Evolution of a One-Shot

Here it is at last in all its glory…

The Baffling Case of Miss Emma Browne

I am so excited to be releasing this!! It’s grown so much from when it first popped into my brain and I’m admittedly quite proud of it. I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks so much to Kassia for showing interest and buying me pretty pencils in an effort to make me write faster. I love her.

As a fun little … story within a story, (consider it a companion guide) I want to share the beginnings of this “one-shot” to perhaps explain why it took me so very long to get this done.

You probably should read the actual story first, though, because this has a lot of spoilers. So if you haven’t read the story yet: DO NOT CONTINUE THIS POST!!! I’m serious. It’ll make me huffy. Go back up to the link and read the story. THEN you may proceed. This boring explanation of my writing process is your reward for reading over 6,000 words I put together. Because that’s how I roll.

The Evolution of a One-Shot

Origin

An afternoon in (according to the create-date of the Word document) June, I was entering the mall and I spied several hooligans walking in before me. They were two adolescent males with pants sagging down to their buttocks and ornate belts that were evidently doing nothing for them. This got me thinking about the state of youth in our day. I thought, “If they were caught by Victorians in their current dress and with those hideous manners they’d be tossed into a  madhouse. No one in that century would believe them mentally stable.” Then I giggled. And I thought it would make a great story.

Development

When I decided to put it down into an actual plot I knew it wasn’t going to be chopped up into lengthy chapters. I wanted something short and sweet with a happy end. I also wanted to maintain an air of mystery throughout. I soon realized writing about a man in a nineteenth century asylum wasn’t going to be much use to me because I could always read Dracula if I so desired. Thus the “antagonist” if you will, would have to be female. It made more sense anyway after I thought about it longer. Men were allowed to do quite a lot of things in that century that would have been scandalous for a woman. So a woman in “men’s clothing,” shouting obscenities in the street would certainly cause more of a stir. Being further inspired by Dracula I got it into my head that it all should be written in the style of a dairy by the doctor overseeing her care; reminiscent of a Jack Seward chapter. (One of my literary loves. I want to marry Dr. Seward.)

Fleshing it out

Now that the patient was a female and the doctor a man, there was no way on earth it was not turning into a romance. Many of you may know how hopeless I am in this regard. (The new True Grit is a love story. Just thought you should know.) I don’t recall exactly at what point I decided on the title, but that fact alone means it came much easier than most usually do which made me excessively happy.

Research

I read a lot on asylums and hospitals of the 19th century. I read up on specific cases, the general state of such institutions, and the medical knowledge of the times. I also studied favored authors (for Emma’s reading material), health and hygiene, the Victorian definition of a fever–which included a whole host of things such as cholera, scarlantina, typhus, and influenza–the source of such diseases and the cures that were used, and I even brushed up on Shakespeare and the origins of the kaleidoscope while I was at it. Neither did I neglect searching weather patters in London, circa. 1850 and the small creatures native to that region. (The boy with the snowball was originally going to be a comical squirrel. Except squirrels and Great Britain have an ambiguous starting point for their relationship.) This is one of my favourite–if not the most distracting–parts of writing.

Progress

For a while I was sure it would take just a few days of rough drafting, a day or two to flesh it all out, and maybe a couple more for editing. All in all it was supposed to take a week. (This is the part where we all laugh at me.) Pretty soon I wanted to expand it. I didn’t feel Emma was developing as a character at a proper pace. I thought of adding more literary references and quotes from things she might have found in his library to keep her origins a mystery. I wanted more of Dr. Lynsford… and the more I wrote of Dr. Lynsford the more he got carried away being sweet. I kept getting snatches of dialogue in my head and adding them to sections that needed expounding. Soon my one-shot had turned into a three-section-shot. Then four, then five…

Finishing touches

Finally, I had ten sections to polish up. I still refuse to make them chapters because this is meant to be a short story. It runs together with breaks only for mandatory pauses. All the American-English words got swapped for British ones. During one fifteen minute interval of editing I added the “Miss” part to the title. I proofread it four times over, hastily wrote up a summary and released my darling into the wild where it is now open to the adoration or derision of anyone who looks upon it.

And there you have it. The journey of this short story.

Dear I should tell you

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like people are getting harder to please. I remember when I first started working at the cafe–almost a year ago–I was amazed by how grateful customers were for little things. Things like a cup of water for their doggie waiting outside, me bringing the meal to their table when they had trouble, changing the order four or five times and running down to the line to make sure they knew the deal so the sandwich came out perfect. I mean, it’s not a big deal, and yet it is because it takes lot of work, regardless of how happy I am to do it. But now…. now seems… different.

