In the Chamber, part one
Tuesday, February 10, 2004I started a short story last night, and as I was driving today, I realized that if I ever wanted to blog the process, this was it. So, as I write on this story every day, I’ll post what I wrote and explain why I did what I did. Hopefully this will be an interesting experiment in the form and function of writing, and not proof positive why you should not, in fact, be rooting for my writing career. :)
Before I post the excerpt, I’ll begin at the very beginning. One of the gentlemen I review for might be especially interested in this part, since I always act like I’m going to review every single Tor book they send me...
I finally got to settle down last night to do my computer stuff...checking my email, trolling Fiction Addiction. While my computer was loading up I picked up the next book I intended to review...Fitcher’s Brides, by Gregory Frost. I started to scan the introduction, and got caught up in the different stories of Bluebeard, which are what Frost choose as his inspiration for the book. I love folk stories, and am constantly fascinated by how many time stories are retold...over the world, you have several occurrences of many of the same folk story, only different in slight, mostly culturally focused ways. In Bluebeard, and several of its brothers, you have one significant similarity...a young woman marries a man, who takes her to his house, filled with wonders. The young woman can wander the house, enjoy her life, all things are open to her, save one small room that she is forbidden to ever enter. The man leaves for some reason, handing her the keys to his house. Eventually the girl will always give into temptation and unlock that final door...and always she will find horror, and always she will be found out.
And I wondered, “Why does the girl always open the door?”
I logged off the internet, put aside the book for fear of contaminating myself or being accused, later, of whole sale theft. I’ve decided that I’ll review Gridlinked by Neal Asher instead.
The first line was easy, and it flowed from there. Here is the unedited excerpt, my comments will follow.
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In the Chamber
By Cindy Lynn Speer
February 9, 2004
He was the handsomest man I’d ever seen.
Tall and slender, he wore his pale as snow hair to his collar, the perfect widow peak accentuating his aesthetic, almost lupine features. His eyes were the color of amber, and sparkled strangely in the candle light. Sometimes it was almost as if his eyes were on fire.
He was always fashionable. Perfect clothing, tasteful and not ostentatious, perfect manners, perfect style. He followed the rules as if he walked on a knife’s edge, knowing just how long it was proper to touch, to stare, careful to never be alone with a woman longer than was proper. Managing to make one feel as if they, too, walked on the knife’s edge with him without doing anything that could be remarked upon as unseemly. He was wealthy, and while he did not have the highest of titles, he had all the things that allowed him entrance into the finest of circles. Better yet, some would say, he had all these things and he was single.
But all the ladies, from the maidens looking for a good marriage to the widows desperate for a man’s protection avoided him desperately. They flirted, yes, but only as far as safety allowed. No one would consent to marry him, it was said, no matter how fine the offer, no matter how beautiful the dowry gifts.
But that’s not to say he wasn’t married once already. And that was why, thanks to rumor and to superstition, it was said he would never marry again.
“What was she like, Dona Meriania?” I asked my hostess, Dona Welicide. She was a second cousin who had graciously agreed to take me in after my guardian lost everything we had. He was in debtor’s prison in the capital, and there he could remain, really, for all I cared. He had tried to sell me to avoid imprisonment, and I figured, better him than me.
Welicide brightened. I knew nothing of the local gossip, stories which, to her circle, were so over told as to be threadbare. Now she could relate them to a new audience...in fact, I think it was half the reason she invited me,. to have someone else to tell her stories to. “She was...beautiful. As dark as he is pale, very much the lady of the moment in her time. everyone wanted her. She had a taste for rubies, I remember.”
I found myself smiling. “That’s all you can remember of her?”
“Oh, Tessa, I can remember much more than that, but I fear I did not care for the girl. She was my greatest rival, every since we were little.”
“Did you fight over Don Joaquin?”
“Shhh.” She breathed. “I was already engaged at the time, so of course not.”
Don Joaquin had dipped his fair head to take a sip from the glass he was holding. He was across the room, a room filled with music and laughing people, but still he stopped when I whispered his name, and looked up at me, slowly, first from the corner of his eye then straight on, meeting my gaze. I smiled slightly, taken aback by the intensity. I could feel the weight of his stare like a touch, over my cheeks and nose and mouth. He returned the smile just as slightly, and turned to address a man who had come off the dance floor.
“Ooh, he gives me the creeps,” my cousin said. I would have been inclined to agree, but the chills running down my spine felt too good to be wrong.
I lost sight of him, until I went outside to get a breath of air. I choose one of the smaller balconies, off to the side. I saw him almost immediately, the light of the moon shone on his hair like a beacon. I paused at the threshold of the doorway, then came the rest of the way out. I leaned on the rail the opposite corner from him, but still, there was only a foot between us. I imagined I could feel the heat of his presence, radiating off of him.
“You are not afraid?” His voice was deep, like the forest at night. He seemed surprised, perhaps even amused.
“I am not afraid.” I realized it was true.
“You have not been in our fair country long enough, perhaps.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps I do not listen to rumors.”
“Or perhaps you simply do not listen.”
“I think that you rather like your notoriety, Don Joaquin. Maybe you enjoy being dark and mysterious and dangerous.”
He straightened up to look at me. “No,” he said. “I do not.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, but it was to the air, for he had already pushed through the doors and back into the ballroom.
That was not the last time I saw him, though perhaps it should have been.
