Tripping over the perfect metaphor
Apr. 14th, 2012 09:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
When I was writing Daughter of Mystery I avoided posting too much work-in-progress in part because there was enough of a mystery plot going on in the story that I worried about spoilers for eventual readers. How's that for optimism? But the current project The Mystic Marriage (aka "book 2") doesn't really have the same puzzle aspects, so I think I'm going to be a bit more comfortable with posting snippets as I work.
At any rate, the starting idea of having alchemy as the underlying spine of the action was, to some extent, arbitrary. One of the main viewpoint characters had been noted previously as being interested in alchemy, and what she needed for this story was some sort of Great Project through which she was going to redeem the family honor by her own efforts. It turned out to be exactly the sort of story-seed that sent out the roots and tendrils that I needed to get the plot rolling. But when I started layering in the critical events and conversations sketching out the main romantic arc, the primary metaphor that popped up involved food. Which was working very nicely for the purpose but didn't really tie in with the main plot's symbolic structure.
This week I got hit with the inspiration for the alchemy tie-in. The basic alchemical gimmick/project involves the mystical properties of gemstones and a technique for both creating synthetic gems with specified properties and enhancing those properties by the creation of perfect, pure stones. (Remember that there are magical layers going on in this world -- they help bridge the technological gap between ca. 1800 tech and the production of synthetic gemstones.) Antuniet (my alchemist) has finally been achieving some initial success, but has just had a massive fight with Jeanne, her lover, over the latter's outside flirtations (and more). Jeanne wormed her way into Antuniet's life, in part, by dabbling as a sometime lab assistant, and the day after the fight she shows up at the workshop and pitches in again, much to Antuniet's annoyance and heartbreak. This scene comes at the end of the day when Jeanne has been cleaning up the previous experiment's results and Antuniet has been measuring out the raw materials for the next project. (I thought about artificially cleaning up the place-holders and notes in my working draft, but what the heck -- this is what my first drafts look like. words and phases marked with asterisks are placeholders or summaries of promissory text.)
* * *
It wasn't the first time she'd gotten so lost in the work that the day passed without noticing. Hunger hadn't disturbed her this time, but when a knock came on the door she realized that even the faint tapping sounds had ceased in the next room and the light was fading. She blinked at Jeanne as she entered sideways carrying a tray with four small bowls. It had been several hours since she'd remembered to hurt.
"I've finished; I think this is all of them, but it was hard to clean the small ones completely."
Antuniet took the tray over to the window where the light was strongest and held up the largest of the blue stones. *discuss properties* "There you are: loyalty, honesty, *etc*. All pure and hard and compelled by the stones. And none of it true. None of it real."
“It was true – it was all true,” Jeanne said quietly. “But it's never pure -- that's where the poets lie to us. We're all of us impure mixtures and flawed stones."
With a sudden swift movement she took up one of the empty crucibles from the bench and started scooping minerals into it from the open jars. “There’s love; that’s true.” Five large scoops of the first. “But there’s vanity as well.” A spoon from the second. “And jealousy.” A dusting of from a smaller jar. *more* She stirred the powders roughly with the point of a chisel. Traces of the colors swirled through the mixture like eddies in the river. Then with a sudden movement she jabbed the chisel's tip into her finger and watched the drops of blood well up and fall. "And there's always pain." She thrust the crucible towards Antuniet. She took it by reflex and Jeanne wrapped her hands around Antuniet's to keep them there. “This is my heart. It is what it is. I don't know if it will come through the fire. But it's yours, if you will have it.” And with that she turned and left.
Her words rang in Antuniet's ears, laying down layer after layer of meaning. It wasn't an apology -- not even an explanation. But it was a plea for one more try. Could she bear to go through this again? She set the crucible aside and checked the furnace. It was ready for the day's new batches. She began clamping the lids on and hesitated at the last one. She hated to rely on signs and portents. It would never survive the firing. There was no point. And yet to choose not to try -- that too was a portent.
No, the firing meant nothing. Either she was willing to go back to Jeanne or she wasn't. If the answer were yes, then it didn't matter if the crucible burnt to slaggy ruin like so many before. If the answer were no, then not even a perfect diamond would change matters. But to tip the contents into the trash -- that was a coward's trick. She clamped the lid on tightly and grasped it in the tongs. When the door was cracked open she slid the crucible quickly into the center of the glowing floor and closed it again. The other batches could wait. She pulled the lever that spilled the rest of the coals into the chamber and *procedure*.
*she tends the fire carefully but falls asleep before the end and wakes when all has grown cold*
Antuniet pulled the crucible out onto the workbench and took a deep breath before unclamping the lid, prepared for what she would see. The matrix was crusted and lumpy but not the glassy char of complete failure. She tipped it over and tapped it gently onto the tile. It fell out in a lump, crumbling a bit at the part that had been the bottom. She took up the smallest hammer and chisel and began chipping away at the matrix. What sat revealed, hours later, was an irregular rounded mass like a baroque pearl, just a little smaller than her thumb. In the main it was the color of blood but there were shadows of other hues inside. The light glinted from a thousand tiny flakes and flaws in the stone and a thread of slag ran deeply through one lobe like a hidden vein. It should have shattered, but in her fingers if felt warm, like a living thing.
* * *
And this then gives her some needed insight into her Great Work -- that the most successful use of the enhanced gems to influence human emotions will necessarily braid together multiple motivations: loyalty mixed with pride, and so forth. Antuniet is, by nature, a rather single-minded, uncompromising person. One of Jeanne's functions is to force complexity and compromise into her life. But it was really nice to have this scene handed to me to make it all concrete (and to provide a clear context for why Antuniet gives her another chance).
