A Balance of Harmonies: Consequences
I was going to make a post on two books about writing, Revision & Self-Editing by James Scott Bell and Wired for Story by Lisa Cron, and compare and contrast them (one is more of a work book, but the other tells you why you should do or not do without telling you how), but then I had to turn Wired for Story in, so I’m going to review the thing I got for Christmas instead.
The Writer’s Toolbox by Jaime Cat Callan was given to me by a relative and I was happy that I was being encouraged in my hobby, so I really tried to like it. It claims to have creative games in it, so I struggled to figure out how to “play” them even though coming up with ideas has never been a problem for me.
Inside the box is a booklet, a tiny hourglass, popsicle sticks with different colors of paint at the end, some spinny things, and a deck of cards. The booklet isn’t exactly instructions. Some of it is explanation, but much of it is examples of stories written by other people.
The three kinds of sticks are the First Sentence, Non Sequitur, and (longer) Last Straw sticks. Not all the FS sticks could really be a first sentence, like “After only two months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer.” After two months of what? Several others would work as first sentences if reworded. Only four of the twenty would work as first sentences as they are. My favorite (although it isn’t perfect) is “My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it just runs in the family.” I could actually imagine that with a story after it, even though I probably wouldn’t want to read it. My favorite for a story I would want to read is, “I was dressed in a completely inappropriate shade of pink.”
Next are the NS sticks, supposedly to change the way the story is going, but a good story can’t change course abruptly in the middle. The change has to make sense. You can’t say “The plane was two hours late” if you’ve never before mentioned a plane or people traveling. Many of these sticks would make better first sentences, like “Eloise was my half-sister, but everyone thought she was my cousin” or “We were drinking Champagne and losing our shirts.” But like the first sentences, many could use a rewrite. (“It’s wasn’t so much that I’d been blind to the truth. It was just that I had seen the truth differently” is much stronger as I hadn’t been blind to the truth. I’d just seen the truth differently.)
Then we have the LS sticks, which gives the story extra conflict. Some would work, like “the tear in her dress” but anything that starts “the time…” can’t really be a conflict. That Fred went to the car wash and never came back is much more dramatic that that one time in the past he did. And some might work better as non sequiturs, like “the day Sheila brought Hillary to my office.” Several could be conflicts (mostly to people with annoying personalities) or things that bring them joy or peace (“the way she made tea.”)
The spinny things are labeled Obstacles, Protagonist, Action, and Goals and have stiff like “the lady at the Stop & Shop”, “John, the architect from Minnesota”, “wears a disguise”, and “to be wild and free”. My method for writing has always been to come up with a plot and find a protagonist what would respond the way I wanted him to, or start with a protagonist and wrap a plot around him. Or more like some of each, back and forth until a story emerges. I could probably make a story using these four things, but it would be much more stilted than what I could come up with on my own. (The goals of my characters are never as generic as “to be the strongest”. Why does he want to be strong and why is being stronger than everyone else necessary?)
The cards have things a character might see, hear, smell, taste, or feel. They have “the voice of the ex-wife”, “the taste of chicken”, “the smell of a t-shirt”, but they don’t label some like “notes from a jealous husband”, which I’d assume was sight, but could be feel, although smell or taste would be more interesting.
But still I tried to find a way to use it. Only, as I looked though the box I realized the names (John, Charlotte, Margaret, Michael, Amy, Larry, Donald, Sally, Tom, Irene) where all WASPish and most belong to people older than my mother. Where is Juan, Beka, Micah, and Ahmed? Or Kim and Ali? Or even Parker, Piper, Hunter, and Madison?
Title: Consequences
Series: A Balance of Harmonies (Three)
Status: Chapter one hundred three of
Genre: m/m romance, drama, city life, businessmen
Rating: R
Content: longing, children, new homes, angling for sympathy, sweet scene, future invitations, more longing, vocal pleasure, interruption, argument, leaving
Length: about 1,600 words
Summary: Kurt has to wait. Emil enjoys himself. And Peregrine draws the line.
Master list
Kurt stepped out of the way as workmen went through the condo’s front door. They were normally done before he got home, but if Emil wanted the kitchen finished quickly, Kurt didn’t mind the extra activity. Emil looked up from the kitchen and grinned. Kurt set his briefcase on the floor by the counter and swiped Emil’s breath. Emil was so beautiful and eager for Kurt’s touch. If only the workmen were gone, Kurt wouldn’t have had to reign in his desires.
He tucked Emil cheek against his chest. “I missed you today.”
