#yes i DID write a novel about each of these excerpts. i'm sorry but both my major and my job are just... discussing writing all the time

[butchlilith]

writing meme part 1: synchronicity

this is the first round of some commentary i’m giving on stuff i’ve written! if you’d like to send in parts you’d like me to discuss, i would be indescribably thrilled. check out this post if you’re wondering what’s going on or this post if you’ve somehow escaped my bullying everyone into reading this fic. all of these were suggested by the delightful @ladynoblesong to whom i owe my life

under the cut learn all about...

daphne wearing niles’s clothes

mel’s introduction

lilith’s invitation

daphne wearing niles’s clothes

Daphne tucks in her shirt (your shirt, that is, but this conjures up all sorts of images of domesticity more shameful than sex), and grins back at you. Her lipstick has accidentally adorned the collar, and your mind flickers only briefly to Maris before Daphne’s voice draws you back to her. “There we are,” she says, impossibly pleased. Then, slipping suspenders over her shoulders, she walks to your mirror. Immediately, her wide eyes go bright, and she reaches for your arm, pulling you beside her.

“Don’t we look dapper?” she asks.

You know precisely what you look like, what you’re sure to look like to everyone who sees you together, and some part of her must know too, but dapper is hardly it. All the same, Daphne is electrified every time she catches the two of you reflected in a window.

Though it surely says more about you than her, you realize later that no one’s ever been so proud to be seen with you in your life. If this thing were real, you would have to stop seeing her because of it.

For once, you feel relieved that you could never be together.

Not that it was ever anything more than a fantasy; Maris, after all, is all you have ever known, all you could ever want.

sdfghjkl you really picked a scene here. it’s a charming combination of “wish fulfillment” and “therapy session material,” which… is honestly very reflective of this fic. so… yeah. i guess we’ll just start with the parenthetical, because it’s a solid dozen suitcases worth of unpacking to do. borne from my wanting to say “your shirt” to highlight that it is not her own but realizing that this would suggest her tucking in a shirt that is on another person’s body i was like, “let’s get into this.” because i have never let a single thing go ever in my life. & it ended up being something of an important detail imo, that this is the way niles approaches sex and love? i think it’s relatively similar to canon niles but presumably with different cause. in this case the cause would be, you know, living in a culture that does not provide too many models of what it is to love a woman and be in a healthy relationship with one as a woman yourself? so it’s much easier to say, “i’m happy having this non-relationship of a relationship” or “i’m only interested in sex with this woman” or whatever because what else do you have to go by? and that’s also sort of what i’m going for with the last line in this excerpt. so. we’ll move on, then.

i think even for women who don’t have a particular relationship with gender that can sometimes manifest as butchness etc. there’s still something very powerful in being something other than the woman you’re meant to and in seeing models of other women doing the same. i wanted daphne to have a moment like that. also… it’s hot. also hot: lipstick on button-ups. these last two are just objective facts more than analysis but it was what was going through my head at the time of writing.

but niles’s feelings in response to daphne’s excitement. well. that’s a moment and a half right there. i can’t fully remember my thought process—i think i might have thought of the situation while unable to write it down, so it was already a bit diluted once it got to the page. basically, though, it’s just that realization that she has largely (as a lesbian, as a butch woman) felt ignored at best, and that to be in a relationship with the first person who did recognize her and want to be recognized with her as herself would have… some layers to it that are not entirely… the healthiest. so that’s one of my many excuses for why this iteration of niles and daphne cannot get together for another six or seven years: they both needed to grow as people! because this is from niles’s pov we mostly get niles’s end of that but we see as well daphne kind of dealing with stuff as well even if it’s more obscured by niles’s lust/10000 other emotions.

on a lighter note, a fun fact for you: i hate the word dapper! but i thought daphne would use it in this context so i wrote it and i hated it every step of the way. i’m allowed to say this because as a certified stuffy butch i have an unfortunate degree of intimacy with the word.

mel’s introduction

You take the rest of your queries regarding your lingering financial ties to Maris to their sources.

The first, her surgeon, is fastidious and beautiful, and her airy voice informs you of four things as you call to schedule a third appointment with her. First, that she would not have expected a woman like you to have such an affinity for her line of work. Second, that she has never met a pair of friends that exchanged cosmetic procedures in the tens of thousands for the holidays. Third, that she is gay, too. (She does say, “too,” with her laugh floating through your cell phone smooth and half-threatening.) But, fourth, perhaps frightening you the most, she tells you that she wouldn’t mind if you took her to dinner sometime.

