Arrant Nonsense

The lovely and effulgent difrancis finished up her latest novel and shipped it off today. In celebration, she started Snippet Saturday a day early.

Here. :)

In other news, I think I have something for not!Harmony to do that's something of hers with nothing to do with Her Man and His Myriad Problems. Because, you know, she's got a Dream and an Aspiration too, and it should be explored a little. *nods firmly* I might even have places I can slide it in without too much trouble.

And then there's this Other Character. They cut him loose, probably way too easily, so he can show up later and be The Resident Cannon Fodder. Maybe there should be something he knows. Or something. I don't know.

GYAH. Writing is hard, mon.

I give you...

a snippet.

This segment has added over two thousand words to my count, and I'm going to have to go back in and (probably) add more details about any further showers he takes and how he attempts to overcome this.

Yay for a three-hour window I needed to fill within the story.

So, matociquala (Elizabeth Bear) had an interesting post today about PTSD, and how it's portrayed in fiction, and how most of the time it's portrayed wrongly. It's not sexy, it's not a character flaw *gags*, and it's not going to be healed by the power of the Magical Vagina (or Cock).

She says:
"traumatized" is not a character trait. It can lead to character traits, because suffering generally affects who we are, but all by itself it's not a character [trait].

Not!Harry is Traumatized. Yes, with a capital T. His triggering incident happened three years ago, and, while he's getting better, he's in no way "whole" or even close to it yet. Do not restrain him, do not come at him with a needle. As not!Harmony says:

If he wakes up tied to the bed, you will not believe the level of freakout. He lost his shit when I suggested that he tie me to the bed once. I don't even joke about that stuff with him.

And he's got a longer row to hoe than most, because he refuses to take mood stabilizers--because along with the needle phobia he picked up a lovely fear of being addicted to anything.

Naturally, with everything that's just happened to him, he's had a major setback. And not!Harmony, she loves him, she does, and she's got a nice case of Wilson Syndrome (she's a Fixer by nature), but even she isn't sure she can go through this again with him--although I don't really explore that. Maybe I should.

So, yeah, it's a mess. He's a mess. Not only that, but he knows exactly how much of a mess he is. In fact, in light of this, I'm not sure that even I know how screwed up he is, and maybe I should dive back in and figure out what triggers him beyond the obvious and possibly weave that into the narrative a bit.

Why, yes, it's still All About Not!Harry and the fact that he's My Favorite Punching Bag™. Why do you ask?

In the meantime, I have a shower scene to write, in the interests of Showing rather than Telling. *evil laughter* Speaking of what triggers him.

Changing three damned paragraphs in this story shouldn't be this hard.

But it's gone from "all his sarcasm circuits are firing" (as they do; he's got a whole different smartass thing than not!Tony does, but he has a mouth on him for sure) to "ohholyshit needles BAD and I can't frakking breathe." So it's a whole different vibe.

Yes, as I pointed out in a previous post, not!Harry would rather get shot with a gun than shot with a syringe--even if that gun is ultimately firing a needle at him.

So would I, frankly--dart gun vs pole syringe is a no-brainer, because I can't see the dart from the gun coming, whereas a pole syringe is pretty damn personal.

I fired off an email to the good folks at ZooPharm tonight, and now it turns out that I don't actually need the information I asked for, because I managed to wing it. However, some confirmation that this is even feasible would be nice--also, knowing the color of the stuff they might be using would add verisimiltude.

Speaking of the "having a mouth on him" thing, the handsome and talented kurukami and I had this interesting exchange:

agilebrit: And then he, of course, is less than cooperative when they want some of his blood (untainted by knockout drugs)...
kurukami: Ahhhh. And now I learn more background.
agilebrit: So they hit him with yet another dart, and he wakes up fastened to a steel table by about twelve points, no leverage, and freaks the hell out. Especially when she comes at him with a needle.
kurukami:
"We want some of your untainted blood."
"Fuck you."
"No, listen, maybe you're not understa--"
"Fuck. You. Which part was unclear?" *evil grin*
agilebrit: Great minds...
kurukami: Heck yeah.
agilebrit: She gave him an exasperated stare. "Do it voluntarily, or we'll make you, and you'll like that even less."

"You know what? Fuck off. Why should I make it easy on you? Be a good little lab rat and you'll let me go eventually? Somehow I don't believe that."

She shook her head. "You'd be making it easy on yourself. We're getting a clean sample either way, and we don't care how."

The back of his neck went cold, but he bulled on regardless. "Oh, well, when you put it like that...Wait, no, what I meant was, 'fuck off,' again."

Understand that the part about the exasperated stare was written...oh, months ago. Hee. Also, yes, not!Harry drops f-bombs. Of course he does. Look who he's based on.

Yeah. One more day, I think, and it's going to you guys...

That scene is ten times better. It was "okay" before. But now it pops. *snorgles my Writing Buddy, who suggested a "Hey, Megan, watch this!" scenario*

In fact, I haven't graced y'all with a snippet in awhile, have I? Here, have one:

---

They'd been in camp for about an hour when Alex called. "Hey, Megan! Watch this."

"Where are you?" Megan's grip on her phone was white-knuckled.