Emil squeezed him and then stepped back. “We will have people here until eight tonight.”
Kurt glanced at the clock. He needed to keep himself busy for the next three hours.
The foreman stepped out of what had been Peregrine’s studio. “Mr. Skyles? If you have a moment.”
Kurt had many moments. After the foreman showed him a small difference in his office plans that would be easier and safer and not cost a penny more, Kurt took a tour. The place was really coming into shape. Only one more week before he could wake up with Emil against him and watch Peregrine paint without having to move a muscle. One more week and they could share a shower and not have to take turns to get ready for bed. One week.
--
Peregrine sat down in a comfy chair and let his lap be taken over by children. Sam had brought his daughters and Markus had brought his sons and the house was full of kids. Sam sat down on the couch and his lap was filled just as quickly. He was more relaxed than Peregrine had ever seen him. Maybe coming over had been good for him.
Sam hugged the two on his lap. “Did they really think I’d abandoned them?”
Peregrine shrugged. “They might have been trying to convince themselves. You never know with those two. But you don’t get homesick at the Mathesons’.”
Sam shook his head. “This place isn’t home anymore.”
“I know the feeling.”
Dad yelped. Sam leaped up, a child in each arm. Peregrine shook his head. “Dad’s just angling for sympathy.”
“I heard that!”
Sam frowned.
Peregrine motioned for him to sit down. “When it really hurts he clinches his teeth, so if you hear complaints, you know he’s fine.”
“I am not fine!” Dad roared. “How do you get off saying I’m fine?”
“But Daddy,” said Tinúviel, “he knows you’re fine because Mommy hasn’t sent us to our rooms or outside so we can’t see your tears.”
“Tinny,” dad sighed, “Daddy never cries.”
Tinúviel stepped into the living room and pouted at Peregrine. “But he does.”
Peregrine nodded and motioned her forward. “Everybody does.” He moved the two on his lap over, so Tinúviel could fit beside him. “Only some people are shy about it.”
“Are you shy?”
“My eyes turn red and my noses runs and I feel like I have a cold.”
Tinúviel nodded.
“And people I love give me a hug and I feel better.”
Isabella, Sam’s youngest threw her arms around Peregrine’s neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Théoden, wise at eleven, said, “But hugs don’t make you better.”
Peregrine cocked his head. “That depends on what’s wrong.”
“But Mom said we weren’t supposed to hug Dad because we might accidentally hurt him. But sometimes Tinny hugs him anyway.”
“Lisa, you didn’t tell the children that?”
“Sorry, dear,” said Mom. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
Peregrine nodded towards the dining room. “I think the moratorium on hugs is over.”
Tinúviel hopped up and ran into the dining room. Théoden followed more slowly. Markus leaned against the arch between the rooms. “That’s a sweet little scene.”
Sam lifted up his hand and Markus moved children to set beside him. He gave each one a bit of attention then wrapped his arm around Sam. “I think we should invite your folks over.”
“Do you think they would come?”
How Sam could think coherently enough to respond when Markus was looking at him like that was more than Peregrine could understand, but then maybe Sam was used to it by now. And Peregrine was no longer. He needed to get home.
--
Emil lay out on his bed. He only had one more day in it before a week in a hotel. By then the bed would be in their new room. He could hardly wait. He stretched his arm up as Kurt walked into the room. Kurt tugged the last of his clothes off and climbed onto the bed and Emil. Emil pulled Kurt close and moaned at his touch. Emil would be extra noisy tonight, since they would have to be quiet at the hotel for the next week. And vocal pleasure was so easy to show in Kurt’s arms.
--
Kurt woke with the sun on his skin. The curtains hadn’t been closed. Next week that wouldn’t matter as their new bedroom faced north.
Peregrine had better be in town when they moved into their new bedroom.
Emil rubbed against Kurt and hummed. He’d been quite loud last night, which Kurt had enjoyed immensely. Kurt would get that noise out of him again. He reached for Emil… and the doorbell rang. Emil sat straight up in bed and glanced at the clock. “I can’t believe I slept in this late.”
He tossed on yesterday’s clothes and hurried out of the room. Kurt slipped on his boxers and gathered up clothes for today. He nodded to the workmen as they shuffled in and waited his turn to enter the doorway that lead to both the bathroom and the work site. Having a bathroom off his bedroom was going to be a luxury he’d get used to quickly.
--
Peregrine sat down and picked up his mug of coffee. “Dad, is there anything you need before I go?”
“You could stay.”
“Why would I want to?” He’d been in California too long. He needed to be home for more than just a night or two.
