The Literacy: Book 3 Chapter 6

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The Literacy: Book 3 Chapter 6 Wow, it's been a while. Unless you happen to be new and read the last chapter more recently. In which case, it has not been a while. Nevertheless, it's been a while for ME, and even though that last chapter was a bit of a slog, I'm glad to be back in the writing game. Now, I like to think that every one of this story’s chapters is special, because I’m always surprised that I get off my duff and write something once every three months or so. However, this chapter is extra special, because it’s the first new chapter on the Literacy Blog. If you’ve just wandered in from the blogosphere, welcome! Please read the entry entitled “The Story So Far” if you’d like the story to make sense. Relatively speaking, of course. I still write nonsense, I’m just writing nonsense with a precedent if you’ve read all the old chapters. All the same, since this is a new…thing, it feels like I'm somehow obligated to start with a recap. I was going to just make some snide comment about how I don't like writing recaps, but I've done that a couple of times now and it's probably stopped being funny for everyone who would like a recap. So here you are: Long ago, there was a prophecy. The particulars of this prophecy have been left deliberately vague because, let's face it, it's all I've got tying this story together, so I'm not in any hurry to give it a tidy resolution. It is known, however, that Literature Island is in grave danger due to an imbalance in the multiverse caused by the presence of characters from works of literature on the island. The prophecy foretold that a Founder would come forth. She and her descendents would procreate with the island's literary townies, naming the children after characters from the spouse's book, and in ten generations they would have a child capable of restoring the balance. That, however, is still a long way away. Right now, we're on generation three. This generation is named after characters from Barbara Kingsolver's "The Poisonwood Bible." Eeben (named after Eeben Axelroot, the pilot) is the heir.

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"I dunno, I don't really think this is all that bad,” Eeben says unenthusiastically. That's Eeben on the right. His twin sister, Bekwa, is on the left. She's named after Bekwa Tataba, the Price family's long-suffering assistant. "Of course it's not that bad, Eeben, but Backstory Academy is much better,” Bekwa counters. Oh, right, I need to set the scene and stuff. See, this is what happens when I try to recap, I forget the actual story. The kids are at Literature Island Public School Number 42. Also, present-tense narration gets clunky and awkward when I try to put in indicators for dialogue, but my character, “The Dreamer,” is an interactive narrator. So a past-tense narrator actually doesn’t make sense in the context of the story. For previous chapters, I just put in the dialogue without any indicators, but that was because everything was written as a caption under each picture. It wasn’t a format I liked very much, but it was the only option on The Exchange. Also, it could be said that all this explanation is a sign of bad writing, so let me just be the first to point out that if I were a good writer, I would be published in something other than a blog.

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“The facility is so much nicer, the faculty is better...” Bekwa continues “But what's wrong with public school?” Eeben cuts her off. “Nothing's wrong with it per se, I just think Backstory Academy is nicer.” “And you know this...how?” “Pamphlets.” “Ah...listen, Bekwa, I'd really rather stay at this school.” “And I still don't understand why!” Of course, I can still throw out the “he says, she says” when dialogue really gets some momentum.

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At that moment, and with the sort of impossibly good timing that only happens in stories (like this one!) Persephone rounds the corner. Eeben, not knowing that his friend is in earshot, answers Bekwa with a vague, “Well, there are...people who go here that I'd miss if I transferred.” Bekwa scoffs: “Eeben, we live on an island. None of your friends will be especially out of reach if you start going to school downtown.” “Well, I guess you have a point.” he begins to concede. “Great! It's settled then.” she answers quickly. “—But,” Eeben stumbles “—settled,” Bekwa insists. “I'm going to talk to Anatole.” Anatole is named after Anatole Ngemba, the teacher and translator.

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The two girls exchange greetings for only a moment before Bekwa walks off to talk to her other brother. Persephone stays behind, intent on speaking to Anatole. “What were you two fighting about?” She asks, not so much out of curiosity but as an excuse to say something. “That? Oh, Bekwa wants us to transfer to this fancy-pants private school downtown,” he answers, trying to sound nonchalant. “Why don't you? I bet most private High Schools would bend over backwards to get a Legacy family.” Crap, she thinks to herself, Why did I say that? I don’t want him to leave! “Oh. Well...if I transferred I wouldn't get to see you as often,” Eeben says. Was that it? She wonders. Was that an opening? “We'd still take the same bus,” she says, trying to at least create the illusion of staying on-topic while inexorably steering the conversation. “Wait, really? How does that work?” Eeben asks. “Didn't you know? After the bus drops us off here it goes downtown for the private school kids.” “Really? That's...improbable.” ...But awfully convenient for storytelling purposes!