At any rate, the starting idea of having alchemy as the underlying spine of the action was, to some extent, arbitrary. One of the main viewpoint characters had been noted previously as being interested in alchemy, and what she needed for this story was some sort of Great Project through which she was going to redeem the family honor by her own efforts. It turned out to be exactly the sort of story-seed that sent out the roots and tendrils that I needed to get the plot rolling. But when I started layering in the critical events and conversations sketching out the main romantic arc, the primary metaphor that popped up involved food. Which was working very nicely for the purpose but didn't really tie in with the main plot's symbolic structure.
This week I got hit with the inspiration for the alchemy tie-in. The basic alchemical gimmick/project involves the mystical properties of gemstones and a technique for both creating synthetic gems with specified properties and enhancing those properties by the creation of perfect, pure stones. (Remember that there are magical layers going on in this world -- they help bridge the technological gap between ca. 1800 tech and the production of synthetic gemstones.) Antuniet (my alchemist) has finally been achieving some initial success, but has just had a massive fight with Jeanne, her lover, over the latter's outside flirtations (and more). Jeanne wormed her way into Antuniet's life, in part, by dabbling as a sometime lab assistant, and the day after the fight she shows up at the workshop and pitches in again, much to Antuniet's annoyance and heartbreak. This scene comes at the end of the day when Jeanne has been cleaning up the previous experiment's results and Antuniet has been measuring out the raw materials for the next project. (I thought about artificially cleaning up the place-holders and notes in my working draft, but what the heck -- this is what my first drafts look like. words and phases marked with asterisks are placeholders or summaries of promissory text.)
* * *
It wasn't the first time she'd gotten so lost in the work that the day passed without noticing. Hunger hadn't disturbed her this time, but when a knock came on the door she realized that even the faint tapping sounds had ceased in the next room and the light was fading. She blinked at Jeanne as she entered sideways carrying a tray with four small bowls. It had been several hours since she'd remembered to hurt.
"I've finished; I think this is all of them, but it was hard to clean the small ones completely."
Antuniet took the tray over to the window where the light was strongest and held up the largest of the blue stones. *discuss properties* "There you are: loyalty, honesty, *etc*. All pure and hard and compelled by the stones. And none of it true. None of it real."
“It was true – it was all true,” Jeanne said quietly. “But it's never pure -- that's where the poets lie to us. We're all of us impure mixtures and flawed stones."
With a sudden swift movement she took up one of the empty crucibles from the bench and started scooping minerals into it from the open jars. “There’s love; that’s true.” Five large scoops of the first. “But there’s vanity as well.” A spoon from the second. “And jealousy.” A dusting of from a smaller jar. *more* She stirred the powders roughly with the point of a chisel. Traces of the colors swirled through the mixture like eddies in the river. Then with a sudden movement she jabbed the chisel's tip into her finger and watched the drops of blood well up and fall. "And there's always pain." She thrust the crucible towards Antuniet. She took it by reflex and Jeanne wrapped her hands around Antuniet's to keep them there. “This is my heart. It is what it is. I don't know if it will come through the fire. But it's yours, if you will have it.” And with that she turned and left.
Her words rang in Antuniet's ears, laying down layer after layer of meaning. It wasn't an apology -- not even an explanation. But it was a plea for one more try. Could she bear to go through this again? She set the crucible aside and checked the furnace. It was ready for the day's new batches. She began clamping the lids on and hesitated at the last one. She hated to rely on signs and portents. It would never survive the firing. There was no point. And yet to choose not to try -- that too was a portent.
No, the firing meant nothing. Either she was willing to go back to Jeanne or she wasn't. If the answer were yes, then it didn't matter if the crucible burnt to slaggy ruin like so many before. If the answer were no, then not even a perfect diamond would change matters. But to tip the contents into the trash -- that was a coward's trick. She clamped the lid on tightly and grasped it in the tongs. When the door was cracked open she slid the crucible quickly into the center of the glowing floor and closed it again. The other batches could wait. She pulled the lever that spilled the rest of the coals into the chamber and *procedure*.
*she tends the fire carefully but falls asleep before the end and wakes when all has grown cold*
Antuniet pulled the crucible out onto the workbench and took a deep breath before unclamping the lid, prepared for what she would see. The matrix was crusted and lumpy but not the glassy char of complete failure. She tipped it over and tapped it gently onto the tile. It fell out in a lump, crumbling a bit at the part that had been the bottom. She took up the smallest hammer and chisel and began chipping away at the matrix. What sat revealed, hours later, was an irregular rounded mass like a baroque pearl, just a little smaller than her thumb. In the main it was the color of blood but there were shadows of other hues inside. The light glinted from a thousand tiny flakes and flaws in the stone and a thread of slag ran deeply through one lobe like a hidden vein. It should have shattered, but in her fingers if felt warm, like a living thing.
* * *
And this then gives her some needed insight into her Great Work -- that the most successful use of the enhanced gems to influence human emotions will necessarily braid together multiple motivations: loyalty mixed with pride, and so forth. Antuniet is, by nature, a rather single-minded, uncompromising person. One of Jeanne's functions is to force complexity and compromise into her life. But it was really nice to have this scene handed to me to make it all concrete (and to provide a clear context for why Antuniet gives her another chance).