that might have been intel about where Daniel was being held or a visit from Daniel Ascended once more or just someone bringing the fucking body home. He'd spent eleven days constructing worst-case scenarios in his head, and this isn't the worst case scenario but it's sure as hell nowhere near the top ten of the best.
"You can't just be fine like that," he says instead. Because if he started saying any of the rest of it, he'd snap.
"Bodies heal," Daniel says. "If all they hurt is your body, you can put it back together again afterwards."
- Fear of Falling
The One Where... Cameron Mitchell proves he's both an awesome pilot and a big fat nerd. It flips back and forth between season 6, when the X-302 was just turning into the F-302, and season 9, when he's trying to fit into SG-1, but I've only written bits from season 6 so far. I did a lot of thinking about how they must have staffed the 302 program, and how Cam would have fit into that, and how the hell you find -- out of men and women who are so thoroughly programmed to be aware of gravity, since fighter pilots in particular are ultra-conscious of gravity as force, ally, and enemy -- people who can make the necessary leap in cognitive processing to handle a craft that can be atmospheric, LEO, or deep-space.
Currently at: 3197 words.
It'll probably run: About 40,000 words.
Started/Last Updated: Created 12/30/06, last updated 1/27/07.
I dunwannawrite: I actually do want to write this. I want to write it a lot. I just have to do approximately 1,482,199 hours of reading on space adapatation syndrome and how the human brain handles and processes being out of its environment first. I know there's a there there, I just don't know where the there is.
Here, Have A Bit: Monday they'd gotten the National Security lecture, a whole bunch of careful nothings wrapped up in stirring patriotic language Cam was no more immune to than the next guy. He still wasn't sure where they were; he'd been paying attention as they flew into this mystery base in the middle of nowhere, more than the rest of them had been, but it's tough to get a locational fix from midair without instrumentation and all he could tell was that they were somewhere in the desert. The base was underground; from the surface it looked like an abandoned old junkyard, nothing but scrub and fences and power junction boxes.
Once they'd all been herded into the elevator -- as high-tech as anything Cam had ever seen before, requiring cardscan and handprint for the doors to even close behind them -- and descended beneath the surface, there hadn't been any more clues. Just what felt like miles of unmarked corridors, gunmetal grey and mostly abandoned. The only sign of human habitation had been a crude, hand-lettered sign, first thing visible when stepping off the elevator: "Welcome to Nowhere Field". - Suspended Animation
The One Where... Cam, in the Eurydiceverse, starts getting the sinking feeling that he's in way over his head, and gets his nose rubbed in the fact that his subconscious mind has an entirely different set of wants and needs than his conscious mind does. Sam fails to be comforting, Teal'c fails to be forthcoming, and Daniel fails to be anything resembling normal.
Currently at: 7623 words.
It'll probably run: If I split the Cam/Daniel and Cam/Sam subplots into two stories, this one (the Cam/Daniel) will run about 25,000 words. If I don't, God only knows. (The Cam/Sam subplot has an extra 990 words of smut sitting around waiting to get dropped in somewhere.)
Started/Last Updated: First attempt at this one was started 8/25/06 and abandoned wholesale 9/3/06. Second try (this one) started 2/3/07, last updated 2/6/07.
I dunwannawrite: Nothing major is blocking me on this one; it's my secondary fallback project right now. I just got distracted by "Fortunate Daughter" down there. :)
Here, Have A Bit: He goes home. Stops at the stop'n'rob on his way, picks up bread and milk and eggs and Poptarts and toilet paper. And beer. He stows the bread and the milk and the beer in the fridge, drops the toilet paper off in the bathroom, and eats the Poptarts for dinner. Later that night -- lying on his couch with the remote in one hand and the other hand down his shorts, pressing the base of his palm against the line where his dick shades into his balls and stroking gradually upwards, trying to decide if he's hungry or horny or just plain tired -- he thinks not of his usual well-thumbed mental scrapbook of pornography but about flying, and about the crazy chest-thump of his heart pumping blood through his veins to let him keep running for his life, and about that one minute in between getting shot and the pain kicking in when your perception of the world just cracks and crystallizes.
It takes him longer than he'd expected to work up to being able to really get into it. One minute it's like his brain's turned on and his body's having nothing of it, and the next, his body's ready to go and his brain's left cold. It's driving him fucking nuts; he's never had problems getting off before, not in his entire fucking life, and now he's slipping mental gears left and right and stuck in the valley between turned on and pissed off for so long that he winds up wondering if it's even worth it.
When he finally comes, his dick raw and aching from all the abuse, it's from remembering the weight of Jackson's cock in his mouth, the way it felt to be on his knees. Afterwards, he feels empty. Spent. Irritated, really: at himself, at Jackson for refusing to stay in the little mental box Cam keeps trying to put him in, at the entire fucking universe. He turns off the TV, washes his hands, and makes sure the front door's locked and all the lights are off before he goes to sleep. His apartment's never seemed so quiet and soulless before; he thinks, not for the first time, that he wishes he was home often enough to get a dog or something. Anything to give the place a little personality.
- Fortunate Daughter
The One Where... I rewrite the entirety of season 1 because the mouthy Abydan chick told me to. It's an AU based on the premise that Sha're was not the woman taken from Abydos, and instead she came back to Earth with Daniel and became a part of the SGC from the very start. (Not as part of a Gate team, but still, involved and active.) It's amazing and fascinating to see how much this changes.
Currently at: 14,748 words.
It'll probably run: Too early for me to really say, but I'll ballpark guess 100,000. I expect to come back to this entry in two months and laugh at myself.
Started/Last Updated: Created 2/7/07, last updated 2/9/07.
I dunwannawrite: Nope, this is my current front-brain project. I swear I am not actually writing it, though. I'm just taking dictation.
Here, Have A Bit: "Do you remember the story I told you, how the people on my world you are descended from cut themselves off from Ra? That's what you have to do. In one year, one year from today, take the coverstone away. I'll try to bring Skaara and Me're back with me on that day. But if I don't make it back, if I don't return, you must bury the gate again forever, do you understand me? Do you understand me? Tell Kasuf I will return in one year, if I can, to restore his line to him --"
Her voice does not shake. Her hands are steady, and her knees do not waver, and she finds that she can hold her head high. She does not speak to her husband, but to the rest of her people. "Tell my father that we will return in one year."
Dan'yel rounds on her, and she sees, in his eyes, that he is halfway between panic and determination. "Sha're, no, you don't know how dangerous it will be --"
She can see, out of the corner of her eye, the woman of his people, her weapon in her hands. It is what gives her the correct words. "You have told me that among your people, women may guard their own honor," she says. She tightens her hand on his. Her brother is gone, her cousin-and-future-sister has been taken, but she will not be parted from him. "It is the honor of the house of Kasuf you go to guard. I will not allow you to do this alone."
She can read the warring hope and fear on his face. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. After a pause, he closes it again.
So, what are you working on? :)