Workshop, plus bonus Scene
Jan. 30th, 2012 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caitriSo tonight my writing class workshopped the first part of James Eyre. It was kind of a weird experience because it was a WIP and also only a couple familiar with what I was really doing/time period, and for feedback I sat there and kept quiet while people said this or that which wouldn't have been an issue if they were more familiar with 19th c. stuff. (Fairy references, btw? Not humorous. Actually kind of threatening and implying sexual deviance.) When I did explain a little bit at the end, it was suggested I could explain some things like the fairy reference via footnotes, but I'm not sure how I feel about it. Very meta and postmodern and this is, y'know, unironically 19th c.
So. Several helpful things were said, but some things, not so much. Must contemplate.
Anyway, we also have a weekly assignment to write at least a couple hundred words of something for weeks when we aren't workshopping. So here's a scene of--something--I banged out over my post-class snack just now:
I’d all but inhaled the rice and fish because I was so hungry, so the daifuki afterwards is a relief. No one else wants theirs—glutinous rice and red bean paste and black sesame seeds aren’t the ideal dessert for most Americans—so by default I end up with my share and then some.
I eat mine first, and then Jamie pushes the little packet of his over to me to finish off too. Gabe toys with his, bouncing it between his palms like a hackey-sack or something. Chris eats part of his and makes a face, and that’s how I get the rest of his. By then it’s melted into a sticky white mess peppered with black spots, and I have to use my fingers to clean out the wrapper.
“Oh my God, what are you, twelve?” Chris is being generous because eating goo off my hands is undignified as hell, so at best I’m resembling a four year old, but I don’t care because yum.
“Mmph,” I say through my last mouthful of sweetness. “Thut up!” I lick my thumb clean. “It’s tasty!”
“That’s just gross, Jay,” Gabe says with raised eyebrows that are one part amused derision and two parts genuine disapproval. “Really.”
“What?” It comes out sharper than I mean to, but, really, WTF? He’s been riding me all day and giving me nothing but crap while we’re on the job, and so at break when I have something to look forward to (y’know, sugar), he has to make even that difficult.
Boys. God give me patience.
Instead of answering, Gabe just gives me another dark look, then turns it into one of his smug smiles as he turns to Chris. “Ready to get this thing done?”
“You got it, boss-man,” Chris says with his typical good humor. The three of them stand and I scramble to follow, wadding the messy plastic up and tossing it into the trash. It’d be nice to have time to wash my hands, but I follow them instead, and wonder what craptastic task Gabe’s going to give me next.
So. Several helpful things were said, but some things, not so much. Must contemplate.
Anyway, we also have a weekly assignment to write at least a couple hundred words of something for weeks when we aren't workshopping. So here's a scene of--something--I banged out over my post-class snack just now:
I’d all but inhaled the rice and fish because I was so hungry, so the daifuki afterwards is a relief. No one else wants theirs—glutinous rice and red bean paste and black sesame seeds aren’t the ideal dessert for most Americans—so by default I end up with my share and then some.
I eat mine first, and then Jamie pushes the little packet of his over to me to finish off too. Gabe toys with his, bouncing it between his palms like a hackey-sack or something. Chris eats part of his and makes a face, and that’s how I get the rest of his. By then it’s melted into a sticky white mess peppered with black spots, and I have to use my fingers to clean out the wrapper.
“Oh my God, what are you, twelve?” Chris is being generous because eating goo off my hands is undignified as hell, so at best I’m resembling a four year old, but I don’t care because yum.
“Mmph,” I say through my last mouthful of sweetness. “Thut up!” I lick my thumb clean. “It’s tasty!”
“That’s just gross, Jay,” Gabe says with raised eyebrows that are one part amused derision and two parts genuine disapproval. “Really.”
“What?” It comes out sharper than I mean to, but, really, WTF? He’s been riding me all day and giving me nothing but crap while we’re on the job, and so at break when I have something to look forward to (y’know, sugar), he has to make even that difficult.
Boys. God give me patience.
Instead of answering, Gabe just gives me another dark look, then turns it into one of his smug smiles as he turns to Chris. “Ready to get this thing done?”
“You got it, boss-man,” Chris says with his typical good humor. The three of them stand and I scramble to follow, wadding the messy plastic up and tossing it into the trash. It’d be nice to have time to wash my hands, but I follow them instead, and wonder what craptastic task Gabe’s going to give me next.
