How Do You Solve a Problem Like Vetinari?
I may have disappeared for a bit. The last few weeks have been a combination of sleep deprivation, family visitation, unholy amounts of readings for classes (and it's the anti-last semester, so all of the readings are pioneering new areas of boring and pedantic), even more grading than reading (and my, the special snowflakes in this group), and, yes, writing the big bang fic. For sncross_bigbang . The Discworld one. I swear I mentioned this. Currently at 15,350 words and not even out of Ankh-Morpork yet. Crap. Yes, there's a reason I haven't updated anything else in two months. Plus, ooh, I think I've got a beta for it now. Yays!
So why am I up at 6:00 am? Because Havelock Vetinari doesn't sleep.
I admit that I've been dreading this scene for forever. The Lu-Tze one was an unexpected pain in the ass. Granny Weatherwax will probably put me through the wringer. But ever since I plotted this damn thing out, I've been getting queasy thinking about this one. Why? Because Lord Vetinari is smarter than me. Not only is he smarter than me, but his brain is wired completely differently than mine. How so? I'm a cunning, devious soul, and if you lock me in an empty room, I will assemble whatever pocket lint and toe nail clippings are available to weasel my way out of there; that or I'll seduce the guard, or whatever, but eventually, I'll get out. The point is: I'm very good at working in the moment with what happens to be available, sort of like a slutty MacGyver. Plans are meant for other people against whom the universe doesn't have a personal vendetta. Vetinari, on the other hand, already knew you were going to lock him in that room and has arranged it so that there's another lock on the inside of the door, a lock that only he has the key to, and did you realize you were really trapping yourself?
In other words, he and I have absolutely nothing in common, other than the fact that both of us think he's pretty awesome. But boy is he a bitch to write.
Nevertheless, I gamely outlined the scene and what I wanted to get out of it before sending Dean off in the mailcoach. Plot point, personal development, two decent jokes, good to go. Then I got to the scene. Maybe I'll stick a little flashback in here first, make Dean sweat it out a bit. Yeah. Okay, in the actual Oblong Office now, maybe it's a good time to eat dinner, finish some reading for the seminar with the professor who looks like a lizard because he never blinks. That's done: okay, fine, time to flex the fingers and write a little Patrician...
And then cometh the squat. For the last two days no less. And then I woke up at 4am, always a good hour for me to look like a total looney, opened up ye olde word processor, and proceeded to splatter 1,500 words onto the screen. It's messy and rough. It's completely different from what I had imagined. It hasn't resolved yet (oh good God, it had better resolve soon, otherwise this fic is never going to bloody end). But it's what Vetinari really wanted to say. At four in the morning. Sonovabitch.
So why am I up at 6:00 am? Because Havelock Vetinari doesn't sleep.
I admit that I've been dreading this scene for forever. The Lu-Tze one was an unexpected pain in the ass. Granny Weatherwax will probably put me through the wringer. But ever since I plotted this damn thing out, I've been getting queasy thinking about this one. Why? Because Lord Vetinari is smarter than me. Not only is he smarter than me, but his brain is wired completely differently than mine. How so? I'm a cunning, devious soul, and if you lock me in an empty room, I will assemble whatever pocket lint and toe nail clippings are available to weasel my way out of there; that or I'll seduce the guard, or whatever, but eventually, I'll get out. The point is: I'm very good at working in the moment with what happens to be available, sort of like a slutty MacGyver. Plans are meant for other people against whom the universe doesn't have a personal vendetta. Vetinari, on the other hand, already knew you were going to lock him in that room and has arranged it so that there's another lock on the inside of the door, a lock that only he has the key to, and did you realize you were really trapping yourself?
In other words, he and I have absolutely nothing in common, other than the fact that both of us think he's pretty awesome. But boy is he a bitch to write.
Nevertheless, I gamely outlined the scene and what I wanted to get out of it before sending Dean off in the mailcoach. Plot point, personal development, two decent jokes, good to go. Then I got to the scene. Maybe I'll stick a little flashback in here first, make Dean sweat it out a bit. Yeah. Okay, in the actual Oblong Office now, maybe it's a good time to eat dinner, finish some reading for the seminar with the professor who looks like a lizard because he never blinks. That's done: okay, fine, time to flex the fingers and write a little Patrician...
And then cometh the squat. For the last two days no less. And then I woke up at 4am, always a good hour for me to look like a total looney, opened up ye olde word processor, and proceeded to splatter 1,500 words onto the screen. It's messy and rough. It's completely different from what I had imagined. It hasn't resolved yet (oh good God, it had better resolve soon, otherwise this fic is never going to bloody end). But it's what Vetinari really wanted to say. At four in the morning. Sonovabitch.