Mom squeezed his shoulder. “Are you homesick?”
“Wouldn’t you be? I haven’t spent more than few days in a row at home in weeks.”
Dad crossed his arms. “And whose fault is that?”
“Yours, mostly.” Peregrine shut his eyes and leaned back. He needed to get home.
“I never told you you had to stay.” Dad was just grumpy that Peregrine had insisted he join them at the table while a sport was playing on TV, what sport it was didn’t seem to matter. Talking to someone in a different room was getting annoying. But then so was Dad.
Peregrine stood up. “Then I guess I’ll leave.”
He went into Théoden’s room and tossed his clothes in his bag. Mom stepped into the doorway. “You don’t have to leave.”
He patted her shoulder on the way by. “I know, but words have consequences.”
Dad wouldn’t look as him as Peregrine stepped into the laundry room. The last of his clothes were in the dryer, but they weren’t yet dry. He shoved them in a canvas grocery sack.
Dad crossed his arms. “And now you’re mad at me.”
Peregrine slung his bag over his shoulder. “No, I’m just happy that you have freed me from any familial obligation. Markus and Sam can take over from here. Whatever you may think of me, I do love you. I just find you easier to love at a distance.”
Mom followed Peregrine out to his car. “At least stay until your clothes are dry.”
“I’ll find a laundry mat.” Or one of a half dozen people who would be willing to lend him the use of their dryer. He put the bags in the car and then hugged Mom. “I’ll visit the next time I’m in town.”
“You’ll be back?” Mom bit her lip.
“I promised to help Tank move and Sam, Markus, and Jad have invited Kurt, Emil, and me over for dinner and I promised to paint the Matheson’s and Éowen still hasn’t forgiven me for getting back with Kurt, so a few times at least.”
Mom sighed and squeezed Peregrine tight. “The children will miss you.”
“They already said their goodbyes.” Peregrine should really say his goodbyes to his other friends if he was going home for a few weeks.
“Come back.”
Peregrine nodded and got in the car. “I will, and you can tell Dad if you want.”
Mom looked at the house. “Or I might just let him stew in his own juices for a while.”
Peregrine closed the car door and opened the window. “He won’t miss me. He didn’t before.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.”
Or his usefulness more likely. “Goodbye, Mom. I’ll let you know when I’ll be in town.”
He didn’t look in his rearview mirror as he drove away. He didn’t want to see her cry. Or maybe worse, that she wasn’t sad at all.
The Writer’s Toolbox by Jaime Cat Callan was given to me by a relative and I was happy that I was being encouraged in my hobby, so I really tried to like it. It claims to have creative games in it, so I struggled to figure out how to “play” them even though coming up with ideas has never been a problem for me.
Inside the box is a booklet, a tiny hourglass, popsicle sticks with different colors of paint at the end, some spinny things, and a deck of cards. The booklet isn’t exactly instructions. Some of it is explanation, but much of it is examples of stories written by other people.
The three kinds of sticks are the First Sentence, Non Sequitur, and (longer) Last Straw sticks. Not all the FS sticks could really be a first sentence, like “After only two months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer.” After two months of what? Several others would work as first sentences if reworded. Only four of the twenty would work as first sentences as they are. My favorite (although it isn’t perfect) is “My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it just runs in the family.” I could actually imagine that with a story after it, even though I probably wouldn’t want to read it. My favorite for a story I would want to read is, “I was dressed in a completely inappropriate shade of pink.”
Next are the NS sticks, supposedly to change the way the story is going, but a good story can’t change course abruptly in the middle. The change has to make sense. You can’t say “The plane was two hours late” if you’ve never before mentioned a plane or people traveling. Many of these sticks would make better first sentences, like “Eloise was my half-sister, but everyone thought she was my cousin” or “We were drinking Champagne and losing our shirts.” But like the first sentences, many could use a rewrite. (“It’s wasn’t so much that I’d been blind to the truth. It was just that I had seen the truth differently” is much stronger as I hadn’t been blind to the truth. I’d just seen the truth differently.)
Then we have the LS sticks, which gives the story extra conflict. Some would work, like “the tear in her dress” but anything that starts “the time…” can’t really be a conflict. That Fred went to the car wash and never came back is much more dramatic that that one time in the past he did. And some might work better as non sequiturs, like “the day Sheila brought Hillary to my office.” Several could be conflicts (mostly to people with annoying personalities) or things that bring them joy or peace (“the way she made tea.”)