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Alright, Persephone decides, to Hell with this, I need to tell him. “Listen,” she says, her voice dropping as if for effect. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about—” At that moment, that perfectly inopportune moment, the school’s warning bell rings. Everyone has five minutes to get to class. Five minutes of which a few seconds could easily have been spared, but Eeben, oblivious to what his crush was about to tell him, begins to run off. “We can talk after school,” he calls over his shoulder. She sighs and walks off to class. Public School 42 being crowded, Persephone doesn’t have a legitimate chance to talk to Eeben the rest of the day, and when she tries to snag a spot next to him on the bus, she finds that Bekwa has already monopolized him. If she wants to tell Eeben how she feels, she decides, she’ll need to get him alone somehow. Picture-free slides are a luxury I never had back on the Exchange. I wanted to have stuff happen on the bus, but back when I was publishing on the Exchange I thought I’d need to get pictures for a bus scene, which isn’t really possible in The Sims 2. But now that I’ve gone to a blog, I can just describe the action, like a real author!

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“Well, you got into your precious private school. Are you happy now?” Eeben says. “Yes. Are you unhappy?” Bekwa chuckles. “Well, no. I just don't see why this was so important,” information that, to be fair, Bekwa never gave him. “I'm going for the Ivy League Master Point,” she explains. “The who-what now?” For the record, there was a Headmaster Coming Over scene, but I wasn’t happy with it and didn’t feel it was necessary. The kids get in, 96/90.

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“I'm undertaking a series of challenges to allow future legacy kids to become Knowledge Sims without having to pick randomly,” she explains. “What do you have to do?” “Well, let's see,” she says as she pulls up a website. “Before I even go to college I've got to get to at least 8 in all my skills...including dancing and pool, for some reason. I have to get a job and get to level 3, get an A- or better in school, get abducted by aliens, become a zombie or a vampire—I’m going with vampire—and, wow...Mom and Dad have to die while I'm still in high school. That's depressing.” It is quite the understatement. The enormity of her task begins to sink in. She knows that she will outlive her parents, but the idea that she has to face their deaths relatively soon in what will be a long life for her sits on her mind like a weight. “Mm,” he says, “that's...that's pretty crazy. You're going to be in High School for a really long time.” "Yeah, that's why I want to go to private school."

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The action shifts to The Townie Box, a sort of break room. Persephone is talking to a rather infamous fellow Townie, Marsha Breunig. “Hey, Persephone,” Marsha asks eagerly, “do you ever feel like all we do is just filler to patch gaps in a disjointed narrative?” “No,” is all Persephone can say. “Okay, next question: what is your opinion of lampshades?” Marsha says, “Pro or con, and elaborate.” “This isn't how Twenty Questions works, Marsha.” “You said I could ask you twenty questions and then guess what you were thinking about!” “Yes, but—” “You didn't say the questions had to be relevant. So keep going: Lampshades, pro or con?”

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“Persephone?” A new arrival had come in during their game unnoticed, and only just now steps in front of the pair and spoke. “Ooh, hold that thought,” Marsha squeals, “something plotty just walked in!” “Huh? What do you mean, ‘plotty’?” Persephone flounders, confused by the stranger and Marsha’s apparent knowledge of him. “How can you tell?” "Persephone, dearest,” the boy goes on dramatically, “please don't pretend you don't recognize me.” “Wait,” Persephone whispers, “Marsha, I seriously don't know who that is. Should I?” “Oooh, I know who it is, I know who it is!” Marsha sings. “Who is it?” Persephone demands, embarrassed to treat an apparent guest so rudely, although the guest is politely pretending he doesn’t hear the girls’ exchange. “Aw, I can't just tell you, that's no fun! Let's play Twenty Questions!”

