The Pickled Mushroom

Finally back on track <3 | April 17, 2010

It’s taken me long enough to get back to writing for NaNo, but it looks like I’ve finally back on the bandwagon I fell off of. I spent 8pm to 8am writing, downing one cup of black tea after the other, and although my word count is rather humble I’m satisfied. I managed only slightly more than 12k words in 12 hours – compared to the 20k that did in 14 hours during NaNo, that’s really not much. But I wrote out the plot I wanted to and I’m pretty happy with that.

I’m really coming to an end now with the story. It’s still a while off still, 20k or 30k at least, but the plot is almost at an end. I’m very excited and also very sad – the ending is rather sad and I’m considering writing an alternative ending as well, just to allow my beloved main character to be happy for a bit. Poor thing really is unlucky.

I also got around to writing the story of Albert’s life and death! It was so awesome, he suddenly kept giving me all of these words and even came up with a terrific reason for things happening later that I wasn’t sure how to include without making them unbelievable. He even provided me with this massive Dorian Gray fetish fuel – woah there. I love you so, so, so much Albert. And you too, Bas, for thinking your little thoughts and being an adorable grump once you’re sick.

Sooo… To wrap this up, behind the cut there’s a small excerpt from my session. Abraxas’ POV. In good NaNo tradition, un-edited, so there’s awkward wording, possible spelling and grammar errors ahead.

The room was very still. The sunlight filtering inside through the glass of my window suddenly seemed grotesquely beautiful, lighting up the curls at the back of his head like that, just above the narrow expanse of his neck that showed above his collar. There was a lonely bird chirping outside and I glanced out the window, wondering at the back of my mind what it was doing here – way too early in the year. My gaze caught on the thick branches of the old oaktree, reaching up into the sky and the empty space around it. That was the true place of Albert’s death. Albert, who was sitting next to me – and wasn’t.

He still hadn’t moved. His head hung low as if waiting in quiet resignation for his judgement on my hands. But if there was anything I wasn’t willing to give him, it was that.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked quietly, tugging at one corner of my sheets absent-mindedly. “That I hate you for that? That you should get the hell out of my house? That I forgive you? I can’t forgive that.” He flinched slightly, but I went on without being deterred. “I’m not Constantine. I’m not your family. Most of all I’m not Henry. There’s nothing you have to ask forgiveness for from me of all people. I can’t say that what you did was right. But I also don’t think that this changes who you have been to me for the past six months.”

Albert raised his head from his knees and looked at me wide-eyed. The freckles were clustered the thickest on his nose and along the curve of his cheekbones. Red curls framing his face thickly in self-willed swirls, I thought that he would have been fucking gorgeous stretched out in white cotton on the bed. And I couldn’t even find it in me anymore to be repulsed by this thought. I was just so far past caring.

Forcing myself to tear my eyes aware from his I shifted and moved to get up. “I’ll go make myself some breakfast,” I informed him as calmly as I could muster in the face of the thought that I had just allowed myself to consciously think for the first time. This was all too messed up for me to go on for another minute – I needed to get out of this room and out of his presence for a moment and do something as mundane as possible. Breakfast sounded like a good place to start.

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