cleaning out the hard drives
Don't know if I should post my ubiquitous snippets and unfinished epic
stories that end up falling off a dark cliff. I'm terrible at finishing
things once I start them. It's not that I lose interest as much as that
I lack skill in sound plotting. I love dialogue, I love emotional
character arcs, but I'm not so great at combining them with an
understandable and solid story. Even when I have one plotted out...
I remember the first HL fanfic I read, Getting There, had a great, gripping beginning and then was never finished. I hate that, and I'm the guiltiest of all. This is from that story, it's such a great piece of characterization, of MacLeod and Methos both.
"Well," Methos dropped his arms, "where the hell have you been all my life, then?" There was a subtle shift in Methos' stance. It was nothing overt, but MacLeod took a step back on reflex. Methos stepped sideways with the grace of a dancer, moving resolutely away from the water, to the firmer footing of the sidewalk. His arms remained at his sides, within easy reach of his weapons. "So, which bad memories should we cleanse this evening?" he demanded. "Ah, the Horsemen, of course. My own battle with the 'Dark Side,'" he fairly hissed the words, "the one I so utterly failed. Shall I be the dutiful friend and offer you hope, MacLeod? Shall I tell you that it gets better, that your demons flee and never return? That three thousand years from now it won't haunt your dreams and terrify you into complete inaction in your waking life? You want the secret of life, young immortal? Well, the secret is, there *is* no secret. The god you bow to today will be dead in a few hundred years and they'll march a new and improved version out to take his place, and all your prayers will be forgotten. Oh. Well. Better luck next time."
"Methos, don't do this."
"You live, MacLeod." Methos gasped and stumbled, surprised, apparently by his own vehemence. He lifted his hand, ordering MacLeod's distance. "You live and you enjoy what part of life you can and you endure the rest."
"I don't believe that."
Methos leaned forward. "*Oh, *trust* me," he hissed
I remember the first HL fanfic I read, Getting There, had a great, gripping beginning and then was never finished. I hate that, and I'm the guiltiest of all. This is from that story, it's such a great piece of characterization, of MacLeod and Methos both.
"Well," Methos dropped his arms, "where the hell have you been all my life, then?" There was a subtle shift in Methos' stance. It was nothing overt, but MacLeod took a step back on reflex. Methos stepped sideways with the grace of a dancer, moving resolutely away from the water, to the firmer footing of the sidewalk. His arms remained at his sides, within easy reach of his weapons. "So, which bad memories should we cleanse this evening?" he demanded. "Ah, the Horsemen, of course. My own battle with the 'Dark Side,'" he fairly hissed the words, "the one I so utterly failed. Shall I be the dutiful friend and offer you hope, MacLeod? Shall I tell you that it gets better, that your demons flee and never return? That three thousand years from now it won't haunt your dreams and terrify you into complete inaction in your waking life? You want the secret of life, young immortal? Well, the secret is, there *is* no secret. The god you bow to today will be dead in a few hundred years and they'll march a new and improved version out to take his place, and all your prayers will be forgotten. Oh. Well. Better luck next time."
"Methos, don't do this."
"You live, MacLeod." Methos gasped and stumbled, surprised, apparently by his own vehemence. He lifted his hand, ordering MacLeod's distance. "You live and you enjoy what part of life you can and you endure the rest."
"I don't believe that."
Methos leaned forward. "*Oh, *trust* me," he hissed