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“Marsha, come on, who is that?” “Oh, you're such a party pooper. It's not that hard to figure out. The gaunt, pale, face...the skull pendant...the fact that he addressed you as ‘dearest.’” Persephone finally makes the terrible connection, and jumps from her seat, rounding on the newcomer.

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“Oh, gods. Hades?” Persephone recognizes the other god, wishing she could be wrong. “Persephone, my love—” Hades begins, and there is all the confirmation she needs. There are a million and one things she would have liked to say to the man who, in another life and another world, was her husband. “How are you a teenager?!” is what comes out. “Should something as simple as a change in age be beyond the powers of a god such as myself?” “Well, you weren't exactly in the habit of making yourself my age when we were married.” “Enough games, my love,” he says in a tone that he thinks is seductive, “Now that I'm a teenager like you, even the Dreamer's petty rules cannot keep us apart.” “No,” she says, struggling to remain calm, “absolutely not. I don't care how old you make yourself, I'm still not interested in you.” “Persephone, please—” Hades says, his tone betraying desperation. “Leave me alone, Hades,” Persephone answers. There is finality in her voice, and triumph. She makes for the door. Through it all, Marsha watches, uninvolved but entertained.

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“I can forgive you for insulting me like this,” he says. There is something in Hades’ voice that Persephone recognizes. She stops. It is a cold determination that she, even after being freed, cannot ignore. Compared to his brothers, Hades is a submissive god, but there are moments—moments like the time he first kidnapped Persephone—where Hades insists on getting precisely what he wants, and will accept no alternatives. “I understand that it's been too long since someone has seduced you...” he trails off, slowly walking forward until he is even with her. “...like a god!” he cries, grabbing her and attempting to kiss her. “Cut it OUT!” she yells, and struggles against the depraved god. “Kiss me, and be my queen!” he adds quickly. Persephone breaks away from the grapple easily. “Do you even realize how creepy you’re being?” She shouts as she heads, once again, to the door.

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“I am a god, Persephone,” Hades snarls, his face contorting, “and am therefore not to be trifled with. I tried to bring you around gently, but so help me gods, if you make me take you by force again, I am not afraid to. You will learn to love me, Persephone.” His tone is lost somewhere between a threat directed to her, and an assurance to himself. “No,” Persephone says, rage building in her. “You don’t get to play by those rules anymore, Hades. I’m. Not. Interested.” In a long, long, pause, the words hang between them. Hades stands firm. And this time, Persephone does not go to the door. She stares down the god of the underworld, and holds her ground. Hades is flustered. He never pretended, even to himself, that winning Persephone back would be easy, but he hadn’t expected such vehement opposition. There’s playing hard-to-get, he thinks, and then… Hades turns and stalks out the door. “This isn’t over,” he says as he leaves, a little more feebly than he would have liked. Meanwhile Persephone, for all her apparent strength, is terrified. She has spent her unfathomably long life as a pawn, fought over and traded around by Zeus, Demeter, and of course Hades. Her first real taste of empowerment was Literature Island, and to have the freedom that this place gives her taken away terrifies her. Fortunately, Persephone does have a friend to turn to. She resolves to seek out help from none other than Paige Turner.

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Back in the main plot, the Turner kids have arrived at their new school. A young-ish woman is coming down the stairs to greet them. “Good morning,” she calls out in a sing-song voice that would feel patronizing to a group half the age of the group she is with. “You must be the Turners,” she continues. As she talks, she quickly and confidently analyzes each one of them. She picks up each movement, each glance, each subconscious twitch, and before any of the students have spoken, she begins to know them. “My name is Estelle,” she goes on, “and I shall be your guidance counselor for your academic journeys here. Allow me to welcome you to the Backstory Academy for Character Development.” One would guess from her tone that Backstory Academy was a daycare center of some kind. Sometimes I wish real authors would put stuff like “Back in the main plot,” or “meanwhile, over at the subplot” in their work.

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“Great,” Bekwa says, already impatient with this tiresome woman. “Do you have our schedules? I'd like to just get to class.” “Oh,” Estelle coos, “I can't set schedules for students I haven't met yet. I need to truly get to know you. So let's see,” she looks around at the kids, contemplating, “I guess I'll start with you, Bekwa. You're quite eager to start learning. No chit-chat for this one. Clearly, you're a Knowledge Sim.” “Well, yeah,” Bekwa says, “that's easy.” “And a spare.” “Lucky guess.”