I was lost. Helplessly, and regretting that I had agreed to go on the hunt with my cousin, who was busily trying to introduce me to a wide range of men...any of whom she was hoping would sweep me off my feet and give me a home, hearth and silk dresses. Some of them were nice enough, but basically I found them all tedious and boring. Sometimes I could feel my brain die in bits and pieces, talking to them. or rather, listening to them.
Of course, the hunt would have been fine if I, trying to act like I’d ridden all my life, hadn’t decided to race better horse people than me and had ended, ignominiously, ran off with and dumped on my well skirted rear. I had no idea where the bull headed animal (who despite being the meanest horse I’d ever clapped eyes on nevertheless had a higher IQ than the combined members of the hunting party...myself included.) was, and so I was wandering the forest, in unsuitable boots and very heavy clothes.
“So, how is the view from the ground?”
“I am not amused...” I said, turning. My thoughts disappeared like fog when I saw him, sitting with perfect ease on his white and gray stallion. The black and silver leatherwork glistened, his black suit was cut to emphasize the perfection of the body that sat upon it.
He rode forward so that he was next to her. He kicked a foot out of the stirrup and held out a hand. “I doubt I would be, either. Come, it is a long way back to your cousin’s manor.”
I placed my hand in his. I was surprised at how good it felt...his hand was large, and it enveloped mine. It was strong feeling, and the warmth, the strength, felt wonderful. I put my foot in the free stirrup and with less awkwardness that I feared I was helped up onto the saddle behind him. I sat very straight, trying not to touch him more than with my hands on his shoulders.
“You will fall if you do not relax.” He said.
“Again, you mean.” And let out a breath I’d been holding and transferred my grip to his waist.
“So, what brings you out here?”
“My horse ran off with me.” I don’t know if he felt my shrug. “We parted ways.”
“I think,” he said, pushing aside a low branch, “That you were curios and wanted to explore.”
“No. I am the least curious person you will ever meet.”
“Really?” He had been polite before, pleasant bordering on cold, but now his voice warmed with real interest.
“Honestly. I like to learn things,” I said, not wanting to sound like a fool, “But if it requires anything more than reading a good book, you can count me out. If I am supposed to know it, it will present itself. I shant go look for it.”
He put the reigns in one hand and his other came down on my own. Warmth coursed to my toes and back up. My cheeks felt hot. “A wise choice.” he muttered, and I felt, somehow, that I had pleased him greatly.
The next day a box was delivered to my cousin’s house. My name was written on the label in a quick, graceful script. It held earrings, an ornate confection of silver and brilliant green stones. My cousin was thrilled, until she found who sent them.
“Don’t do this.” she said.
“Do what?” I was holding one up to my ear, admiring myself in the reflecting glass of the entrance hall. I wiggled it so that I could see how they would flash. They were exquisite. Far more so than I, I may add.
“He is dangerous. He said his wife fled from him, ran away with another woman...”
“How terrible.” I said. I was actually thinking about how to wear my hair to set off the earrings. I wanted to certain to wear them the very next time he would see me...
“They found her in a ravine, not three miles from his home.”
“Perhaps her lover abandoned her. Perhaps she fell.”
“I do not know.” She said. “But they never recovered her completely.”
I looked at her over my shoulder. Whatever do you men?”
“she’d been chopped up. They found her head, a couple of limbs...”
I shivered and placed the earring next to its mate, and closed the box.
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Why I did what I did.
First, I have to confess, I watched the Mask of Zorro again before I settled down to do the things that lead to the story. This is why this story, while a fantasy tale, will have a slightly Hispanic feel. Very slight...I liked the idea of the feel we get when you think of Spain, and so I’ll be, lightly, using that feel to help the setting. That’s why I’ve used Don and Dona. I used made up names to help transport the story out of our reality...the only normal names are Tessa and Joaquin. Tessa I chose because I saw it recently and decided it was a name I liked, but by choosing two “normal” names for my main characters, I put myself into he dangerous position of looking like I’ve symbolically brought them forward through this name choice. I don’t like that, so Tess will not be short for Teresa, by Tessazerova. As for Joaquin’s name, it doesn’t feel quite right in my head, and Joaquin seems to shrug in his name, like someone trying to fit comfortably in a jacket that’s just slightly too small. I didn’t want to spend an hour dwelling on it or looking through my baby name book, so I picked one that came to my head and that I liked. I’ll either get used to it, or have a realization as to what his real name is.
There is no special reason why his hair is white, save that’s how I se him. If I was sticking to the tales, I might have gone the way of The Robber Bridegroom...who should have fox like red hair. (Gaiman reader may be familiar with the story...The White Road was based on it.) I decided to make his eyes the focal point for what may or may not be “wrong” or “evil” about him. At this point, I’m not sure if Joaquin is evil or not.
I chose the first person because I wanted to make it as immediate as quickly as possible. I also can use less space by focusing just on her. And, well, it’s how it came to me. I heard Tessa’s voice in my head immediately upon realizing I wanted to write this story.
I did a lot of introduction that will have to be dispersed throughout the story in a later draft...right now I’m telling myself about these people as much as I’m telling the reader.
The three other major things I accomplished: Her statement on lack of curiosity is both what draws him to her (Could this be the woman to pass the test?) and an introduction of the major challenge...will she be proven wrong?
The second is the earrings. They are to give an opening to give one of the major clues about the first wife...she loved rubies. That will be important, later.
Three...of course, that SOMETHING happened to the wife, and that she was found chopped up, a la Bluebeard, etc.
Now my next major decision...do we court more, or jump to the marriage? Hopefully we’ll both soon find out. :-)
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 9:06 PM
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