WiPs
When you read this, post a snippet of your works-in-progress. - Snagged from pprfaith
So, I had more than I thought I did...
Every so often, when things got out of hand, Devon would write a list. In his head.
Like this one:
As long as I don't have to see anything, Devon
Naked Awesome
Sleep auras
Sarah Walker
John Casey
the non-sandwich sandwich
I'm thankful Bryce Larkin is dead, and not in my bedroom making out with my new girlfriend!
Casey said they'd get me a new girl
That was the beginning of the 'The Chuck Puzzle' list. He'd added to it a lot since then, but those parts were the parts that still shone through.
Every story, or tale or fable, whichever of these you want to call it, they all have a shape to them; a beginning, middle and an end. Even when an author plays with the placing of those parts they can still be seen. You can point to each part and say, this is the beginning, and that - there, placed at the start is the middle and over there is the end.
But what do you do when you can’t find the beginning? Or when you have too many of those beginnings? Do you start with the chronological beginning, with 2009? With Chuck and the Intersect and Casey and Sarah and honeymoon’s and movies. Or is that really the middle? Do you need to go forward to go to the beginning? Do you need to go to the day you listen to Kirk when he says that Scott can finally mix his mistake? But that isn’t really the beginning - because how they figured that out and the mistake itself comes before that, and in the middle and before and after is the Narada. Perhaps you should have tried harder to listen to Daniels and his confusing explanations of your own impact on the timeline. Perhaps the beginning is not a time or an event. Perhaps it is a person. Perhaps it is you.
“DS Dale,” he’d answered, finally getting used to these mobile phones. That had been a laugh, getting used to technology, to what everyone took for granted, to hot water and indoor heating, to indoors.
“Change of plans this morning, sir,” the operator told him, “DI Drake’s been shot, you need to head to-” and it was all a blur after that, grabbing his gear and heading to the hospital. Not the best way to meet your new boss, her being wheeled into surgery.
That night he heads home, suddenly in charge of a team he’s not even met yet, and turns on the telly and throws himself onto the couch in the flat he somehow had when he got here. Something must have knocked out the satellite connection ‘cause all he’s getting is that black and white fuzzy stuff.
Just as he reaches for his remote he hears Guy speaking as if he was right there in the kitchen behind him, “Close the gates.”
Mary’s had a bad day. So she’s doing what she often does these days after one of those. She’s stopping off at a local second-hand book store. Not for the books; for the advice. Somehow Harris, Xander, has become the guy she goes to when she needs someone other than Marshall to tell her to pull her head out of her ass.
She takes a seat by the mystery section while he speaks to a customer. She’s flicking through a Sherlock Holmes when he finishes and comes over.
“We do like it when people buy the books, you know,” he jibes, like he does every time. She knows she’ll end up leaving with something, most likely something that will help her think her problem through.
They’re all back at the station gathered round Beckett’s desk when Castle finally breaks. He takes a breath, like he knows asking is a really bad idea, but does it anyway.
“So, how come the Council’s involved on this one?” he asks. Everyone knows the Council exists, not many know what it actually does, only that they can take over just about any investigation they want - given the right cause.
“Because we want to be,” Lehane answers with a smirk, she looks way more comfortable in the station than he knows she is. But he also knows she’d do just about anything for the Summers’ girls these days.
So, I had more than I thought I did...
Every so often, when things got out of hand, Devon would write a list. In his head.
Like this one:
As long as I don't have to see anything, Devon
Naked Awesome
Sleep auras
Sarah Walker
John Casey
the non-sandwich sandwich
I'm thankful Bryce Larkin is dead, and not in my bedroom making out with my new girlfriend!
Casey said they'd get me a new girl
That was the beginning of the 'The Chuck Puzzle' list. He'd added to it a lot since then, but those parts were the parts that still shone through.
Every story, or tale or fable, whichever of these you want to call it, they all have a shape to them; a beginning, middle and an end. Even when an author plays with the placing of those parts they can still be seen. You can point to each part and say, this is the beginning, and that - there, placed at the start is the middle and over there is the end.
But what do you do when you can’t find the beginning? Or when you have too many of those beginnings? Do you start with the chronological beginning, with 2009? With Chuck and the Intersect and Casey and Sarah and honeymoon’s and movies. Or is that really the middle? Do you need to go forward to go to the beginning? Do you need to go to the day you listen to Kirk when he says that Scott can finally mix his mistake? But that isn’t really the beginning - because how they figured that out and the mistake itself comes before that, and in the middle and before and after is the Narada. Perhaps you should have tried harder to listen to Daniels and his confusing explanations of your own impact on the timeline. Perhaps the beginning is not a time or an event. Perhaps it is a person. Perhaps it is you.
“DS Dale,” he’d answered, finally getting used to these mobile phones. That had been a laugh, getting used to technology, to what everyone took for granted, to hot water and indoor heating, to indoors.
“Change of plans this morning, sir,” the operator told him, “DI Drake’s been shot, you need to head to-” and it was all a blur after that, grabbing his gear and heading to the hospital. Not the best way to meet your new boss, her being wheeled into surgery.
That night he heads home, suddenly in charge of a team he’s not even met yet, and turns on the telly and throws himself onto the couch in the flat he somehow had when he got here. Something must have knocked out the satellite connection ‘cause all he’s getting is that black and white fuzzy stuff.
Just as he reaches for his remote he hears Guy speaking as if he was right there in the kitchen behind him, “Close the gates.”
Mary’s had a bad day. So she’s doing what she often does these days after one of those. She’s stopping off at a local second-hand book store. Not for the books; for the advice. Somehow Harris, Xander, has become the guy she goes to when she needs someone other than Marshall to tell her to pull her head out of her ass.
She takes a seat by the mystery section while he speaks to a customer. She’s flicking through a Sherlock Holmes when he finishes and comes over.
“We do like it when people buy the books, you know,” he jibes, like he does every time. She knows she’ll end up leaving with something, most likely something that will help her think her problem through.
They’re all back at the station gathered round Beckett’s desk when Castle finally breaks. He takes a breath, like he knows asking is a really bad idea, but does it anyway.
“So, how come the Council’s involved on this one?” he asks. Everyone knows the Council exists, not many know what it actually does, only that they can take over just about any investigation they want - given the right cause.
“Because we want to be,” Lehane answers with a smirk, she looks way more comfortable in the station than he knows she is. But he also knows she’d do just about anything for the Summers’ girls these days.