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“How about you, Eeben,” she says slowly as she turns toward him, “standing in the back, yet unmistakably in the center.” He glances down, embarrassed, as Estelle continues: “you're trying to avoid stealing the limelight from your siblings, knowing that it will be all yours in due course. You, clearly, are the heir...but a reluctant one. You didn't compete for the position, you won it by default. Didn't you?” Eeben stammers a non-response, but Estelle presses. “There’s no shame in it. But I’m right, aren’t I? You’re the heir, but by default.” “Um…yeah,” Eeben finally responds.

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"And you,” Estelle turns to Anatole. “Standing stock still with just the faintest hint of a smirk. You think you can defy categorization, but that just gives you away entirely. You’re three words: Pointless Quirky Spare. You’re comic relief.” “Nice trick,” Anatole says without a trace of comedy or relief. “You’re good at reading people. Now can we get our schedules?”

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“Oh, no,” Estelle says, her voice full of affability and condescension, but mostly venom, “I need to get to know you even better, on the lovely tour I have prepared. You wouldn’t want to miss the lovely tour, would you? And you certainly wouldn’t want to tell me how to do my job. You don’t think I’m some clueless, bumbling authority figure you can push around like a scrawny little hero. I’m not stupid, Anatole. You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?” Silence. This scene blossomed from the idea that having a guidance counselor who knew me intuitively would have been really cool. Then I realized that it would actually be terrifying. The scariest part about this scene is the fact that I sort of wish my High School guidance counselor had been like Estelle.

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“Good! On with the lovely tour, then!”

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As some of you probably already know, I struggle with conveying passage of time in The Literacy. Sometimes I wonder if I should even bother. Maybe I should just put in blank slides with the caption, “Go have a snack and when you come back the story will make sense.” The alternative feels stilted to me. Dropping in stuff like “Later that day...” feels stilted, like I shouldn’t have to explicitly state that sort of thing, it should just be a natural part of the story. Where was I? Ah, yes. Later that day, Eeben turns around to find Persephone arriving at the Turner house. See? Stilted! But I can’t just jump right into the dialogue. Wait, can I? Is it a rule? “Oh,” he says at this not-unwelcome surprise. “Hey Persephone.” He then says the smoothest thing he can think of, which is, “this isn’t your stop.” Eeben is not especially smooth. “I know,” Persephone says (no, she can’t hear the narration yet, she’s reacting to Eeben, not me). “I need to talk to Paige. Is she here?” Paige is not at home, but to pass the time Eeben invites Persephone inside for a game of chess, carrying on the glorious family tradition of playing chess with anyone who will sit still long enough. See, if I can’t make myself a better writer, I can at least make myself better at covering my glaring flaws. Instead of saying that I overuse chess conversations because it’s more interesting than characters standing around talking but am I’m creative enough to think of other ways to get characters to talk, I just call it a glorious family tradition!

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“Hmm,” Eeben says, trying quite hard to sound contemplative, “that was very clever of you, Persephone. VERY clever.“ “I...set up my pieces,” Persephone says. “...cleverly!” “Listen,” Persephone says, finally seeing her opportunity, “If you don’t want to play chess, we could just—”

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“Oh,” Bekwa says, smiling sweetly as she walks in, “don’t let me interrupt you. Persephone, I believe you had just said, ‘we could just—’…you were going to ask him to make out with you, right?” Bekwa, what are you doing in here? “I just wanted to watch them…make their moves!” That…was that a chess pun?

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Passage of time happens HERE! Right, was that stilted too? Sorry. Doing passage of time badly is sort of like the old “Don’t think about elephants” trap (or “The Game,” for those of you who are into that sort of thing). The harder I try to convey passage of time in a natural manner that fits into the story, the more awkward it becomes.

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“Paige—” Persephone begins. “Skip the exposition,” Paige interrupts. “I already know. Hades is a teenager now. You’re in grave danger, blah blah blah, the old gods are experimenting with forbidden power, yadda yadda yadda, I’m supposed to cook up a crazy scheme, et cetera.” Are you in some sort of hurry, Paige? “I bet the readers are. Persephone’s subplot has been going on for how long now? Go to the roof.” “Go to…the roof?” Persephone says, understandably perplexed. “Grandma,” Eeben says, “how is going to the roof going to help Persephone? There isn’t anything up there.” “Eeben,” Paige says, “you go to the roof too.” “Do you even have a plan,” Eeben asks, incredulous, “or are you just making stuff up as you go along?” “Yes,” Paige answers, “go to the roof.”

