Beta call for Inception fic?
Okay. So I'm at (oh god) 19,843 words on this Inception fic, and I'm at the point where I need a beta reader or a cheerleader or something, because I have never written anything this long before that didn't result in a post-graduate degree and it's beginning to weird me out.
Full disclosure: This is a story set about four years out from the timeline of the film, and I am definitely on the Arthur and Ariadne side of the force. (This is not to say that I don't totally get the Arthur/Eames thing. Boy howdy, do I. I'm just reveling in the fact that there's actually a female character I'm interested in writing about, you know? That doesn't happen all that often!) This is more of a caper-slash-undercover sort of story, so I'm looking for someone who likes all that James Bond-y, Jason Bourne stuff with (hopefully) a bit of a complicated romance on the side. Working knowledge of travel in: Brazil, France, Germany, China, the Czech Republic, and Canada a bonus, but certainly not required. Eventually I'm going to need someone who can take a hack at some French for me, for I am a Spanish and very bad Portuguese sort of person, and I refuse to butcher such a pretty language. (I may need some German, eventually, but I think Google translate and I can work out a deal for that.)
That's... not too much to ask, is it? It probably is. Oh, well. You never know until you ask.
Anyway, I'm at the halfway mark on this thing. Quite literally. When I closed out of Word this afternoon, I was able to type a big PART TWO at the bottom. It felt really good, and also kind of terrifying, because now I have to (1) change POVs, (2) change locations, (3) change the tone, and (4) write the actual con.
So. Before I go and change gears rather drastically, I'd really like it if someone could take a look at what I've got and see how the whole thing... moves, or doesn't, or whatever. I'm looking for characterization and plot critique, style points, editing tips-- the whole nine yards. I'm at the point where I want to throw the whole thing against a wall, so I'm not really capable of being too objective at the moment. Hence the need for a beta reader.
There are a couple excerpts from the story floating around under the tag "cookies" on this journal, if anyone would like an idea of what they're getting themselves into. And here's another:
Arthur looked around at the workshop, trying to remember if there was anything he needed to take with him or destroy before leaving, but his head was muzzy. Their names weren't on anything, at least, although there was enough DNA evidence on the floor to send a saint down for murder and it was pretty damn clear from the set up that a mind crime had been in the works. He made it to the office area-- it was equally well tossed-- and quickly pulled off his bloody vest and shirt. He had an extra button-up hanging on the back of the door. He grabbed it, and went into the dingy washroom next door.
Arthur didn't recognize the man looking out of the warped metal mirror over the sink. His face was badly swollen along his left cheekbone, sick discoloration already coming up underneath the caked blood. The cut on his right temple was less serious, but definitely noticeable. His torso was pockmarked with dark bruises the size of his fist; he prodded one gently, trying to feel if the ribs underneath were broken. Vitor or one of Souza's cronies must have kicked the hell out of him after he passed out. He hissed at the pressure, and decided to worry about it later. Nothing he could do about it now, anyway.
The water from the tap was rusty and warm, but he made an attempt at washing the blood from his face nevertheless. It didn't exactly improve his looks any, but it made him feel slightly more human. Wincing, he slid the clean shirt over his shoulders, pushing the buttons through their holes as quickly as his clumsy fingers would let him.
The sirens were getting closer.
"Okay," he said to his reflection. "Time to go." He walked back into the office, and grabbed Putcelli's hat and sunglasses from the desk. It was a stupid hat, a white straw panama with a black band, and Arthur had rolled his eyes whenever Putcelli put the damn thing on.
"You look like the guy at the end of Silence of the Lambs in that," Arthur had told him the first time the hat made its appearance.
"Hannibal Lector had style," Putcelli said, tilting the brim to what he imagined was a rakish angle. "And you, my friend, are simply green with envy." Arthur never bothered to tell him he meant the other guy, the guy who was going to get eaten.
Arthur put on the panama and glasses, and pulled the brim low to hide his damaged face. He walked unsteadily to the back door of the workshop, glancing one final time at Magda and Putcelli. "I'm sorry," he told them again. He couldn't even cover their faces; the pool of blood was too large around them. He'd leave footprints. "I'll fix this," he promised lamely, and pushed the door to the back alley open and stepped outside.
So. Anyone want to help me out?
ETA: On an unrelated note, I am having a fantastic time with the details on the current scene, because I am playing Dress Up with Arthur! (And Ariadne, because she couldn't resist these red patent leather peeptoe pumps by Valentino.)
Arthur's wardrobe currently consists of:
1. This Z Zegna 3-button three piece charcoal pinstriped suit. He's not wearing the jacket right now. It's tossed over the back of a chair, so: everybody take a moment to admire the vest and the awesome fit of the trousers.