"Look across the river, up on the cliff." A tiny figure waved at them from the clifftop--and leaped.

"Oh my god! Alex!"

A parachute blossomed over his head before she got the exclamation all the way out, and he floated toward the ground. "Piece of cake, safe as houses," he said, and disappeared behind the trees. "Ow. Shit."

"Alex?"

"Ow. Gotta go. Be there in a little while." The call ended, and Megan stared in consternation at the phone. But, true to his word, Alex showed up in camp about a half hour later.

Limping. Still with the manic grin. And reeking of scotch.

"Oh, god, what happened?" Megan moaned.

"Did you know that base-jumping is a huge sport around here? And it's even legal."

"Alex..."

"You should try it sometime."

"What happened to your leg?"

He shrugged, elaborately casual. "Oh, landed wrong, twisted my knee a little and hit a cactus. Nothing big."

"Alex..."

"So, where are we eating tonight?" Alex said blithely.

---

Oh, god, I love these characters...

Okay, seriously. Whose POV is this scene in:

Alex rubbed his eyes and peered through the microscope yet again. He hadn't slept at all; instead he'd stayed up looking for answers that remained stubbornly elusive. Janni sat on the couch with a thousand-yard stare, and Pamela was using Megan's research of the previous night to hunt down more Ostheim properties. Megan sat at the desk doing email triage. Some board members were making noise again, and she told them that Alex was involved in a special project and couldn't make a teleconference for at least a few more days. She opened the next one, and--

Inhaled sharply. "No. Oh, no."

*smacks own head* I mean, I realize why I did that thing about the board members, but I did it in exactly the wrong place for the POV that scene was supposed to be in. Which means I need to figure out another place to talk about the board members making noise and Alex ignoring them.



In other news, I went to the dentist today (again), and ow. Gawd, I hate this...

Still in Texas. Saw dolphins. And osprey. Ridiculous numbers of shorebirds, including sandpipers, which are freakin' adorable.

I don't think I'm going to make my (inflated) word count goal this week, but we'll see. I ... may have a light at the end of my tunnel. Maybe.

And I've committed snippetage at difrancis's LJ again.

Once a year, my two favorite teams (the Steelers, and whoever is playing the Cowboys) are the same team. And so it was today. After a nail-biter, my Steelers defeated the Cowboys by intercepting the ball and running it in for a touchdown. WOOOOT!

In celebration (because not only did they win, but I got to watch them do it, which hardly ever happens), I give you a snippet:

"Ben!"

The voice in the scrub had them both jerking their heads around, and then Janni burst onto the scene, reeking of blood and fear. She stopped short, her hand going to her mouth. "Ben?"

His gun stayed under his chin, steady as a rock. How could he be that steady? Megan was shaking so hard her teeth were rattling.

"I have to admit that this is the most realistic hallucination I've ever had," he said. "The PTSD is working overtime today. Bravo."

"I told you--" Megan started.

"And my brain took it and ran with it."

"Sweetie," Janni said carefully. She was shaking, too; Megan could see that even from twenty feet away. "Put the gun down. I'm not a hallucination."

"That's what they all say before they start with the needles and the torture." The rifle still didn't move. "I watched Janni die. Therefore, you're not real."

"We can't both be hallucinating the same thing, Ben." Megan tried to be reasonable, but her voice wasn't working properly, and she wasn't sure how convincing she was. "You're scaring her."

"Makes a nice change from my other hallucinations. Usually they're scaring me."

Man, I love it when Ben's sarcasm circuits are firing on all cylinders. As I said in a comment earlier today, he's terribly self-aware, and sometimes I think he's a little too self-aware--and then I watch an interview with RDJ and think, "No, he's just about right."

I've committed snippetage at difrancis's LJ.

Which, if you read last night's entry after I finished writing this scene, is basically not!Harry articulating all that, but...yeah.

I had a tough time picking this time because I scribbled a lot that I consider GOLD this week. But I went with that because, well, I'm evil.

Remember that I went to the School Of Joss. There's no guarantee that I'll actually rescue him this time...

I can't write. Like, at all. I read stuff like this, by quigonejinn, and realize how very much I suck. That punch to the gut? Yeah, haven't perfected that yet. Maybe if I write another 500,000 words, I will. Maybe. And maybe Santa will leave me that pony I've always wanted in my back yard this Christmas.

In other news, the Marvel peeps on my flist need to go watch this vid, right the hell now. Seriously, I'll wait.

Okay, are you back? I am in total awe. Are you in awe? I'm in awe.

And now, speaking of writing. It's not going to write itself, is it? And even if it sucks and it's a waste of time and I should be doing something else, those 500 words aren't going to appear out of thin air, so I should just do it and be done. *eyes clock in story* Yeah, they could be getting a phone call just any time.

Or maybe not. Maybe the Bad Guy just shows up on not!Tony's doorstep with an army and starts beating the doors down. Would he make the mistake of calling first? "Hey, there, not!Tony. I'm coming over to kick your ass. Can you squeeze me in between your four and four-thirty appointments? Thanks."

ETA: There's a teeny little snippet in the comments, for anyone who cares.