Fic in progress
May. 15th, 2007 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteDrive-by beta time.
Here's a first draft of something I've been working on for the past few days, but I'm not really certain where to go with it.
The first thought was that I'd play with the parental issues within the three fellows. But now I'm not sure if I should just stick with a Chase POV and keep it short -- or if the switch between Chase and Foreman's POV even comes close to working. And, for that matter, I haven't the foggiest idea what to do with Cameron.
Or if I should just toss the whole thing out and start over again.
Thoughts? Ideas? Opinions? Suggestions on where to take it? I'm open.
Orphan.
Chase lets the word echo through his mind, memorizing the shape of it, the emotions, the nuances. He can use it as a verb: He was orphaned when his father died. He can use it as an adjective: The drug companies resist investing in orphan diseases. He knows how to use it as a noun: He is an orphan.
He hasn’t said the word out loud yet. Somehow saying it would make it real. Would mean that he really is alone.
“You’re not alone, Robert,” his aunt says. She has his mother’s voice, and he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up when she calls late one Sunday and he answers the phone still half asleep. “You have family here. You should come home.”
Chase mutters an excuse, promises he’ll try soon.
“Maybe you can come at Christmas,” she says. “We could all go to midnight mass. It’ll be just like it used to be.”
Chase doesn’t bother pointing out that it could never be like it was, that everything has changed. Maybe it was never that special in the first place. But he can conjure up the image in his mind of standing between his parents, singing carols in a voice that hadn’t yet changed. His mother to his right, her hand resting loosely on his shoulder. His father to his left, staring up at the front of the church, singing loud in his baritone, not even looking down at his son.
It’s the last clear memory he has of the three of them together, and happy.
“We miss you,” his aunt says.
“I know,” Chase says. He doesn’t say that he misses her too. He doesn’t want to lie, and he’s not certain if he really does. He remembers being happy when Aunt Liz was there. He remembers his mother was happy too.
But Aunt Liz moved away before things got really bad, and she never understood just how bad things were.
“I can’t come just now, Robert,” she’d said when he called, asking for help. “I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think.”
She tells him now that she’s just trying to look out for him, and she worries if he’s safe out there in another country, all alone.
“I’m not alone,” he tells her. “I’ve got friends.”
He tells himself that isn’t a lie either. He tells himself that he’s not lonely. That he doesn’t miss anything back there.
Instead, he misses what he can’t have.
“Hi Mom,” Cameron answers her cell phone, then walks off into another room. Chase waits on the couch and doesn’t ask her later about what he overhears, about why she tells her mother she won’t be home for her grandmother’s birthday, or why she lies that doesn’t have any time off coming up.
Sometimes he thinks he’s put the emotions all behind him, that he’s dealt with them, placed them firmly in his past. But then he sees a card, talks to a patient’s mother, or just overhears a snatch of conversation and he feels his throat tighten.
“No, Dad, you don’t understand,” Foreman says when his father calls him at the office. “It isn’t that I don’t want to see Mom.” Foreman turns his back to the rest of the room. House passes through, and pauses long enough to stir more sugar into his coffee and get the gist of the conversation.
“It’s complicated,” Foreman says.
-------
Foreman stares at the cards on the rack. He reaches out and grabs one. There’s a flower on the front, a stylized iris in dark blue, and a Bible verse inside. “Her children arise, and call her blessed.”
He doesn’t have to look to know it comes from Proverbs. His father used to quote the passage to her on her birthday each year, and he’d coach him and Marcus each Mother’s Day to repeat the words to her.
“Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all,” Foreman whispers.
He wonders if Mom remembers that Marcus is in prison, then wonders if it’s better if she doesn’t remember that -- if she’s happier living at some point when Marcus was getting clean. Maybe she’s living in a time when Marcus was still at home. Still safe.
Now nothing is safe. Not for her. She’s living in a world she can’t recognize, and even with his Dad around, Foreman knows she won’t be able to live on her own for much longer.
“She’ll be fine,” Dad says.
“Dad, she didn’t know who I was,” Foreman says.
“Just for a few minutes,” Dad insists. “She remembered later.”
“It’s getting harder for her,” Foreman says, “and for you. Don’t tell me that it’s been easy for you these last few years.”
“It’s not that bad,” Dad says. “We get by just fine.”
“It’s going to get worse.”
Dad shakes his head and says he won’t listen any more. “There’s no point,” he says. “I can take care of her.”
“Not for that much longer, Dad.” Foreman doesn’t know what he can say that will get through to him. “We need to make a decision now, while we have the time.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Foreman weighs the silence, remembering the times his father would sit quietly before doling out punishment.
“Does this mean that you’ll be home more? That you’ll actually come home long enough to help her?”
“Dad ...”
“Because it’s important that you know what she’s like now -- really know.”
Foreman is the one who is silent now, wondering if he can be as strong as his father, strong enough to be with her mother, even when she can’t remember her -- even when she’s not the way he’d like to remember her.