2. This white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
3. This is his tie. It may eventually wind up at the foot of a bed, who knows. Or tied to a headboard! Ties are full of possibility, don't you think?
Full disclosure: This is a story set about four years out from the timeline of the film, and I am definitely on the Arthur and Ariadne side of the force. (This is not to say that I don't totally get the Arthur/Eames thing. Boy howdy, do I. I'm just reveling in the fact that there's actually a female character I'm interested in writing about, you know? That doesn't happen all that often!) This is more of a caper-slash-undercover sort of story, so I'm looking for someone who likes all that James Bond-y, Jason Bourne stuff with (hopefully) a bit of a complicated romance on the side. Working knowledge of travel in: Brazil, France, Germany, China, the Czech Republic, and Canada a bonus, but certainly not required. Eventually I'm going to need someone who can take a hack at some French for me, for I am a Spanish and very bad Portuguese sort of person, and I refuse to butcher such a pretty language. (I may need some German, eventually, but I think Google translate and I can work out a deal for that.)
That's... not too much to ask, is it? It probably is. Oh, well. You never know until you ask.
Anyway, I'm at the halfway mark on this thing. Quite literally. When I closed out of Word this afternoon, I was able to type a big PART TWO at the bottom. It felt really good, and also kind of terrifying, because now I have to (1) change POVs, (2) change locations, (3) change the tone, and (4) write the actual con.
So. Before I go and change gears rather drastically, I'd really like it if someone could take a look at what I've got and see how the whole thing... moves, or doesn't, or whatever. I'm looking for characterization and plot critique, style points, editing tips-- the whole nine yards. I'm at the point where I want to throw the whole thing against a wall, so I'm not really capable of being too objective at the moment. Hence the need for a beta reader.
There are a couple excerpts from the story floating around under the tag "cookies" on this journal, if anyone would like an idea of what they're getting themselves into. And here's another:
Arthur looked around at the workshop, trying to remember if there was anything he needed to take with him or destroy before leaving, but his head was muzzy. Their names weren't on anything, at least, although there was enough DNA evidence on the floor to send a saint down for murder and it was pretty damn clear from the set up that a mind crime had been in the works. He made it to the office area-- it was equally well tossed-- and quickly pulled off his bloody vest and shirt. He had an extra button-up hanging on the back of the door. He grabbed it, and went into the dingy washroom next door.
Arthur didn't recognize the man looking out of the warped metal mirror over the sink. His face was badly swollen along his left cheekbone, sick discoloration already coming up underneath the caked blood. The cut on his right temple was less serious, but definitely noticeable. His torso was pockmarked with dark bruises the size of his fist; he prodded one gently, trying to feel if the ribs underneath were broken. Vitor or one of Souza's cronies must have kicked the hell out of him after he passed out. He hissed at the pressure, and decided to worry about it later. Nothing he could do about it now, anyway.
The water from the tap was rusty and warm, but he made an attempt at washing the blood from his face nevertheless. It didn't exactly improve his looks any, but it made him feel slightly more human. Wincing, he slid the clean shirt over his shoulders, pushing the buttons through their holes as quickly as his clumsy fingers would let him.
The sirens were getting closer.
"Okay," he said to his reflection. "Time to go." He walked back into the office, and grabbed Putcelli's hat and sunglasses from the desk. It was a stupid hat, a white straw panama with a black band, and Arthur had rolled his eyes whenever Putcelli put the damn thing on.
"You look like the guy at the end of Silence of the Lambs in that," Arthur had told him the first time the hat made its appearance.
"Hannibal Lector had style," Putcelli said, tilting the brim to what he imagined was a rakish angle. "And you, my friend, are simply green with envy." Arthur never bothered to tell him he meant the other guy, the guy who was going to get eaten.
Arthur put on the panama and glasses, and pulled the brim low to hide his damaged face. He walked unsteadily to the back door of the workshop, glancing one final time at Magda and Putcelli. "I'm sorry," he told them again. He couldn't even cover their faces; the pool of blood was too large around them. He'd leave footprints. "I'll fix this," he promised lamely, and pushed the door to the back alley open and stepped outside.
So. Anyone want to help me out?
ETA: On an unrelated note, I am having a fantastic time with the details on the current scene, because I am playing Dress Up with Arthur! (And Ariadne, because she couldn't resist these red patent leather peeptoe pumps by Valentino.)
Arthur's wardrobe currently consists of:
1. This Z Zegna 3-button three piece charcoal pinstriped suit. He's not wearing the jacket right now. It's tossed over the back of a chair, so: everybody take a moment to admire the vest and the awesome fit of the trousers.
2. This white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
3. This is his tie. It may eventually wind up at the foot of a bed, who knows. Or tied to a headboard! Ties are full of possibility, don't you think?