I haven't stayed up writing ALL night in years, but I certainly spend time writing when I should be sleeping on a fairly regular basis. :)
I'll pick "snippet" for $600, Alex... from a chapter as yet unposted of the story "It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah" (A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, Professor Hobby/Gigolo Joe, Professory Hobby/Original Female Character):
Curious in spite of herself, she walked over to the table and picked up the piece of paper Allen had indicated. It was a small rectangle of cheap stationary, obviously pulled off a hotel pad — a name vaguely familiar to her, the Sunset Motor Inn, was printed across the top in clear no-nonsense letters at odds with the elegant, almost Victorian quality of the flowing script inscribed in pen below it:
Dearest Allen,
I can’t bear to see you suffer, and I won’t stand between you and the woman you love. Please don’t look for me. Forget that I ever belonged to you, and be happy — that’s all I could ever wish for.
Goodbye forever, my darling…
Joe
She read the note over twice before looking up, her brow furrowing in perplexity and distaste. “Who on earth would program a robot to write that kind of letter?”
“Nobody did.” He was at Joe’s side again, gazing down at the mecha’s face with haunted eyes. “Nobody ever has. And it’s not taken from a movie, or a play, or a book, or any other source I could find.” Reaching down, he took Joe’s unmoving right hand in his own, cradling it and covering it tenderly with his left. “Those words were entirely his own. And so was the motivation. He…” She was appalled to hear his voice, which had never been anything other than perfectly composed even when he had been shouting at her, falter and break. “He thought that I belonged with you, an orga, and that I’d be happier without him. And so he ran, just as he’d done before.” He closed his eyes, his soft voice harsh with self-recrimination. “I should have seen it coming! I’ve only I’d —”
“Allen.” Pamela spoke firmly, and put down the note again to cross to the other side of the examination couch, to face him across the body of the machine that had come between them. He didn’t even spare her a glance; all his attention was focused on the mechanism, and she could discern the fugitive glitter of unshed tears in his eyes. “Allen, listen to me. You can’t blame yourself for whatever it did. If it was malfunctioning —”
[The rest of the scene, at least what's written so far, including backstory, is available here.]
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
onlyembers
no subject
Date: Sunday, October 14th, 2012 14:28 (UTC)I'll pick "snippet" for $600, Alex... from a chapter as yet unposted of the story "It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah" (A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, Professor Hobby/Gigolo Joe, Professory Hobby/Original Female Character):
***************************************************
Curious in spite of herself, she walked over to the table and picked up the piece of paper Allen had indicated. It was a small rectangle of cheap stationary, obviously pulled off a hotel pad — a name vaguely familiar to her, the Sunset Motor Inn, was printed across the top in clear no-nonsense letters at odds with the elegant, almost Victorian quality of the flowing script inscribed in pen below it:
Dearest Allen,
I can’t bear to see you suffer, and I won’t stand between you and the woman you love. Please don’t look for me. Forget that I ever belonged to you, and be happy — that’s all I could ever wish for.
Goodbye forever, my darling…
Joe
She read the note over twice before looking up, her brow furrowing in perplexity and distaste. “Who on earth would program a robot to write that kind of letter?”
“Nobody did.” He was at Joe’s side again, gazing down at the mecha’s face with haunted eyes. “Nobody ever has. And it’s not taken from a movie, or a play, or a book, or any other source I could find.” Reaching down, he took Joe’s unmoving right hand in his own, cradling it and covering it tenderly with his left. “Those words were entirely his own. And so was the motivation. He…” She was appalled to hear his voice, which had never been anything other than perfectly composed even when he had been shouting at her, falter and break. “He thought that I belonged with you, an orga, and that I’d be happier without him. And so he ran, just as he’d done before.” He closed his eyes, his soft voice harsh with self-recrimination. “I should have seen it coming! I’ve only I’d —”
“Allen.” Pamela spoke firmly, and put down the note again to cross to the other side of the examination couch, to face him across the body of the machine that had come between them. He didn’t even spare her a glance; all his attention was focused on the mechanism, and she could discern the fugitive glitter of unshed tears in his eyes. “Allen, listen to me. You can’t blame yourself for whatever it did. If it was malfunctioning —”
[The rest of the scene, at least what's written so far, including backstory, is available here.]