He looks across the room. Chase is sitting at the end of the table, flipping through a journal. Cameron is at the desk at the side of the room, probably going through House’s e-mail.
He can’t imagine what it would be like to be without either of his parents, like Chase, but thinks that maybe Chase had it easy. He didn’t have to watch his father go through hell, slowly slipping away.
And Cameron, he thinks, Cameron probably doesn’t even know how good she’s had it -- two parents who still look out for her, rather than depending on her. Sure, she had a few tough months with her husband, but that was short, compared to what his mother his going through -- and his father -- and him.
“Eric?”
Foreman shakes his head. “Yeah, Dad,” he says, “I’ll be there.”
Here's a first draft of something I've been working on for the past few days, but I'm not really certain where to go with it.
The first thought was that I'd play with the parental issues within the three fellows. But now I'm not sure if I should just stick with a Chase POV and keep it short -- or if the switch between Chase and Foreman's POV even comes close to working. And, for that matter, I haven't the foggiest idea what to do with Cameron.
Or if I should just toss the whole thing out and start over again.
Thoughts? Ideas? Opinions? Suggestions on where to take it? I'm open.
Orphan.
Chase lets the word echo through his mind, memorizing the shape of it, the emotions, the nuances. He can use it as a verb: He was orphaned when his father died. He can use it as an adjective: The drug companies resist investing in orphan diseases. He knows how to use it as a noun: He is an orphan.
He hasn’t said the word out loud yet. Somehow saying it would make it real. Would mean that he really is alone.
“You’re not alone, Robert,” his aunt says. She has his mother’s voice, and he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up when she calls late one Sunday and he answers the phone still half asleep. “You have family here. You should come home.”
Chase mutters an excuse, promises he’ll try soon.
“Maybe you can come at Christmas,” she says. “We could all go to midnight mass. It’ll be just like it used to be.”
Chase doesn’t bother pointing out that it could never be like it was, that everything has changed. Maybe it was never that special in the first place. But he can conjure up the image in his mind of standing between his parents, singing carols in a voice that hadn’t yet changed. His mother to his right, her hand resting loosely on his shoulder. His father to his left, staring up at the front of the church, singing loud in his baritone, not even looking down at his son.
It’s the last clear memory he has of the three of them together, and happy.
“We miss you,” his aunt says.
“I know,” Chase says. He doesn’t say that he misses her too. He doesn’t want to lie, and he’s not certain if he really does. He remembers being happy when Aunt Liz was there. He remembers his mother was happy too.
But Aunt Liz moved away before things got really bad, and she never understood just how bad things were.
“I can’t come just now, Robert,” she’d said when he called, asking for help. “I’m sure things aren’t as bad as you think.”
She tells him now that she’s just trying to look out for him, and she worries if he’s safe out there in another country, all alone.
“I’m not alone,” he tells her. “I’ve got friends.”
He tells himself that isn’t a lie either. He tells himself that he’s not lonely. That he doesn’t miss anything back there.
Instead, he misses what he can’t have.
“Hi Mom,” Cameron answers her cell phone, then walks off into another room. Chase waits on the couch and doesn’t ask her later about what he overhears, about why she tells her mother she won’t be home for her grandmother’s birthday, or why she lies that doesn’t have any time off coming up.
Sometimes he thinks he’s put the emotions all behind him, that he’s dealt with them, placed them firmly in his past. But then he sees a card, talks to a patient’s mother, or just overhears a snatch of conversation and he feels his throat tighten.
“No, Dad, you don’t understand,” Foreman says when his father calls him at the office. “It isn’t that I don’t want to see Mom.” Foreman turns his back to the rest of the room. House passes through, and pauses long enough to stir more sugar into his coffee and get the gist of the conversation.
“It’s complicated,” Foreman says.
-------
Foreman stares at the cards on the rack. He reaches out and grabs one. There’s a flower on the front, a stylized iris in dark blue, and a Bible verse inside. “Her children arise, and call her blessed.”
He doesn’t have to look to know it comes from Proverbs. His father used to quote the passage to her on her birthday each year, and he’d coach him and Marcus each Mother’s Day to repeat the words to her.
“Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all,” Foreman whispers.
He wonders if Mom remembers that Marcus is in prison, then wonders if it’s better if she doesn’t remember that -- if she’s happier living at some point when Marcus was getting clean. Maybe she’s living in a time when Marcus was still at home. Still safe.
Now nothing is safe. Not for her. She’s living in a world she can’t recognize, and even with his Dad around, Foreman knows she won’t be able to live on her own for much longer.
“She’ll be fine,” Dad says.
“Dad, she didn’t know who I was,” Foreman says.
“Just for a few minutes,” Dad insists. “She remembered later.”
“It’s getting harder for her,” Foreman says, “and for you. Don’t tell me that it’s been easy for you these last few years.”
“It’s not that bad,” Dad says. “We get by just fine.”
“It’s going to get worse.”
Dad shakes his head and says he won’t listen any more. “There’s no point,” he says. “I can take care of her.”
