Fiddling Around With the Doctor

Well, I'm laid up with a bad food--very bad foot...I've spent most of the day alternating between sleeping off the pain--man, it really does tire one out, especially as one gets older--and basically staring at the ceiling, petting the cats and reading a chapter of what amounts to possibly the most boring Louis L'Amour story I've ever read. Usually I dive right into his stuff--read it in a day or two--this book I've been hacking away at for about a month, now...and for me, that's really saying something.

I'm a voracious reader--well, having a mum for a librarian, and having spent the better part of 17 years of my life, from my early teens till my late 20's, roughly, hanging out with her at work--it sort of goes to follow that I read a lot. But, I'm picky about my reading--will read nearly anything--but only what I want to read, not what's popular or what someone tells me to read (college excepted, of course). I read Cannery Row last winter. Not a huge John Steinbeck fan--but found that book quite good--funny, sad, and just...interesting reading.

Anyway, when I wasn't spending the day in bed--or cussing having to use my crutches every time I had to take--what now seems like--the long hike to the loo in my apartment...and doubly cussing the arrangement of my kitchen, which is widely spaced apart--there's a counter next to the fridge where the microwave and the tinned goods are--then across the way from that, is the stove, then, next to the loo door, is the sink counter. Not a bad arrangement when one has two good feet--but a living hell when you not only are on crutches, you are also in immense pain, as well. Gah--times like this, I REALLY hate being completely alone.

But aside from all that, I did do, out of sheer boredom, a bit of writing today--which I've not really done, in weeks.

I have a couple of unfinished Dr Who stores, filed away in Word..and then in the middle of updating a story, I had an idea for another story...which I probably won't finish, either...way things are going.

It's only a few lines, right now, and likely not very good. I love writing dialog, but absolutely suck at plot--all those college writing classes, and I've never once studied fiction writing. Anyway, just dashed off some short paragraphs, this morning, before the pain killers kicked in and I was off to lala land again. Not much one can write, in less than a half hour, but here it is:

Martha looked over at the Doctor, standing beside the console. His face, in the green glow of the column, seemed creased with worry. “What is it, Doctor?” She asked.  He looked up at her, and for an instant, she caught a glimpse of the fear in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that boyish grin she was coming to know so well.

 

“What’s What?” He asked innocently--too innocently. “Oh come on,” she chided, “there’s something wrong, and you don’t want me to know about it, is that it? I’m a big girl, Doctor. If I can face the Judoon on the moon, alien Elizabethan witches and Daleks during the depression, what more is there to be afraid of?”

 

 For just a moment, the Doctor simply looked at her. In the space of his heartbeats, the Doctor’s eyes became suddenly filled with a seemingly infinite emptiness…then, it was gone. “Right, then!” He shouted. Let’s see just how scary, scary can be, eh?” He looked at Martha, and she almost shivered--his look for once, seemed alien and…almost insane. “You aren’t scared of being scared, are you, Martha? You humans love being scared: horror movies, roller coasters, bungee jumping, the deep South, Edgar Allen Poe--now there was a genius-- the Spice Girls…”

 

Throwing off his melancholy like he would toss aside his long coat, the Doctor began playing his hands over the console switches with a flourish, muttering to himself in some language Martha had never heard before--it sounded almost like he was swearing under his breath--and enjoying it.

 

Suddenly, the Tardis gave a great lurch, throwing Martha against the control room’s metal railing. The Doctor merely griped the edge of the console with one hand, and aimed the sonic screwdriver at some part, with his other hand. With a sonic buzzing, the screwdriver served to help the Tardis right herself.

 

“Doctor!” Martha exclaimed, “Did you ever have to pass some kind of a driving test for this thing, or do you just make it up as you go along?” The Doctor was staring at his view screen intently and didn’t answer.

whovian whovian
46-50, F
2 Responses Mar 31, 2007

you sound so much like me its funny!!! though I dont write at all infact I'm quite bad at it lol.

I know things are tough for you but at least you are still doing some things that make you feel better. Even if it is more of a numb feeling. It is better that pain. I hope that you get better. And by the way I liked your story........ and I usually hate reading.