Hmpf does embarrassing insta-fic!
Apr. 16th, 2007 04:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hmpfTo celebrate this rare, nay, completely singular occurrence, here's the result, right away - unbeta'd, unpolished, un-whatevered. Usually I don't release fics into the wild before they've been rewritten at least ten times, then put in a drawer for at least a month, then beta'd, then revised a couple of times, then beta'd again, then put back into the drawer for another fortnight... you get the picture. But then, usually I don't write fics in three hours, either. Of course, the fact that this took only three hours probably shows, and I'll be mortally embarrassed tomorrow, but, you know... what the hell. This is the first time in my life I've finished a first draft in less than *weeks* (and weeks is *good*, even); have to mark the occasion somehow.
ETA: This was very much a first draft. A second draft can be found here. Third draft here. Fourth (and best, so far) draft here. This fic is very much a Work in Progress. I don't usually do this in public, but I felt I needed to get *some* version of this fic out there, and so I decided, subsequently, to get *all* of them out there. I suggest you always pick the latest version, but then, people liked the first version, too, so that can't have been too bad... *g*
ETA 2: Final version here: http://hmpf.livejournal.com/166515.html#cutid1"
Fandom is Life On Mars (what else would it be at the moment?), characters are Sam, Ruth, Maya (sort of), and it's gory, melodramatic and generally unpleasant. Spoilers for 2.08, obviously.
Oh yeah, and you probably know that I'm not a native speaker, and since this hasn't been beta'd, there may be weirdness...
****
And then it's all suddenly very simple:
his feet slapping on concrete, the last step, the last ever,
pushing off with all his power,
sky high and wide,
and then there's only the great blue,
and gravity,
and it's all right, it's all right,
no space for anything but joy in this sky,
and it's too late now,
(a relief),
too late for regrets,
too late for a change of mind,
and it's such a relief, a relief
to feel the air rush past,
to see the ground come up,
to know this is it,
it's over it's done he's done what he could he's done his best
and that's all he can do,
and his mum will understand, she understands,
she will -
[Ruth Tyler understands: that she's failed him; that she failed to see the sky waiting at the back of his eyes; understands that she doesn't matter; and she'll go on, of course, she's done it before, once, twice, she can do it again, pick herself up another time and go on, she needs to believe that, and sometimes she does believe that, sometimes – and then she stands by a mound of earth that's still fresh and she knows that this time is different, and she straightens her back, raises her chin, and there's no place to go, no place to go at all.]
- and he's falling,
too late now,
falling,
too late,
and it's so good
to be going, going, gone,
almost gone already,
too late to do anything,
it's over already,
it's over,
(so good),
the sky gone,
only the ground now,
jumping up,
rushing up,
coming to meet him,
fractions of seconds now,
(such a relief),
and there's nothing here for him,
nothing, nobody -
[Maya has had a lunch date, another pointless exercise in rebound, and of course anyone should be better than Sam, Sam was unsalvageable from the first, and yet, and yet - and there's an ambulance in front of the building, a small crowd, a colleague turns, sees her, moves to apprehend her, and she knows, she just knows; she trips, runs, pushes through the cluster and reaches the centre just as someone says 'it's over', sinks to her knees as frantic activity is replaced by a stillness that radiates outwards, takes his hand and feels a hand on her shoulder and says, to no one in particular, 'I'm his girlfriend', surprised.]
- and there's
no way to turn back,
no reason,
this is liberation,
this is -
and the last millisecond takes forever,
a glorious, golden eternity,
but then
the ground's there and
things burst, tear and break
and his blood's free to fill spaces inside him
as his brain quietly gives out
and that's that.
ETA: This was very much a first draft. A second draft can be found here. Third draft here. Fourth (and best, so far) draft here. This fic is very much a Work in Progress. I don't usually do this in public, but I felt I needed to get *some* version of this fic out there, and so I decided, subsequently, to get *all* of them out there. I suggest you always pick the latest version, but then, people liked the first version, too, so that can't have been too bad... *g*
ETA 2: Final version here: http://hmpf.livejournal.com/166515.html#cutid1"
Fandom is Life On Mars (what else would it be at the moment?), characters are Sam, Ruth, Maya (sort of), and it's gory, melodramatic and generally unpleasant. Spoilers for 2.08, obviously.
Oh yeah, and you probably know that I'm not a native speaker, and since this hasn't been beta'd, there may be weirdness...
****
And then it's all suddenly very simple:
his feet slapping on concrete, the last step, the last ever,
pushing off with all his power,
sky high and wide,
and then there's only the great blue,
and gravity,
and it's all right, it's all right,
no space for anything but joy in this sky,
and it's too late now,
(a relief),
too late for regrets,
too late for a change of mind,
and it's such a relief, a relief
to feel the air rush past,
to see the ground come up,
to know this is it,
it's over it's done he's done what he could he's done his best
and that's all he can do,
and his mum will understand, she understands,
she will -
[Ruth Tyler understands: that she's failed him; that she failed to see the sky waiting at the back of his eyes; understands that she doesn't matter; and she'll go on, of course, she's done it before, once, twice, she can do it again, pick herself up another time and go on, she needs to believe that, and sometimes she does believe that, sometimes – and then she stands by a mound of earth that's still fresh and she knows that this time is different, and she straightens her back, raises her chin, and there's no place to go, no place to go at all.]