“You know,” you say, with a just-there laugh, “I’ve been meaning to ask you that very question.”

Frasier, of course, is aghast at each word of your account, but you have, by the end of it, obtained symphony tickets and a somewhat backhanded compliment on your uncharacteristic boldness. You take the opportunity to comment on his substandard squash performance, then fly out the door before he can return the blow with his usual ineptitude.

God, if he knew he was responsible for the best night you’ve had in years. The moment Mel leaves your car, you long to spend hours recounting what a wonderful night you had had. The strange thing is that you long to tell Daphne, long to tell her that you know, now, what she had meant when she told you that she loved first dates, that Mel is exactly like you, and impossibly beautiful and—

ooohh boy. the first sentence-and-a-half of this are probably among the last i wrote for this fic. i very seldom write things in the order they appear, so i always end up with the task of pasting these scenes together in a way that doesn’t seem entirely ridiculous. i think this is especially obvious with this and the preceding scene, which i wanted to happen in the opposite order before i remembered that, hm, canon does technically exist and i should maybe follow the barest outline of how that proceeds. but it worked out because i was able to pretend like there was an explanation for niles having a divorce lawyer without ever having been married.

but. that aside. i think we all know by this point that i love first dates. i love asking people on first dates and going on first dates and telling my friends about first dates and all of it. and basically i wanted to show that feeling as well as niles’s relationship with daphne as a friendship for both of them, not just daphne.

so on that first item! i wanted to preserve niles’s cowardice, obviously, but because she doesn’t have quite the same relationship with frasier as canon niles, there wasn’t really anyone to say “you realize this is exactly the reason you’re not with daphne now, right?” so i had mel take some (or… all) of the responsibility there, but i didn’t really feel mel was the sort to frame it as a question and certainly not the sort to let personal details about herself into the world without their recipient knowing that she knows even more of them. i mean, she literally doesn’t even present it as something she wants so much as something she knows niles does dfghjkl. and honestly? it’s hot. sorry but i’m right. if you’ve never been asked out by a woman in the form of a statement i need you to know that it is the hottest experience on earth. anyway. i just really don’t care for love stories that center on jealousy or the singularity of love. i’m not saying every good first date is love, but i wanted to show that there was genuine excitement here that could lead to love. i know mel is maybe not the most lovable character in the frasier universe, but i do feel like she truly cared for niles and niles for her.

with regard to the last line, that way daphne cuts off niles is something i do a couple times as well, which i wish i’d maybe explored a little bit more. it’s mostly leading up to daphne’s cutting her off with the kiss as in canon during that balcony scene, but i think it appears afterward as well. it often shows up when niles is overthinking, and, especially as we progress, it’s when daphne doesn’t want to think about what niles is thinking about. this particular line isn’t quite at the peak of that, but it would be a fair interpretation if you wish to believe she (consciously or not) wished to avoid hearing about niles’s infatuation with mel. you might even be able to make an argument for the other cases of interruption being similarly motivated (though this may prove most difficult with the moon dance instance), but my intention was for it to reach its peak toward the end of the pining stage and into the beginning of their relationship, iirc.

honestly, there’s more i could comment on in this scene, but i don’t know that it would be particularly interesting, and i’ve rambled enough, so i’ll leave it here!

lilith’s invitation

Lilith calls you that evening offering any help you need should you feel any sudden fondness for the state of Massachusetts. “And, Daphne,” she says, though you can scarcely remember when they last spoke, “if you’re looking for a rat breeder, there’s an excellent couple just north of the city. I’d be glad to introduce them to you.”

Somehow, the two of you accept both offers immediately.

this is part two of the payoff for the wish-fulfillment tidbit in the niles/frasier banter we get earlier on that reveals lilith is a huge dyke, the first part being when niles and lilith have sex. i just feel like the amount that lilith truly cares for her family is underutilized in the frasier canon and i think that would be amplified in a familial gay solidarity situation. also i just really want them all to be friends! i’ve already said that this was wish fulfillment and i won’t hide from that truth.

wrt why i wanted them to accept these offers, i a) feel that, even though obviously we as gay people have been getting married long before there was actual legal recognition of the fact, all three of these people (albeit in different ways) do value that system and that recognition imo b) am FOREVER bitter that daphne’s interests are just kind of… tossed aside in canon as being too weird or unrefined, when they’re really cool (or just… normal!) things? and because i think i hopefully provided a little more evidence of niles and daphne making efforts toward understanding over placation, i think niles would be in a place to say, “let’s do it!” even if she is… moderately horrified at first. so yeah. this response did kind of become “why i think i’m better than late-season frasier writers” but… yeah. i was just having fun and writing what i would want to see.