Maybe Obama’s handouts are making people feel entitled. Maybe the social barrier isn’t as diminished as we all thought and people still look down on “the help.” Or maybe the people who can still afford to eat at Panera are used to getting what they want without having to show any gratitude.

That’s not to say I don’t still see some of the kindest people in the world on the other side of the counter. And some days it’s like everyone is in a good mood. As far as employee/customer relationships go, I definitely believe Panera is tip-top.

In any case, this post is in honor of those difficult days and the customers who don’t know any better…

Letter Challenge Day 29 — The person that I want tell everything to, but am too afraid (for excellent reasons) to do so.

Dear Guests of Panera Bread,

Scones are hard. They are for having alongside tea or coffee or another liquidy hot drink. Think of them as a sweet dense biscuit. Please stop bringing them back and complaining about them being hard. It’s a scone. If it’s harder than a cookie, it’s been made right. If you can mush it, it’s undercooked, not to mention sad and pathetic and will be mocked by its real scone friends, which is something you would not wish upon a scone. If you do not like real scones, you are welcome to order a muffin or muffie. Both are soft.

Also, the scone with a dusting of powdered sugar is blueberry, not chocolate chip. We have a sign, dearies. It’s the one that sits right above the scone with the dusting of powdered sugar that says, “Wild Blueberry Scone.”

The little cookie-shaped thing that is not with the cookies but with the pastries is a muffie. I know it looks like muffle. But it isn’t. That’s ie. No l. Not muffles. I know, it’s confusing. But it is, in fact, a muffie.

I do not set the prices. I simply explain them. I’m sorry that the price of food rises all the time, but you can’t exactly blame Panera for that either. (Unless you want to blame our need to serve you the freshest and best products ever. Rimshot!) Blame the cows or something. Just don’t yell at me (or throw stuff at Haley) because drinks are more than you thought.

Those green numbers are calories. The prices are in black. It is not 3.90 for a full Fuji Apple Chicken Salad. Haha. You wish!

Don’t sneer at me for asking if you want a baguette with your soup in a bread bowl. I get a baguette with my bread bowl, as do many of our other guests. So if you ask, “Who does that?” I will have a sardonic answer for you. Masked by a friendly smile and a 12 year old voice that sounds apologetic, but really I’m sorry that you’re so grumpy about bread. Because our bread is amazing.

You cannot pick three entrees for a YP2: You Pick Two. I never thought I’d have to explain that… but apparently I do. A lot.

We don’t take tips. Just donations. If you want to give me the equivalent of a tip, you can take the time to call the number or follow the link at the bottom of your receipt and mention my name in the mindshare. That would make me ever so happy, it would make my managers happy, and we would project that happiness back to you. So it’s a win-win-win!

The grey vent-looking things under the coffee carafes are not drains. Please stop pouring entire cups of coffee in there, because it’s not going to go anywhere but on the floor when we try to switch the old coffees for new and it all splashes out. I’ll be more than happy to get you a new mug if you want a different kind of coffee. But those trays, they’re only there for catching drizzles. Kind of like how a thimble isn’t a hard hat.

If you’re buying a meal and a drink, it’s pretty much a crime not to add the 99 cent pastry. These cookies and sweets go for two to three dollars a piece, regularly. You’re already getting the drink. What on earth about that deal doesn’t sound worth it to you??

YOU SEE THOSE PASTRIES!? BUY ONE, YOU FEWLZ!!!!

And possibly the most amusing of all…

The “associate trainer” etched into my shiny silver name tag does not mean I’m still in training. It does, in fact, mean that I am able to train others. It always makes me giggle when people think otherwise. “Oh, you’ll be through the training phase soon, and it’ll get easier!” No. No it will not. xP But thanks for saying so.

Dear Timlet

Letter Challenge Day 28 — Someone Who Changed My Life

Dear Timothy,

Ooo, formality! It appears letter writing makes me speak like a well bred lady of the upper crust! We shall see how long it lasts…

It didn’t take me long to decide on the recipient of this letter. I can think of one glaring way my life has been changed by you and it is that I will write about. But first to the back story!

Quite long ago, when I was but a mere child in mentality as well as looks–though my birth certificate boasted five and ten years to my experience–I was part of a curiously new online experience that combined the care of virtual pets with quests and avatars and guilds and chatboards.

This was Neopets, and as they say in the themed guilds, “Elen síla lumenn’ omentielvo.”*

[Sung to Sexy Thing]
I met Tim on Neopets, yeah!!

Both of us had lost previous accounts, whether by being scammed or hacked I’m not sure (the lines are still pretty blurred in some cases) and it was that loss of accounts that brought us together on some fated Neopian board.

