Three Colours : Rosemary

[wulfboy.livejournal.com]

Right. Third piece. This one is unpolished indeed. I'm not sure whether it works, now I read all three pieces together. I might re-write the first section in the present tense.



I.

Madelyne opened her umberella as she stepped down from the bus.

She walked quickly, not hurrying, through puddle-flooded streets. Each step precisely placed. She did not hunch her shoulders against the insistent raindrops. She paid little attention to the haunted darkness around her. She walked with her purse hung casually over her shoulder. Her raincoat, dry from the bus, was already beginning to shimmer in the street-lights.

She approached the building, stood for a moment to allow the Security Guard to see her through the glass doors, and pressed the buzzer. There was a click, and the door opened. She shook her umberella dry as she closed it. She inclined her head to the faceless uniform, walked past. He did not acknowledge her, just stared straight ahead. She could hear the mumbling of a television set behind him somewhere. She pushed through the fire door, towards the lifts.

One of the other tenants was sleeping-it-off on a bench just inside. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. A young man in a borrowed coat, curled round himself like a dog, whimpering. She had no time for those who did not help themselves. There were plenty of opportunities in the world. It was everyone's responsibility to reach out and take them. She reached out, and called for the elevator.

It was cramped, when it arrived, made more cramped by the presence inside of a pudgy, pasty fellow in an ill-fitting blue suit, and a mousey man from the eighth floor, with a bunch of faded flowers clutched in one sweaty hand. The young man tried to smile at her, but she ignored him and pressed the button for her floor.

The pudgy man leered at her, shifted his suitcase from one hand to another, and tried to start up a conversation with her. She ignored him as well. She peered through the tiny window in the lift door, counting the floors, all the way up to the top.

The doors opened, she stepped through and did not look back. Neither occupant followed her out.

The corridor echoed, half-lit by lamps on the walls. She opened the door to her apartment, went inside. Discarded her coat, her bag, her umbrella; all the tedious ritual of returning home. Poured herself something to drink. Picked up a book from her extensive collection, and paused, wine half-raised to her lips.

"I do not appreciate being spied on," she said quietly. "Not at all."


II.

It was Dee's turn to stare out of the window. Jay sat in front of the computer, staring at the blank screen. He paused for a second, hands poised, then let them drop back down onto the desk.
"This is harder than it looks," he complained.
Dee shook his head, slightly irritated. "I already told you, write what you know."
"That doesn't help," whined Jay. "I'm not sure I know anything well enough to write about it."

"What's wrong with us?" asked Dee, suddenly, turning round. "We never used to be like this."
Jay cocked his head to one side, considering carefully. One hand moved by itself and began to press keys, apparently at random.
"Madelyne." He said eventually. "It must be Madelyne. Why did you have to bring her into this?"
Jay looked accusingly at Dee for a moment, his hand still typing, then looked away again.
Dee sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry." said Dee.
He thought for a long moment, the only sound the tapping of keys. Dee reached a decision.
"I think you're right." He crossed to stand behind Jay. "We'd better start making preparations to move on."


III.

This isn't what I set out to write.
I sit, looking at the screen, and it makes no sense. I've re-written it half a dozen times, and each time the first section is about Madelyne. I have no idea who she is. I don't know what she looks like, I don't hear her voice, I don't know where she comes from.

She's not my idea.

Comments

[kingandy]

A number of thoughts.

1) 3.I feels like it should be in quotation marks, since 1.I and 2.I were. Unless you're trying to make a point. (Incidentally, 2.I doesn't need quotes at the end of each line. Compare and contrast 1.I.)
B) I think II needs some closure. 2.II felt like it was going somewhere, 3.II goes back to random conversation - I'd rather a bit more interaction with self/Andy. It's like they forgot he was there. It should build. Maybe Madelyne becomes aware that she's being written? Or something. Layers.
iii) I had something else, but I forgot.

[wulfboy.livejournal.com]

1) 3.I specifically doesn't have the quotes. I almost put part III in quotes instead, for arty reasons. You're right about the quote screw-up in 2.I - bugger.
B) At least what I was trying to do is apparent. I'll consider something - part of what I'm trying to get at is that Andy isn't "making these guys up" they exist entirely separate from him.
iii) In your own time.

[dreamfire.livejournal.com]

well worth the work I think. The three pieces together make a really effective short story. takes a trite phrase "characters have lives of their own" and develops interestingly from it. I can see this in an arty collection of stories by writers about writing. can't decide if I like the aside/parallel into the spider monsters or whether that takes the focus away from the rest.
also intrigued by the implied metaphysics - how could Jay and Dee "move on" and in what sense and if they did how would it affect the next installment - that might be the "build" that Andy is looking for in 3.II I know what he means - but I don't think reference back to "Andy" is necessary

[wulfboy.livejournal.com]

I think on reflection the spider-monsters thing is not going to work as it is and needs serious revision - it's meant to be another way of addressing the question "Where do you get your ideas" and it doesn't work as such.

I suspect it needs another installment, but I only have the plan for 4.III (the finale, as it were) in my head.

Thanks for supportive commentary.