The spinny things are labeled Obstacles, Protagonist, Action, and Goals and have stiff like “the lady at the Stop & Shop”, “John, the architect from Minnesota”, “wears a disguise”, and “to be wild and free”. My method for writing has always been to come up with a plot and find a protagonist what would respond the way I wanted him to, or start with a protagonist and wrap a plot around him. Or more like some of each, back and forth until a story emerges. I could probably make a story using these four things, but it would be much more stilted than what I could come up with on my own. (The goals of my characters are never as generic as “to be the strongest”. Why does he want to be strong and why is being stronger than everyone else necessary?)
The cards have things a character might see, hear, smell, taste, or feel. They have “the voice of the ex-wife”, “the taste of chicken”, “the smell of a t-shirt”, but they don’t label some like “notes from a jealous husband”, which I’d assume was sight, but could be feel, although smell or taste would be more interesting.
But still I tried to find a way to use it. Only, as I looked though the box I realized the names (John, Charlotte, Margaret, Michael, Amy, Larry, Donald, Sally, Tom, Irene) where all WASPish and most belong to people older than my mother. Where is Juan, Beka, Micah, and Ahmed? Or Kim and Ali? Or even Parker, Piper, Hunter, and Madison?
Title: Consequences
Series: A Balance of Harmonies (Three)
Status: Chapter one hundred three of
Genre: m/m romance, drama, city life, businessmen
Rating: R
Content: longing, children, new homes, angling for sympathy, sweet scene, future invitations, more longing, vocal pleasure, interruption, argument, leaving
Length: about 1,600 words
Summary: Kurt has to wait. Emil enjoys himself. And Peregrine draws the line.
Master list
Kurt stepped out of the way as workmen went through the condo’s front door. They were normally done before he got home, but if Emil wanted the kitchen finished quickly, Kurt didn’t mind the extra activity. Emil looked up from the kitchen and grinned. Kurt set his briefcase on the floor by the counter and swiped Emil’s breath. Emil was so beautiful and eager for Kurt’s touch. If only the workmen were gone, Kurt wouldn’t have had to reign in his desires.
He tucked Emil cheek against his chest. “I missed you today.”
Emil squeezed him and then stepped back. “We will have people here until eight tonight.”
Kurt glanced at the clock. He needed to keep himself busy for the next three hours.
The foreman stepped out of what had been Peregrine’s studio. “Mr. Skyles? If you have a moment.”
Kurt had many moments. After the foreman showed him a small difference in his office plans that would be easier and safer and not cost a penny more, Kurt took a tour. The place was really coming into shape. Only one more week before he could wake up with Emil against him and watch Peregrine paint without having to move a muscle. One more week and they could share a shower and not have to take turns to get ready for bed. One week.
--
Peregrine sat down in a comfy chair and let his lap be taken over by children. Sam had brought his daughters and Markus had brought his sons and the house was full of kids. Sam sat down on the couch and his lap was filled just as quickly. He was more relaxed than Peregrine had ever seen him. Maybe coming over had been good for him.
Sam hugged the two on his lap. “Did they really think I’d abandoned them?”
Peregrine shrugged. “They might have been trying to convince themselves. You never know with those two. But you don’t get homesick at the Mathesons’.”
Sam shook his head. “This place isn’t home anymore.”
“I know the feeling.”
Dad yelped. Sam leaped up, a child in each arm. Peregrine shook his head. “Dad’s just angling for sympathy.”
“I heard that!”
Sam frowned.
Peregrine motioned for him to sit down. “When it really hurts he clinches his teeth, so if you hear complaints, you know he’s fine.”
“I am not fine!” Dad roared. “How do you get off saying I’m fine?”
“But Daddy,” said Tinúviel, “he knows you’re fine because Mommy hasn’t sent us to our rooms or outside so we can’t see your tears.”
“Tinny,” dad sighed, “Daddy never cries.”
Tinúviel stepped into the living room and pouted at Peregrine. “But he does.”
Peregrine nodded and motioned her forward. “Everybody does.” He moved the two on his lap over, so Tinúviel could fit beside him. “Only some people are shy about it.”
“Are you shy?”
“My eyes turn red and my noses runs and I feel like I have a cold.”
Tinúviel nodded.
“And people I love give me a hug and I feel better.”
Isabella, Sam’s youngest threw her arms around Peregrine’s neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Théoden, wise at eleven, said, “But hugs don’t make you better.”
Peregrine cocked his head. “That depends on what’s wrong.”
“But Mom said we weren’t supposed to hug Dad because we might accidentally hurt him. But sometimes Tinny hugs him anyway.”