We fast became friends through a guild we both were part of. Our similar responses and simultaneous remarks had us nicknamed “the twins” and boy, do I remember pwning Zach with our asterisk wars! xP

But it didn’t end on the boards! Soon we were messaging through Neopets, and when the word limit prevented us from our deep theological discussions, we broke the sacred rule of the virtual world and exchanged email addresses. It was then you first discovered my name was not in fact Byrd, but Bethany. Yet to you I remain Byrd.

Not long after that, you asked if I would read a story you’d written. I heartily acquiesced, and from then on my fate was sealed.

I decided I should try my hand at writing. You were having such fun creating your story that I figured there was no harm in me giving it a shot.

Six years later, the state of my 65+ (rough estimate) Word documents aren’t sure whether to bless or curse you. But in any case, you’ve been a constant encouragement to this writer’s heart from the very beginning. If it wasn’t for you, I probably never would have discovered this great love. I would have muddled through life wondering if I was ever going to find something to be good at. And yet here I am, juggling three stories this very afternoon with the intent on finishing a 30-something chapter novel before the end of the year.

We’ve made each other laugh and weep and rage over stories. We’ve complained about the state of the world, our circumstances, and the difficulty of character development. We’ve rejoiced at a song well sung, a word well written, and confided boy troubles and girl troubles when the occasion required. In all this you’ve been a wonderful friend and I thank God for the silliness of Neopets that led us to find one another.

But most of all, I thank him for your writerly understanding. Your initial enthusiasm that pushed me to start this great adventure. Now wherever my writing takes me, I know in part it’s thanks to you that I became a scribbler of words in the first place.

It’s a gift that keeps on giving.

…and giving, and giving, and giving, and giving…

And that, dear lad, is how you’ve changed my life.

*hobbit slide dwarf-flip tackle punch high-five with wizard fireworks*

-Byrd

*A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

Project Hair Grow – 1yr 1mo

I’m not sure when I’ll stop the hair posts, but since I don’t really do fashion posts I guess this can be my thing.

So I dyed my hair red, but it’s kind of hard to tell unless the sunlight glares directly upon it.

Here is before.

And a bit after.

For a two-night birthday extravaganza, my best friend and I made a video to an odd (but strangely infectious) song and I got some still shots out of it.

I know this doesn’t really help judge the length of my hair, but it makes it look pretty!

I think of Woman in White. Except that my hair and makeup are completely wrong for the period.

This I could not resist! I think we’re a dashing couple!

Costume explanation (like why Sara was dressed as a 19th century gentleman photographer) can be viewed here:

We made this between two days of endless Criminal Minds episodes.

And I was very heavy in her arms, she says. My weight apologizes.

All about shoes! …or is it?

Blog Response To: Finding the Right Shoe

Read that post by my friend (it’s really quite good) and then come back here to read my response under the butterfly. I was going to post this as a single comment, but it kind of got carried away–as my comments tend to do.

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Questions:

What if you think the shoe fits perfectly but you can’t afford it? Does that mean it’s not the right shoe after all, or do you wait until you can afford the shoe?

What if you’re missing out on a great pair of practical shoes because you’re saving for what you think are the perfect pair, but you know you’ll never deserve/afford them?

Or what if it’s not a matter of affordability, but maybe the salesman won’t let you try it on? Or what if he lets you try it on and it seems to fit just right, but after five minutes he shoves them up on a too-high shelf and says not another word about them? And maybe you rack your brains as to how you can get that shoe, and you plead and beg with the salesman to get it down for you, but he won’t, and when you finally find a ladder and have the guts to reach for it regardless of your fear of heights you realize the shoe itself is very unclear about its intentions. What then? Do you keep reaching for the shoe or get down from the ladder before you fall and break your neck?

How many pairs of shoes is one expected to try on (try on, not purchase) before finding the right fit?

How often do we try to get the shoe ourselves without asking the salesman for any help first and we end up hurting ourselves and damaging the shoe because we weren’t patient enough to wait for him to finish with another customer?

Which brings to mind another question. Why are all the good shoes either too expensive or sold out?

It’s a little bit different for a girl with old fashioned (anti-feminist) standards to be “shoe shopping.” We have to wait for the right shoe brand to find us. We can window shop and dream about the blessed day we find our perfect shoe, but ultimately the shoe gets to choose to edge its way off the shelf and into our awaiting hands. (Though I’m in no way denying the power of rejection.)

And people who have shoes should be more grateful that at least they’re not wandering around barefoot. Except… I rather enjoy being barefoot most times. That analogy went a’wandrin’!

And yeah; the salesman should definitely be consulted before purchase. Because the salesman hates returns.

Malachi 2:16

This rambling response is through.

G’night!