[sienna-writes]

Butterfly Blood || novel update

chapter three

I initially had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It’s been through about three drafts and it’s still nowhere near perfect, but I’m working on just moving forward with the novel now and am trying to quit obsessing over revising because... it’s unrealistic to expect a first draft to be perfect. 

The first draft of this particular chapter, though, was basically all dialogue, and all very poorly executed dialogue. (Dialogue is absolutely the weakest aspect of my writing but I’m working on it.) On my second attempt at the chapter I initially attempted to create an outline, thinking this would help me find a direction. However, in my next writing session I ended up totally ignoring the outline and just winging it, and the second draft was formed. I really liked the events in the chapter now but still wasn’t happy with some of the individual scenes so I reworked it yesterday morning. The argument between Rowan and Karmen still needed revision  because Karmen’s character within it was totally inconsistent to his usual disposition. So! The final (for now..) draft is a more stripped back, since Karmen is too disassociated to get as angry as he did as quickly as he did, and I think the tension and the build up is a lot better timed and more... muted? It’s less overt, more subtext heavy, and I'm relieved because that is what I had been trying to achieve all along.

Again, it’s not perfect, but it has evolved and it is definitely better than before. 

The chapter is just over 3000 words now, but I am only going to be sharing the main, gritty extract. The other scenes are less exciting, but I also suspect they need the same amount of work till they're even remotely sharable. (I was going through a bad writing slump in this chapter lol.) I really hope you enjoy it? I'm ultimately quite proud of how it turned out in the end :)

excerpt:

[Rowan has missed her GP appointment + her dad uses it as an oppurtunity to also be angry about her slacking in school]

    “I’ve booked another for tomorrow morning. You’ll miss some school, but I figured that’d be an incentive since you don’t seem to care about that anymore.” There is now an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

    Rowan visibly flinches, digging her fingernails into the supple skin of her palms. The dents purple then fill with blood. She locks eyes with her father, searching for the reason for his sudden anger. He has struck a nerve and he knows it.

    “Miss Phelps called.”

    She pushes her toes into the dirt, white sneakers now blotted with dust. “Oh.”

    He doesn’t ask for an explanation, simply straightens his back like an ancient scroll unravelling itself and meets her gaze finally. Karmen stands with his chest puffed out and his chin pointed forward. It is apparent that he won't ask her side of things. He’s heard enough, and has his made up his mind about her already.

    Rowan pushes past him to get inside. Karmen doesn’t shift as she squeezes by his statuesque stance. His face twitches like a camera shutter, so fast she can barely believe the change in his expression. She convinces herself it didn’t happen and throws her bag onto the couch, almost tempting another lecture. A tamer one. Something he could murmur through his daydream fog before slipping back into his silence and letting everything remain undiscussed. Like it normally is. Her slipping grades. Her laziness in class. Not writing a single word in an entire school day. Talking back for little to no reason.

    He turns as her rucksack lands, his footsteps looming behind her. Something sharpens the air between them, but she can’t tell what. The elephant is in the room and it is wrecking the place. They watch the destruction mutely, each waiting for the other to intervene and consequently letting the walls crumble into ruin. The old house audibly creaks, it is so quiet. Finally, Karmen speaks. “What’s the matter with you?”

    Rowan runs through all the excuses she can think of. I was dropped as a child. I was a premature baby, so my brain must be under-developed. The content is so easy it feels obsolete. I’m being bullied. I’m just not as smart as you thought, dad, sorry. Teachers are liars and we both should have known this.  “There’s just too much.” She says instead, through gritted teeth, moving into the kitchen. “I can’t focus on school and have to be there for everyone.” It is limp and she knows it. It flops between them weakly like a helpless fish. She takes a glass from the cabinet and closes it softly.

   He consumes the lie like a starved ghost, though. Proving he doesn’t know her. Doesn’t know how absent a friend she has been of late. How she has become her father at school, numb and quiet. How, secretly, she enjoys the façade because people avoid her, don’t ask difficult questions, don’t tackle her with unnecessary comments about her long-lost mother. “Then stop being there.” He says simply.