“Not for that much longer, Dad.” Foreman doesn’t know what he can say that will get through to him. “We need to make a decision now, while we have the time.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Foreman weighs the silence, remembering the times his father would sit quietly before doling out punishment.
“Does this mean that you’ll be home more? That you’ll actually come home long enough to help her?”
“Dad ...”
“Because it’s important that you know what she’s like now -- really know.”
Foreman is the one who is silent now, wondering if he can be as strong as his father, strong enough to be with her mother, even when she can’t remember her -- even when she’s not the way he’d like to remember her.
He looks across the room. Chase is sitting at the end of the table, flipping through a journal. Cameron is at the desk at the side of the room, probably going through House’s e-mail.
He can’t imagine what it would be like to be without either of his parents, like Chase, but thinks that maybe Chase had it easy. He didn’t have to watch his father go through hell, slowly slipping away.
And Cameron, he thinks, Cameron probably doesn’t even know how good she’s had it -- two parents who still look out for her, rather than depending on her. Sure, she had a few tough months with her husband, but that was short, compared to what his mother his going through -- and his father -- and him.
“Eric?”
Foreman shakes his head. “Yeah, Dad,” he says, “I’ll be there.”
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-16 07:29 am (UTC)I think the switch to Foreman's POV definitely works, especially when you have both him and Chase referencing each other in their own parts. I agree that having a fic about only two fellows out of three feels a bit... imbalanced, so I would add a third section, either about Cameron, or with Chase and Foreman interacting, which could also be interesting.
With Cameron, if she's had a good life and a good relationship with her parents, I wouldn't make up a surprising backstory; compared to the other two, it would feel fake. A relationship that's always interested me is between her and her in laws. Is she still in touch with them? Maybe they're like a second set of parents. Hell, maybe her own parents are divorced and remarried and she has six parents., and uncles and aunts and... a smothering, proud family that see everything she does as perfect whether or not she herself does, who don't see her accomplishments as accomplishments or her failures as failures because whatever she does is perfect and we love you anyway.
Another direction you could take it is Cameron's relationship with patients' parents, or her 'mothering' relationship with either child patients or the other fellows, which would be a huge stretch since she is pretty far from mothering, usually.
Okay, just throwing out ideas here. In any case, what you have so far is beautiful. And don't throw out the Foreman bit.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-16 12:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-16 04:51 pm (UTC)A few concritties, if I may:
The image of Chase's last happy memory with his parents is so powerful, and so sad. But this segment:
He doesn’t say that he misses her too. He doesn’t want to lie, and he’s not certain if he really does.
feels a bit off to me. The "not certain if he really does" belongs closer to the missing his aunt part, I think.
strong enough to be with her mother, even when she can’t remember her
I think you mean "be with his mother, even when she can't remember him." Yes?
Is the conversation between Foreman and his dad in the Foreman section the rest of the conversation that Chase overhears? And if it is a phone conversation, how does Foreman know
Dad shakes his head and says he won’t listen any more. “There’s no point,” he says.
I think what might be making this feel disjointed at the moment is that it's almost all in present tense--is that disjointed feeling what you're going for? Because right now it feels like Chase is in his apartment, talking to his aunt, and in the conference room, listening to Foreman talk to his dad, while Foreman's looking at greeting cards, all at the same time. Which feels a little trippy--not that it's bad, but just something for you to be aware of. Hope this was helpful!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-16 11:54 pm (UTC)In terms of Cameron, I took advantage of a long biz trip drive (back home now! Sleeping in my own bed tonight!) to find tune it to the idea that she doesn't want to see her parents because she feels that they have an image of her that she no longer is -- perhaps she never was. She's not the same naive, hard-working soul she was when we first met her -- especially after working with House. That person certainly wouldn't have had a friends with benefits relationship with Chase. So maybe she's reticent to face them -- and at the same time face her own decisions and the person she is now.
Does that make sense?
I'd really like to play with a unifying theme through all three of the things that separate us from people we love: death, obviously, illness and change. Does that make sense?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-17 12:12 am (UTC)I think that your idea for Cameron's relationship with her parents is fantastic--it absolutely makes sense. And I hope to see it.
And I like your idea for the theme among these three--but maybe you'll need more than three segments to really play with it?
In any case, I hope you don't scrap it altogether. There's not enough fic exploring the fellows' parental issues. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-17 12:51 am (UTC)The hard part has been trying to figure out what the disparate sections were doing. Without a central idea I quite often feel like I'm flailing about in the dark, grasping for words without any idea of what order to put them in.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-17 03:26 am (UTC)I agree with the others who've commented that this piece would have a good deal more balance if you did a Cameron section as well. The Foreman and Chase pieces coincide well in their views on parents...and each other, but the lack of Cameron is notable.
And on an entirely personal note: I was tickled by Foreman's quoting of Proverbs. The section he quotes from is known as the Aishes Chayil (The Righteous Woman) in Hebrew and it's traditionally sung every Friday night to wives and mothers :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-17 06:04 pm (UTC)