It’s official now... I’ve written Fluff. Grr
The scene started as a nice, juicy Angst. No wonder really, since I had to - once again - sign off death of my son. He had a minor surgery that however still required total anaesthesia, and the hospital has a form stating something in lines of “I understand that total anaesthesia might occasionally result in serious complications, rarely leading even to death of the patient.” It was the fourth time I had to sign this horrendous atrocity, and although it is getting better with repeated experience that they bring me every child back alive, it still gets my feelings in a fit.
So the story started to unfold as an Angst, when my son got his Calming Draught or Befuddlement Draught or whatever it is they give them while still with their mothers.
Later, when they actually took him down to the Department of Scalpels and undoubtedly gave him his Draught of Living Death, my scene became almost violent. In fact, I’m surprised no one physically attacked anyone, what with the state of anxiety I was in.
My son arrived with a restorative potion in his veins, but still needing to sleep off the effects of the Draught of Living Death. It's a bitchy potion. Children like that don’t listen. Their mind is just not there. They are uninterested, inattentive, just not there. The scene became explanatory. One character tried very, very hard to get his message across to the other one. In vain. The information simply wouldn’t connect.
Until my son woke up for the fifth time and finally said something meaningful. Hope started to emerge in the scene I was writing.
Happy and content that we had our son back with us in the late afternoon, once again active and running, I finished writing the scene late at night.
Two days later now, I recognise it for what it is. It is about 2000 words long (6.5 handwritten A4 sheets), and it's an emotional rollercoster. The ending is dreadfully fluffy. Grrr. Just... grrr.
I will have to rewrite that. It’s awful. It’s saccharine.
So the story started to unfold as an Angst, when my son got his Calming Draught or Befuddlement Draught or whatever it is they give them while still with their mothers.
Later, when they actually took him down to the Department of Scalpels and undoubtedly gave him his Draught of Living Death, my scene became almost violent. In fact, I’m surprised no one physically attacked anyone, what with the state of anxiety I was in.
My son arrived with a restorative potion in his veins, but still needing to sleep off the effects of the Draught of Living Death. It's a bitchy potion. Children like that don’t listen. Their mind is just not there. They are uninterested, inattentive, just not there. The scene became explanatory. One character tried very, very hard to get his message across to the other one. In vain. The information simply wouldn’t connect.
Until my son woke up for the fifth time and finally said something meaningful. Hope started to emerge in the scene I was writing.
Happy and content that we had our son back with us in the late afternoon, once again active and running, I finished writing the scene late at night.
Two days later now, I recognise it for what it is. It is about 2000 words long (6.5 handwritten A4 sheets), and it's an emotional rollercoster. The ending is dreadfully fluffy. Grrr. Just... grrr.
I will have to rewrite that. It’s awful. It’s saccharine.