November Writing and December Plans

[osprey_archer]

Did not get much writing done this month. Feeling discouraged about writing in general, to be honest. I’ve been struggling to write (so many of this year’s writing posts are some variation on “didn’t get much writing done this month”!), and my royalties are considerably lower than last year, and it’s all very frustrating.

I have decided that for whatever reason I am simply not Ready to write Sleeping Beauty, so rather than continuing to bang my head against that wall, I’m going to set the project aside for at least a year, probably more, it seems optimistic to imagine that I’ll be able to stand the sight of it after a mere year has passed. I remind myself yet again that Ursula K. Le Guin had to sit on Tehanu for eighteen years before she was ready to write it. Eighteen years!

Have been noodling on a couple of projects but who knows if they will come to anything.

***

Anyway, in years past when I have been struggling to write, I have found prompt memes really helpful. (The Time-Traveling Popcorn Ball originally grew from a prompt meme.) So I thought I would post one!

Tell me a little about a winter story I haven't written, and I'll give you several sentences from that story.

Winter doesn't have to mean holiday (although it certainly can!). Think snow, icicles, hot beverages by toasty fires, sledding and sleigh rides and being trapped by blizzards and unfortunate incidents involving holly dryads.

I will write ficlets for most any fandom I've written before (Captain America, Queen's Thief, various Sutcliffs, American Girl... I haven't actually written a Biggles or Worrals fic before but I've been thinking about trying) or for my own books, or for a completely original story.

Comments

[littlerhymes]

Oh my god Mordred poor poor boy 😭😭😭

He's so misguided and hurt and messed up.

Mordred is as always alone.

Rending my garments! :(((

[osprey_archer]

Okay one more... I may have a Mordred problem...

***

"You can't send Galahad on a honey trap mission!" Mordred is nearly dancing with fury. "Send me!"

The Chief bursts out laughing, and Galahad almost laughs as well, even though he knows that Mordred can't bear to be laughed at. Sure enough, Mordred's sharp dark face crimsons, and for a moment it looks like he might fling himself across the desk and punch the Chief.

But then he calms. "You don't think I can do it," he says, and his voice is cool, almost detached. "I can, though."

He takes off his tie. He sets it lightly on the Chief's desk, and undoes the top button on his shirt, and reaches up to muss his neatly shellacked hair. He is standing differently than normal, too, no longer tense and sharp as a knife blade, but relaxed, almost languid, one hip canted against the Chief's desk.

He swings off his suit jacket next, draping it over the chair. He unbuttons his cuffs, right cuff, left cuff, rolls up his sleeves, exposing muscled forearms, thin bony wrists like a child's.

"Mordred - " the Chief starts.

Mordred looks up, his dark eyes wide, his expression almost surprised, doe-like is the word that pops into Galahad's mind. He leans forward, looking into the Chief's eyes, one lock of his disordered hair falling over his forehead. His voice soft, intimate, confiding in a way that Mordred never is, Mordred says, "Don't you think we should continue this conversation somewhere more... private?"

The Chief slaps a palm on the table. He levers himself to his feet and smacks Mordred's back, too, hail-fellow-well-met. "All right, son," he says. "If you want the job so much, it's yours." He bellows out a laugh. "By Jove! I never would have guessed you could act like such a tart!"

And the Chief leaves the office, still laughing. Mordred's color is high. He stiffens again, back tense, chin lifted, reversing his strip-tease: sleeves unrolled, cuffs buttoned, hair smoothed down with the quick finicky movements of a grooming cat.

Galahad is staring at him. "Which school did you go to?"

"Grammar school."

I didn't know they had tarts and bloods at grammar schools, Galahad thinks. But he doesn't say it. Mordred's voice has returned to normal: tense, taut, buttoned down.

He ties his tie and grabs up his jacket and looks at Galahad sharply. "What?"

"I could have done the mission," Galahad says.

Mordred snorts. He swings his jacket on, a swift graceful movement of his arms, a twitch of his shoulders as he settles it. "I'll do it better," he says. Then, over his shoulder as he leaves the office: "I always do."

[littlerhymes]

MORDRED!! He's so --

He stiffens again, back tense, chin lifted, reversing his strip-tease: sleeves unrolled, cuffs buttoned, hair smoothed down with the quick finicky movements of a grooming cat.

I can picture him so exactly, the flip switched on and off like that for his demonstration before he goes back to his prickly self. Amazing.

And Galahad, left staring! Understandable.

[osprey_archer]

This is a whole new side of Mordred that Galahad has never seen before and he doesn't know how to make it fit with Mordred's normal prickly cranky self!

[skygiants]

sjdfk;lasdjf;ldks HOLY SHIT HERE WE GO

[osprey_archer]

Do you REALLY want that honeytrap mission, Mordred? Do you REALLY? (Probably not, but he does want to protect Galahad from it, not that he would ever say it in so many words.)