drink up, me hearties, yo ho

I think I love the last line of The Curse of the Black Pearl beyond all that is reasonable. One day it's possible I will learn to be more moderate in my emotional responses, but no one seems to expect that or even to hold out any hope for it any more. So I guess maybe not. 😉

In the meantime, last night I realised I am far, far too nice to my characters. Or rather, I'm far too lax where they're concerned. They're running around telling me and the world at large how much they hate each other — but has there been any stabbings? Has there been any violent confrontations? Any poisonings? No. There has, in actual fact, been characters colluding — second-guessing the plot and trying to protect each other from what should happen. This will never do. I am therefore skipping back in the narrative (we all know I'll never truly achieve a linear writing process, don't we?) to insert a catfight. I expect hair-pulling and scratchings as a bare minimum. I'm not sure how the loser will be rescued; let's hope she fights well enough to deserve it. If all she pulls out is hair-pulling and scratching, she may not.

Yesterday there was a damselfly on the pan of the brush-and-pan I use to clean out the floor of the rabbit's cage. She was teeny and brown and had the sweetest little triangular insectile head. She let me poke my enormous pink face ridiculously close to her without complaint for minutes on end. Then she snapped open her wings, gave a little shudder, and helicoptered off and away.

My mother said her presence is a sign, which I'd like to believe if only because I think being the daughter of a middle-class urban voodoo witch would be unutterably cool. (For values of cool equalling it's not my current situation and the grass is greener, but if it were my situation no doubt I'd find something about its particularities to weary and irritate me; you all know the drill). But, really, I'm not sure what kind of sign it could be. Here be damselflies isn't going to inspire fear or awe in anybody but the mosquitos, presumably. I'm glad she was there, though, if only because I like damselflies and if she chooses to hunt mosquitos around the rabbit cage, so much the better for the rabbit.

Practicality is a curse when you're an incurable romantic.

5 thoughts on “drink up, me hearties, yo ho

  1. I realised the other day that none of the characters in my novel are going to die, and I had to half wonder if I should kill someone just so no one will say 'no one died'. But killing someone for the sake of a token character death feels wrong too.

    I think I make up for this by being mean to them. Hell, I don't have to do anything, they're mean to each other.

  2. Hell, I don't have to do anything, they're mean to each other.

    This is what worries me. My characters were assuring me they were being veryvery mean to each other. But the sneaky lil darlings were doing it all offscreen, and onscreen there was nothing meaner than a few verbal flings every now and then. Hmpf. You'd think, given I killed almost everyone in the first chapter, that they'd have a bit of respect for me and be really worried about the new nasty things I can put in the plot. But maybe they figure I can't top an opening massacre and I have no more redshirts left.

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