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WIP: Doctor Fantastik Part II

“Twin daughters,” Doctor Fantastik said. “That’s very sad. A friend of yours?”
“I bring him spices from the Southern Isles when I come up from there. Saves him on the merchanting mark-up.”
“And the duty, no doubt,” Doctor Fantastik said.
The sailor shrugged. “I’ll give you the address, and you tell ’em Cyril sent ya. They’ll see to my fee. They’re right desperate.”
“How so?”
“At least one of the girls been turned poltergeist,” Cyril said.
“Not both?”
“I wouldn’t believe it of Ellie, she was sweet as punch,” Cyril said. “But that Kim, she was a handful and half of hellion. If the poltergeist’s one of them ““ and the timing’s right as rain for that ““ my money’s on Kim.”
“I’ve extracted poltergeists before,” the doctor said reflectively. He fingered the pin on his lapel.
The girl leaned close. “You detach them,” she said.
He nodded.
“You put them in bottles.” Her breathing quickened and she licked her smile wider.
“Parts of them, certainly,” the doctor said. “I capture certain effluences that are useful in some experiments.”
He looked at the sailor, who was taking quick gulps of his fish tea. Dots of green seaweed clung to his moustache.
The girl pursed her lips as the doctor turned back to her, ignoring the man. His tone when he addressed her was as firm as though he were instructing a dimwitted and unruly child. “Go and find us a place to sleep tonight, Charlotte. Make sure that the rooms are clean and that the fees are under a silver apiece.”
She slid from her seat with an attitude of resignation, ignoring the newspaper, which the man was currently folding into a new shape as though to catch her notice. Her silk skirts rustled, nigh-inaudible ““ or perhaps that was her sigh? ““ as she moved back to the door.
The man gave up on folding his newspaper and laid it down on the counter in front of him, extracting his cup of fish tea from among the folds. “She your apprentice?” he asked.
Doctor Fantastik shook his head, indicating with a delicate shudder the impracticality of such a notion.
“Your daughter?”
“Charlotte is a patient who I am treating for a pronounced and malignant affliction,” the doctor said mournfully.
“A ghost affliction?”
“Indeed.”

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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."

~K. Richardson

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Hands

signs of life
Photo owned by zoetnet (cc)

The crescent moon is a fingernail mark pressed into the darkening sky. An anxious star tugs at it, trying to pull it up farther. Hands swim below the surface of the water. Birds cradled in the wickerwork of leafless branches eye the restless fluttering of the fingers.

Someone calls, but no one answers. Shadows sweep along the banks of the lake, pulled and stretched into awkward shapes by passing headlights. No one answers.

Someone walks and feels the dry stiff grass lace itself around their ankles, tracing lines of frost. The hands continue to crawl and the moon creeps up the sky.

No one answers.

Tin dancing mice revolve in the warmth of the kitchen. One watches the light of the moon as it moves down the blue stripes of the wallpaper. It marks the time with one ticking paw. The mice click and whir, dancing frantically, trying to forget that their clothes are only painted on.

The salt and pepper shakers, shaped like ears of corn, sit sullenly. Upstairs, sleepers move restlessly, their dreams escaping, leaking into the feather comforters.

The moonlight reaches the fifth bar of delphinium.

There is still no answer. Someone longs for the heated air of the kitchen, but instead sits on a bench and watches the movements of the hands. Fingers break the corrugated surface of the water and return to counting the pebbles in the silt below.

Ducks whisper among the reeds, revealing their secret journey. Their tickets are crumpled birch leaves, spiderwebs of veins eroded by the autumn rain, gilded by the guilty starlight. Someone takes one and tucks it in the pocket of their jacket, where it tangles with milkweed down.

The moonlight reaches the twelfth bar,and the mice spin slowly, regretfully, back into their boxes. The comforters are stained crimson and ebony with the dregs of dreams.

The hands swim like memories in the process of being forgotten. Someone waits, and no one answers.

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Class Notes - Week Two

Man Playing the Guitar Upsidedown
People watching is one of the best ways to come up with new characters. Watch (and listen) to the people around you and jot the things they inspire down in a notebook.
We talked last week about story shapes and arcs as well as what gets set up in the beginning of a story. This week we talked about characters and dialogue, and how the first shapes the story. One of the points made was that a character is not something you stick in a slot of a story – the character shapes the entire story. For example, the story of someone encountering a werewolf is very different if your protagonist is a little old lady who hates dogs because they’re messy than if that protagonist is an emo-teen determined to become a werewolf in order to get revenge on someone that wronged them.

The main character usually changes in some way over the course of the story, but that change must feel organic and natural. You can set up a big change of mind with foreshadowing and having them change on some smaller matter, showing that such change is possible, so it doesn’t throw the reader out of the story when it occurs.

We discussed approaches to learning more about your characters. I recommended the book Writing The Other by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward, which talks about writing characters who are a different sex, race, or class background than yourself. I also recommended people-watching and reading pop psychology (or even more sciencey stuff, which will provide all sorts of story ideas.

One of the quickest ways to turn an editor off is with improperly punctuated dialogue, so learn the rules and use them. We went over things like speech tags, how to punctuate internal dialogue, why you don’t need to come up with a bunch of synonyms for “said,” and how to make voices distinctive. I suggested that people watch the wonderful adaptation of Terry Bisson’s “They’re Made Out of Meat” – here is the original text, and here is the film made from it.

If you really want to focus on dialogue, read good plays, which are pure dialogue. If you want to write in a particular historical voice, one of the best ways is to read deeply in that period so you absorb it. Doing so may make you aware how much what we read and watch creeps into our writing – that’s one very good reason to read some high quality stuff now and again.

Enjoy this writing advice and want more like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

Prefer to opt for weekly interaction, advice, opportunities to ask questions, and access to the Chez Rambo Discord community and critique group? Check out Cat’s Patreon. Or sample her writing here.

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