- and he's falling,
too late now,
falling,
too late,
and it's so good
to be going, going, gone,
almost gone already,
too late to do anything,
it's over already,
it's over,
(so good),
the sky gone,
only the ground now,
jumping up,
rushing up,
coming to meet him,
fractions of seconds now,
(such a relief),
and there's nothing here for him,
nothing, nobody -
[Maya has had a lunch date, another pointless exercise in rebound, and of course anyone should be better than Sam, Sam was unsalvageable from the first, and yet, and yet - and there's an ambulance in front of the building, a small crowd, a colleague turns, sees her, moves to apprehend her, and she knows, she just knows; she trips, runs, pushes through the cluster and reaches the centre just as someone says 'it's over', sinks to her knees as frantic activity is replaced by a stillness that radiates outwards, takes his hand and feels a hand on her shoulder and says, to no one in particular, 'I'm his girlfriend', surprised.]
- and there's
no way to turn back,
no reason,
this is liberation,
this is -
and the last millisecond takes forever,
a glorious, golden eternity,
but then
the ground's there and
things burst, tear and break
and his blood's free to fill spaces inside him
as his brain quietly gives out
and that's that.
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-16 09:43 pm (UTC)This was an extremely interesting read (and by interesting I mean good) - the Ruth and Maya parts were especially effective, interrupting into the poem the way you're waiting for the concrete to interrupt Sam's fall. And the ending is pretty damn perfect.
As a poetry whore, if you'd like, I'd be happy to give you some feedback on the body of the poem (I would dispute the claim I've heard you make on a few occasions that you're not a poet, though I do have some notes on a couple of your choices). But please don't take that as a negative response to the piece - it truly isn't.
I also understand if that's not the purpose of this piece - to be beta'd to death - I did, after all, commit insta-unbeta'd-fic recently. Sometimes the therapy is in sharing, not perfecting. And if I can encourage you to share more often and worry less about the details, I'd like to. Because as much as the world needs three-year "Normal"s (and that would not have been the piece it was if you HADN'T given it three years), it also needs things like this.
Heh. I love you.
Date: 2007-04-16 10:03 pm (UTC)I think I'd like to give myself a chance to identify flaws myself first, though, which means I need to sleep over this piece for a few days or weeks to get some distance from it. Just because I'm curious about what some distance will do to my feelings about this curiously quick ficlet. After that, and after I've made my changes (*if* I find flaws I can identify clearly, that is) I'm going to send it off to you and we can go through the usual routine with it.
I think for the time being I don't mind it being accessible to the public in a slightly less than perfect form. As you say, sometimes the therapy's in the sharing. *g*
>Because as much as the world needs three-year "Normal"s (and that would not have been the piece it was if you HADN'T given it three years)
I know. Speaking of which... the Maya fic you weren't so impressed with has been mutating,, and I think it's going to get a great deal more interesting yet. It's already better and more interesting than it was. It may take a while, though. (Heh. 'May'? Who am I kidding? It *will* take a while.) You weren't so wrong in your comparison with "Normal", after all - all kinds of things are creeping into it now, like they did into "Normal".
Re: Heh. I love you.
Date: 2007-04-18 12:31 pm (UTC)I feel kind of bad now because it never occured to be to hide behind a private email! Perhaps I'm naturally insensitive ;) I prefer to think it's because I have a very clear opinion of your quality as a writer, and the fact I consider you to be a good writer means it doesn't occur to me that criticism will either be taken as "this is crap!" or "you're worthless!" I wouldn't want to disrespect your abilities by treating you as less than a writer. Fortunately it would seem I'm correct in my assumption. :)
I think I'd like to give myself a chance to identify flaws myself first, though, which means I need to sleep over this piece for a few days or weeks to get some distance from it.
That sounds like a good plan. Distance can do odd things to writing and is a miracle-cure for finding faults (or for finding imaginary faults you'll just change back next time you get some distance :p)
I'll look forward to seeing it when/if you feel that's the next step.
Speaking of which... the Maya fic you weren't so impressed with has been mutating,, and I think it's going to get a great deal more interesting yet.
Well you were just given one HECK of a content boost by the finale - postive or not. I maintain that this fandom apocalypse has done awesome things to your productivity ;) But then, perhaps your point in another post about desperation and art is true in this instance. Either way, yay!
You weren't so wrong in your comparison with "Normal", after all - all kinds of things are creeping into it now, like they did into "Normal".
*straight face*
I am never wrong.
Re: Heh. I love you.
Date: 2007-04-18 12:45 pm (UTC)I know. :D