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https://ift.tt/3aJJI7mSo I didn’t start posting Meet Death Sitting until I had written a little ways ahead, as I’ve learned not to just– post the first thing I think of, I need to give it time to take a shape, as I am incapable of writing a short oneshot and it’s going to grow into a big thing and it’s best if I can start to find the eventual structure of it before tying myself to a premature Chapter 1.
And i also had started spewing out some backstory shit I wasn’t going to post, just so I’d know what was what as I alluded to old events, but then it got big enough and spilled over the edges of Along Came This Song, which was initially the only flashback story I’d intended to post. So there’s a bunch of semi-unconnected vignettes that now I’m going back through and teasing into some semblance of order to become Little Fishie. And then there are some flash-forward bits that aren’t connected to anything, but mostly, mostly The Ancient Sea is being written in order.
But what happens is that I’ve been preparing updates and saving them as a draft and then posting them once I have the bit after that mostly done. And it’s going pretty well, mostly.
But it does mean that what I’m struggling with on both stories are bits that aren’t at all connected to what I’ve posted, so.
Ancient Sea’s next segment is basically ready (unless i find a plot hole like i did in the last little fishie update 😑) and will probably post Wednesday, and it’s the bit after that I’m a bit stuck on because maybe there’s a sex scene and maybe there’s not, which is always tricky.
But Little Fishie’s next segment is just stupidly complicated and not at all a pre-written vignette, and I’ve had to introduce an OC just so I can tell an epic battle scene from a POV wherefrom it makes sense. (I figured it’d get kinda boring from Geralt’s.) (I’ve written really long extended epic battle scenes from a tight POV before, and sometimes it works– like, for example, Fourteen, with an already-traumatized young Kes Dameron in his first real fight, discovering his own battlefield competence and being utterly horrified by it; I thought that one was rather good– but I thought, you know, Geralt has been fighting a long time and is going to find this grindingly routine, if terrifying, so I don’t want to tell it close, but I want to convey how grueling it is, which timeskips wouldn’t do. So, outsider POV it is.)
I’m at like 7k on this chapter which is probably going to have to be cut in half to post, and it’s going really slowly and if I complain about it being a grind nobody’s going to know what I’m talking about so this whole post was me posting to explain so I can complain, LOL. I’m sure it’s going to turn out and there’s going to be a great emotional payout in like, another paragraph and a half, but I just. can’t. get there. so. And of course the worst part is that when you’re making really slow progress chipping at something, there’s a lot of time for doubt to creep in and be like but what if it’s not actually interesting, so that’s an extra-fun lil treat. Listen, not every chapter can just be banter.
Or, can it, and I’m just being goofy??? Maybe I’m just being a dumbass here. But the muse wants what it wants and if you want the comfort you have to write the hurt, in some measure.
snippet behind the cut
“You don’t suppose that Witcher is dead yet?” Eirich asked.
There was an explosion, and then another series of explosions. “Well,” Benrick said, “probably he wasn’t, but he might be now.”
Eirich laughed, but it was humorless, and they sat in silence for a few moments. There was no sound from the woods, no flickers of light. “Ah, fuck,” Eirich said, after a bit, “I was only joking, but maybe I jinxed him. Still, maybe we’re lucky and that was the last of them?”
There was a tense, waiting silence. Of the twenty men in the barn, and twenty-two horses, nobody was making noise, and nobody was at ease. Nobody was sleeping, tonight.
“I think that’s him,” one of the lookouts said, and people rustled around upstairs, trying to look. “There, in the shadows?” He wasn’t speaking loudly, but the night was so quiet now his speaking voice carried softly down to them.
Benrick peered into the shadows. There was movement there, intermittently. Something man-sized, perhaps. A gleam of metal. A man, walking slowly for a few steps, then staggering down to his knees, then getting up again.
He stumbled out into the moonlight and went down again, legs underneath him, holding the silver sword in one hand, the other hand propped on his knee, head bowed and body moving slightly as he breathed hard. The moonlight caught silver in his hair, what of it wasn’t streaked with filth or stuck to his face with sweat.
He was clearly badly injured and exhausted. After a moment he pushed himself back up and took another couple of faltering steps toward the barn, then went down again. He was perhaps favoring one leg, but it looked more like he was just at the end of his endurance. Maybe injured, somewhere in the middle. Hard to say.
“We have to go help him,” Benrick said.
“Are you crazy?” Eirich said.