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“Rachel,” DeepThought says, “did you hear something just now?” “What did it sound like?” asks Rachel. “It sounded sort of like a bunch of stuff appearing on the roof.” “Honey, that’s insane. Which, in this house, probably means that’s exactly what happened.

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“Oh, my gods,” Persephone moans, “a Love Tub? Tacky decorations? Paige's big plan is a contrived romance?”

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For Persephone, of course, this is all wrong. Eeben, however, is oblivious to this. Of course he shouldn’t be, since he can hear the narration, but only Bekwa and Paige can be trusted to be listening to the narration at any given moment. Most of the characters only use their metacognition to complain to me. “So, I think I figured out Paige’s plan,” Eeben says. Persephone sighs, “This is all very flattering, but Paige is missing the point entirely. I mean, this is just another arranged marriage, which is exactly what I’m trying to escape from. I think I’m just gonna head back to the Box and—” “Wait, wait, before you go…” Eeben says, putting on a pair of shades.

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“You look stressed,” says Eeben. “You look ridiculous,” says Persephone. “I’m going to relax in this hot tub that has spontaneously appeared. Would you care to join me?” Persephone laughs in spite of her self: “on one condition.” “Name it.” “Take off the glasses.” They fizzle and disappear. “Done.”

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Later... “I understand Paige's plan. I mean, it makes perfect sense, logically. If I marry into the Legacy, Dreamer won't let Hades anywhere near me.” “Persephone...” “But that's not the point. My whole problem was that the old order took away any freedom of choice that I had. It's not about Hades specifically, it's the whole paradigm—” "Persephone...” “—and if the only way I can escape from him is to buy into what are, essentially, his principles, what's the point?” “Wait, his principles? I invited you to join me in the hot tub. I didn't burst out of a fissure in the earth and carry you to the underworld.” "Alright, you're not as bad as Hades, but I shouldn't marry you just because you're the lesser of two evils. I mean, when you read my myth as a metaphor for marriage in general, the fact that Paige even thinks my marrying into your family would be a good way to counter—”

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"Persephone.” “—What?” “You seem tense.” “Tense? Yes, I suppose I'm a little bit Tense, Eeben. I mean, I go to an old friend because I need help escaping a crazy depraved god, and her solution is to cook up some stupid marriage scheme?”

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“Persephone, I like you.” “I know, I like you too.” Well, there it is, she thinks, it’s all out in the open. “No, I mean I like you like you.” “I knew what you meant the first time, Eeben. And...and I'm romantically interested in you too, but I can't shake the idea that I'm just falling for some man because I sense an escape from Hades in you. Plus, being a character from mythology, I have ton of symbolic significance attached to me that even I have trouble keeping straight. I mean, there's the changing of the seasons, that's the easy one, but there's also the commentary on marriage roles, and the cycle of rebirth, and there's probably some Jungian stuff in there that I'm forgetting—I should check Wikipedia when I get back to the Townie Box.”

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"Persephone—” "What?” "You're overthinking.” "I know. It's hard not to for me. Knowledge Sim.” "Listen...if Hades tries anything, I'll protect you. If he drags you to the underworld, I'll find you. If he tries to make you eat the food of the dead, I'll...I don't know, I guess I'll get you some takeout or something. And this is all no strings attached, alright? If you want to just be friends, I'll still help you...

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...but, would you be interested in dating?” “Eeben, this is all very complicated, I'm not sure—” “Forget about Paige's crazy scheme, and all that messed-up symbolism. How do you feel?” “I...I don't know. Can I have some time to think it over?” “Of course. I'm not going to push you into anything.” "I think you're the first man who's ever said that to me.” “You mean those words exactly? Because most of the men you knew in your story spoke Greek, so the exact syntax wouldn't—” “I meant conceptually, Eeben.” “Oh, right. Conceptually.” Hey, you know who wasn’t in this chapter at all? Marvin! Sorry about that. Anyway, thanks for reading!