really, i should be writing papers

[unamaga]

Okay, I have a question. It is a good question.

When you're writing fic or even verbally telling a story, how do you make time go by? I'm sort of new to the whole 'long fic' thing - I'm used to writing less than 2,000 words a pop, and having all the scenes be sequential. But now I find myself trying to span an entire year in one story, and it feels like all my transitions are awkward or aren't showing how much time really is passing, and so I try to write sequentially and I'm already at 5,000 words and it's only been a week!

I don't want to go through an entire year like that, not only because I will die and this will become a monster, but because the story will lose a lot of its pacing and it won't be interesting to the reader anymore. I don't know, maybe I'm being overly self-critical, but here's an example:

“That’s the spirit,” John said cheerfully, and they set off down the moisture-muted, wooden path together, surreptitiously linking fingers.

The small ice cream store at the end of the boardwalk was named Frozen Cup, and it had an air about it that said it had been there for many, many generations, and would still be there when your grandkids were raising their own tykes. Many of the other shops on the boardwalk had changed almost yearly – tripping from a clothes boutique to a bakery to a hair salon to a souvenir store, one after the other – but for as long as Rodney could remember, Frozen Cup had been right there on the corner, that place everybody knew, the place that kids and adults alike would flock to in some vain attempt to beat the summer’s heat.

The inside of the shop smelled sweet when they stepped inside, like fresh-baked waffle cones and sugar-sweetened milk. “Wow,” John said softly, glancing around. Rodney had to agree, even jaded as he was to the sight.

The ordered two scoops each and ended up eating more of each other’s than their own; Rodney guiltily admitted that he hadn’t remembered he didn’t like strawberry; John happily spooned up the entire scoop and rolled his ball of vanilla across the tops of their cones like some mostly-melted kind of meatball.

Rodney tried not to make any Lady and the Tramp comparisons.

After, huddling unabashedly together for warmth, they walked back to Rodney’s house, and John kissed Rodney right there on the stoop with only the shadows of coming night to keep them hidden.

-

Another month passed in much the same way. On Fridays, they took turns dragging each other to various places in town, and, although Rodney had reluctantly put his foot down about skipping classes to make out, they did manage to catch each other every day for lunch and often walked home together after practice. Once, Rodney even made the mistake of inviting John over for dinner, and Jeannie didn’t let up all night. Only John’s warm hand tightening and relaxing on his knee under the table kept him from committing murder. His parents were, thankfully, oblivious, and only offered John more instant mashed potatoes.

It all seemed so normal that Rodney was actually shocked when he realized he’d only known John for a little over a month and a half.

-

John had casually mentioned that he was hanging out with some people from the track team that Saturday after practice, so Rodney begged off and stayed home to tinker with his new laptop. It didn’t occur to him that John had dropped the tidbit into conversation for a specific reason until just after dark, when he heard the distinct plink of something colliding with his window. Even then, it took him a few minutes to recognize the sound was actually something he should be paying attention to: John, standing in his driveway wearing the orange fleece he’d never given back, holding a handful of gravel up to his chest and combing through it for the biggest pieces.

Rodney threw open the window, already halfway through yelling, “What the hell are you doing, you lunatic? You could break my window!” and sticking his upper body out to better glare down at John.

“Jesus, Rodney, took you long enough,” John called back, unperturbed. “I’ve only been trying to get your attention for fifteen minutes. What have you even been doing? I thought you were coming out with us today.”

Rodney’s stomach absolutely did not flip over in twelve year old girlish delight. He tamped down on a ridiculous grin. “You’ve been trying to get my attention?”

“Duh. Come down here.” John tugged sweetly at the hem of his sleeve, unraveling a bit of string. “And bring a sweatshirt or something for yourself; it’s kind of chilly out. Oh, and a blanket. And some junk food or whatever. Do have any of those cool drink pouches you bring for lunch?”

“Are you kidnapping me?” Rodney asked, uncertain.

John smiled charmingly and said, “Just for a little while.”

Does that seem clunky? I'm just. *flail* Worried, I guess. I'll go away now.