“Lisa, you didn’t tell the children that?”
“Sorry, dear,” said Mom. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
Peregrine nodded towards the dining room. “I think the moratorium on hugs is over.”
Tinúviel hopped up and ran into the dining room. Théoden followed more slowly. Markus leaned against the arch between the rooms. “That’s a sweet little scene.”
Sam lifted up his hand and Markus moved children to set beside him. He gave each one a bit of attention then wrapped his arm around Sam. “I think we should invite your folks over.”
“Do you think they would come?”
How Sam could think coherently enough to respond when Markus was looking at him like that was more than Peregrine could understand, but then maybe Sam was used to it by now. And Peregrine was no longer. He needed to get home.
--
Emil lay out on his bed. He only had one more day in it before a week in a hotel. By then the bed would be in their new room. He could hardly wait. He stretched his arm up as Kurt walked into the room. Kurt tugged the last of his clothes off and climbed onto the bed and Emil. Emil pulled Kurt close and moaned at his touch. Emil would be extra noisy tonight, since they would have to be quiet at the hotel for the next week. And vocal pleasure was so easy to show in Kurt’s arms.
--
Kurt woke with the sun on his skin. The curtains hadn’t been closed. Next week that wouldn’t matter as their new bedroom faced north.
Peregrine had better be in town when they moved into their new bedroom.
Emil rubbed against Kurt and hummed. He’d been quite loud last night, which Kurt had enjoyed immensely. Kurt would get that noise out of him again. He reached for Emil… and the doorbell rang. Emil sat straight up in bed and glanced at the clock. “I can’t believe I slept in this late.”
He tossed on yesterday’s clothes and hurried out of the room. Kurt slipped on his boxers and gathered up clothes for today. He nodded to the workmen as they shuffled in and waited his turn to enter the doorway that lead to both the bathroom and the work site. Having a bathroom off his bedroom was going to be a luxury he’d get used to quickly.
--
Peregrine sat down and picked up his mug of coffee. “Dad, is there anything you need before I go?”
“You could stay.”
“Why would I want to?” He’d been in California too long. He needed to be home for more than just a night or two.
Mom squeezed his shoulder. “Are you homesick?”
“Wouldn’t you be? I haven’t spent more than few days in a row at home in weeks.”
Dad crossed his arms. “And whose fault is that?”
“Yours, mostly.” Peregrine shut his eyes and leaned back. He needed to get home.
“I never told you you had to stay.” Dad was just grumpy that Peregrine had insisted he join them at the table while a sport was playing on TV, what sport it was didn’t seem to matter. Talking to someone in a different room was getting annoying. But then so was Dad.
Peregrine stood up. “Then I guess I’ll leave.”
He went into Théoden’s room and tossed his clothes in his bag. Mom stepped into the doorway. “You don’t have to leave.”
He patted her shoulder on the way by. “I know, but words have consequences.”
Dad wouldn’t look as him as Peregrine stepped into the laundry room. The last of his clothes were in the dryer, but they weren’t yet dry. He shoved them in a canvas grocery sack.
Dad crossed his arms. “And now you’re mad at me.”
Peregrine slung his bag over his shoulder. “No, I’m just happy that you have freed me from any familial obligation. Markus and Sam can take over from here. Whatever you may think of me, I do love you. I just find you easier to love at a distance.”
Mom followed Peregrine out to his car. “At least stay until your clothes are dry.”
“I’ll find a laundry mat.” Or one of a half dozen people who would be willing to lend him the use of their dryer. He put the bags in the car and then hugged Mom. “I’ll visit the next time I’m in town.”
“You’ll be back?” Mom bit her lip.
“I promised to help Tank move and Sam, Markus, and Jad have invited Kurt, Emil, and me over for dinner and I promised to paint the Matheson’s and Éowen still hasn’t forgiven me for getting back with Kurt, so a few times at least.”
Mom sighed and squeezed Peregrine tight. “The children will miss you.”
“They already said their goodbyes.” Peregrine should really say his goodbyes to his other friends if he was going home for a few weeks.
“Come back.”
Peregrine nodded and got in the car. “I will, and you can tell Dad if you want.”
Mom looked at the house. “Or I might just let him stew in his own juices for a while.”
Peregrine closed the car door and opened the window. “He won’t miss me. He didn’t before.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.”
Or his usefulness more likely. “Goodbye, Mom. I’ll let you know when I’ll be in town.”
He didn’t look in his rearview mirror as he drove away. He didn’t want to see her cry. Or maybe worse, that she wasn’t sad at all.