Rowan scoffs. “I do enough of that at home.” She studies her dad’s face—clenched jaw and squinting eyes—as if it hurts to look at her. “Everyone’s always telling everything how things must be. I must participate, I must be smart not emotional, I must not slack for exams I know I will pass without a glance at my books”—suddenly an urge to twist the knife into his gut overwhelms her, she draws out the moment as she fills the glass with a thread of water from the tap—"I must deal with a stranger for a Dad and a god knows what for a mother. A shrieking banshee? An abusive fugitive? She’s probably become a social worker just to scorn us.”

    He rolls his lips, lowers his gaze and chews on the inside of his cheek, sucking it in. Rowan’s breath catches in her throat. In this moment he looks shockingly hollow. Did she empty him? Wind him with her blows? Spoon out his entrails with an ice cream scoop? Carve him like the roasted corpse of some great beast? Karmen puts two hands on the back of the chair opposite her, clutching it as if he might just fall over. His stare is cold and unsympathetic when he raises it toward her. “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?”

Yes. “What?” She laughs bitterly, placing the tumbler on the counter with a satisfying thud. “Like how you made something of yourself?” There is a terrible moment where he sits in the midst of the cruelty, shrinks into himself as if absorbing it, before his mouth creaks open and he lets out a broken shriek.

“GOD DAMMIT ROWAN!” Rowan flies back, arms sheltering her head instinctively as he reaches for the glass she placed on the counter, spins, and throws it at the wall. One big horrific movement. A cutting arc of his arm through the air and then the shattering. “Are you ever even listening?”

    Millions of glittering fragments of her life laid out before her, encircling her bare feet. She thinks of the sneakers she slipped off at the door, wishing she had them now.  Something about naked feet look so naïve, so vulnerable. Her toes shrink, curling inward. Her breath quickens and her hands begin to tremble. All this broken glass. All these fragments like a lifeline stretched between them. Her eyes blink away tears in different shards, her reflection is fragmented, her features lost and bobbing about as if at sea.

    “Are you, dad?” Rowan asks in an empty voice, staring at him till he flinches. He stares at the glass on the floor in shock.

    “I...” He crouches, sifting through it with his bare, shuddering, and unsure hands. “I don’t know why I did that...”

    Rowan gets a sudden urge to have the last word. Except she doesn’t speak. Her eyes settle on the glass and the idea flourishes like a flame in her mind, burning everything rational, everything he might think. To hell with appropriate. To hell with acceptable. One unsteady step. She expects a crunch or a crackle, but instead there is a damp muffle and squelch. Her spine rattles and her teeth prickle in response. A sunrise in her chest warms her throat but she presses against it with her palms, forcing it down. It is a scorching, molten pain. Third degree burns and all she swallows rays of light till she is drowning, gorging. Slipping through furnace tongue flames. Rowan gags. Bile and acid boils her tongue and the bright, burnt out orb slips into her stomach. She gulp, gulp, gulps every atom of the blaze that consumes her. Till she is heavy. She walks across the broken glass as he yells out. Let there be outrage. Let the sky fall. Its clouds embrace her limbs, draining everything fluid from her, letting her grow limp. Letting her rain. Heavy. As she moves away from the kitchen, she feels her footsteps peeling from the floor, warm and wet. And she is so, so heavy. Then she stumbles, splintered feet unable to keep her up—her legs can no longer hold her and her lava—as the pain erupts within her fierce and sharp and sudden. Flashing its ugly teeth. Catching one last glimpse before her vision goes dark, she sees a red ocean seeping into the living room. How could one body hold so much? Fast and gushing the rapids wash her dregs of consciousness away. It was just a few steps...

soo... yeah. Rowan walks on glass because, oh lord that girl has no impulse controls. 

I'm not going to lie, although it was a pain to get this scene to the stage I have just shared, I think it's one of my favourites in the book so far. I'm proud of how much it's grown. Also, I love me some dramatic descriptions of pain and characters being nasty... :”)

I hope you enjoyed this update! (if you did, reblogs really help me out, but absolutely no pressure <3) I’m also still looking for people to add to the tag list, so if any of this interested you, feel free to send me an ask, message or comment. :)

Tag list under cut (ask to be added or removed):

@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953