Every Time I Write Dialog I Feel Like I've Forgotten How People Talk Despite Being A Playwright And A Person Who Talks Often
And Other Fun Thoughts
Hi friends. If you’re new here, this is The 200 Word Novel, where I’m writing a novel 200 words a day. You can find the start of the adventure (and the story) here.
“10 it is, captain.” Ren gave a curt salute. “…now may I remove that post from your shoulder, you idiot?” She continued.
Basil rolled her eyes. “An oversized splinter at best,” she said, but followed it with a curt nod. Ren wrapped a hand around the piece of wood sticking out of Basil’s arm.
“This will hurt,” she warned.
“Tell me something I didn’t already hngh!” Basil’s response caught in her teeth as Ren wrenched the piece free with one hand, the other already aglow with magics. Flesh and skin knit together and pulled tight across the wound, but Gruber could tell even from where he stood that the injury was far from fully healed when the white glow faded. The scale growth had barely begun, and little beads of blood already seeped through the paper-thin skin. Ren reached into a pouch on her hip and pulled out a stretch of spidersilk gauze, wrapping it around Basil’s arm and tying it off tight.
“This will have to do for now,” Ren muttered. “I’m no expert healer and I’m far less efficient with my arcana than—”
“Stop,” Basil interjected. “We would have lost far more without your touch.” She took Ren’s paw into her own hand, slowing Ren’s work. The show leopard finally looked up, making eye contact with the lizard, a shared moment of stillness in the frenetic chaos around them.
“We should talk,” Gruber said.
The two pulled apart with a start.
“Agreed,” Basil said, clearing her throat.
“I’ll… go check on the rest of the crew,” Ren murmured as she stepped away. Basil watched her go, then turned to the frog.
“I imagine you have many que—”
“My fee will be triple,” Gruber said.
Basil sighed. “If we survive to get to Vahn, I will be happy to pay you more.”
“Ten percent is for the added risk and dangers. The rest is for not being upfront and truthful with me.” Gruber blinked slowly, staring at Basil.
Basil shook her head. “You’re right to be upset. The intention was to limit the number of folks that knew who we had on board to lower the chance of leaks that would attract unwanted attention. The risk was that in the case we were discovered, folks would be less prepared. I made a calculation. …I was wrong.” Basil looked across her pockmarked and damaged ship. Injured crew members worked to lay out the bodies of those slain on the starboard side, while the few uninjured animals scurried to lash the sails and prepare for departure. “And my crew paid the price,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Who is that owl?” Gruber asked. As Basil started to respond, Orion strode up, a slight limp slowing his steps.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“We’re already talking right now,” Basil responded.
“Good. Then we can all talk together.” Orion’s ear gave a small involuntary twitch. Gruber did not know mammal habits well enough to distinguish if it was annoyance or nervousness.
“Do you speak for your charge then?” Basil asked, eye ridge raised in incredulity.
“Yes I do,” Orion said with confidence.
“No he does not,” Gruber said at the same time.
“Well you certainly don’t speak for me,” Orion huffed.
Gruber fixed his unblinking gaze on Orion. “It is obvious that you are the owl’s protector, that you are powerful… and that you are poor at this post. You abandoned his side in the conflict, prioritized showboating your skills over discretion of your presence, and have chosen to remain on deck rather than return to his side or let your superior commander know that all is clear.”
“Ari is not my commander,” Orion sputtered.
“What is she and who is she then?” Gruber replied.
Orion shook his head. “You do not have clearance nor need to know—”
“He does now,” Basil interjected. “I was just about to catch him up on Benji’s mission to get his recommendations on next steps.”
“Great. Are we just telling everyone now?” Orion looked annoyed.
“Rich, coming from the least discreet creature I’ve ever met,” Basil shot back.
“I assure you I keep secrets as well as I fire my crossbow,” Gruber said.
Orion shook his head. “I can’t deny you have skill, frog. Which reminds me—you still owe me for the robe.”
“Already paid in full by taking down the rabbit who owes you for the limp in your leg,” Gruber said, pointing to the arrow wound still seeping a little blood.
“Gruber is the best guide there is, and given our current circumstances, the more he knows, the better he’s able to shepherd us to safety,” Basil said, cutting off whatever retort Orion had started.
“Fine.” Orion took a deep breath in, then locked eyes with Gruber. “If he’s need to know, then here’s what you need to know, frog. Benji…” Orion leaned in, his voice dropping low. “…is an Arcanist.”
Gruber stared.
Orion stared back.
Gruber slowly licked his eyeball again.
“…well?” Orion finally asked.
“Well what?” Gruber replied.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know about the Arcanists,” Orion sputtered.
“I don’t follow mainland politics,” Gruber replied.
Orion gesticulated wildly. “This is far more than ‘mainland politics’! How have you not heard about what they discovered?!”
“If you tell me now,” Gruber said, “then I will have heard.”
“Just the most incredible breakthrough in portal theorems since the dawn of sorcery,” Orion said with relish. “The Arcanists, and Benji in particular, are about to—”
“Are we just telling everyone now, Orion?”
Orion’s fur on his neck stood up in surprise as he whipped around. Ari stood, a deep frown on her face, one hand on the handle of an unseen weapon tucked at her side. Behind her, a slightly less sea-sick looking Benji peered at Orion with concern.
“I—of course not. But the captain said—”
“Half my crew is dead,” Basil cut in. “I’m telling the animal most directly responsible for the rest of us surviving whatever details I have.”
🐸
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that progress is rarely linear.
If I’ve learned anything else, it’s that no matter how many times I’ve learn this, I still hate it. Things should only improve and get faster! What is this “uneven creative momentum” experience that life designed? Booooo!
I had felt like I was starting to build up some momentum in past weeks. But this week I’ve been busy and also a bit down, and hitting 200 words went from easy to hard again.
I’m also on a bit of a deadline push for another project (What, me? Take on many projects at the same time? Never [always]!), so carving out the space to put at least 200 words down every day has felt more of a burden than in past weeks. The irony is, of course, that I’m struggling to find momentum and pace on the large project as well, such that the short time writing this novel hardly would make a difference in the long run.
But so much of the practice and habit of writing is psychological.
So we persist, and plod along.
I’m also out of that initial phase where the idea feels fiery and exciting, and all of the voices start creeping in to doubt if the story is any good at all. It’s nice to have spent a lifetime learning how to deflect and shush those voices, so I know to pay them no mind—but that doesn’t mean they don’t persist, and that doesn’t mean they aren’t very very convincing in trying to tell you to just stop, just give up, it’s bad and won’t ever get good.
In that vein, I very much appreciate all of you folks reading along! Because getting drabbles of a fantasy story in tiny little bursts not curated to be particularly interesting within those bursts must be a… uh, less than ideal reading experience.
I always hate inviting folks to my improv shows, or asking people to read my plays. I’m not shy about submitting my works to theaters or studios or opportunities at this point—but when friends who love and support me to read my work? I’m so loathe to waste your time, and I know this early stage of creation is usually pretty ugly to look at. So thanks for staring down the birth canal of an ugly baby of a story that’s still trying to take shape. (Ew.)
As penance for that horrible mental image… please enjoy this picture of the tastiest thing I ate this last week: duck pancakes from Canard in Portland. 💙
