Snippet

[fajrdrako]

I've been having a problem for a long time now. I haven't been writing. I've been wanting to write. I've been afraid to write. I've been procrastinating about writing, I've been worrying about not writing, I've been wondering if I'll ever write another word. I've even been dreaming about writing, or not writing. I've been going through self-induced writer's panic (nothing as calm as writer's block) without the faintest idea of what to do to stop it.

I've used every excuse in the book to not write.

This evening I betaed a wonderful Horatio Hornblower story for rosiespark and, envying her for not only writing but writing well, I said, dammit, I'm going to write something. Anything.

So I did. Just a fragment, a Smallville piece called Music. It's words. It's not much, but it's something. It's... something.


- - -

Music

There had been a time when music was a refuge. Lex remembered that; it had been before Isabelle had hexed him into playing till his fingers bled, before Clark had turned coldly away from his touch, before Lionel had won their peculiar game of forfeits without even knowing he had won. Quite possibly, without caring.

Lex sat at the new piano and did not touch the keys. White and black. Black and white. Minor and major. Staccato and legato. Key of C but no key of L ... Perhaps he should card "CK & LL" in a heart in the middle of the shining mahogany - and then put a line through it.

He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me not. What was love, anyway? A pattern of neurons. A romantic fantasy. The impossible need of two lonely people to ruin each other's lives. Or - a consummation devoutly to be wished?

He wished he were more drunk than he was. He wished he were drunk to any degree. He seemed to have lost the knack of drinking, and since Belle Reve, drugs seemed like a bad idea. That was from before - before Clark, before Smallville, before his own loss of innocence.

Compared to most, he had never been innocent. His earliest childhood memories were of his parents' fights and his own role in them. He was always figuring things out, always finding strategies to make things come out right - in his father's vocabulary, finding a way to win.

What an odd war they had played, year after year, through two decades and a bit. Father and son, man and boy. Love is strength, said one. Love is weakness, said the other. Neither used words. Neither trusted words.

Sometimes it was personal. I love you - no, you don't. You love me - no, I don't. Back and forth. I don't love you - yes, you do. Lies and truth, mistrust dressed up as faith, hope used as a punishment. Lex knew all about the connection between love and pain.

No wonder if made him unfit for Clark. But it made him right for Clark too, in all the wrong ways, because Clark was as much of a misfit as he was, with the difference that Clark didn't know it. Clark was a mass of contradictions, and didn't have any idea of it. Some day Clark would break out of his Smallville-induced delusion of normalcy, and what would he be then? Hero, villain? Lex's worst enemy, or his dearest lover? Would either of them be able to tell the difference?

He swept his fingers down on the keys, and began to play. He played hard, fast, furiously - any music teacher he had ever known would have stopped him. But there were no teachers here in Luthor Manor. This wasn't music as an art or a skill. It wasn't even music as therapy. This was music used as a weapon of self-destruction.

He had not touched the piano since the day Lana... Isabelle... had bewitched him. Bitch. He should never have let her near. Should never have trusted her, believing her to be harmless because she was nothing more than Clark's first big crush. Believing her to be outside the game. No one was ever outside the game, or the war, either.

He had not touched Clark since ...

His hands slammed down on the keys, discord cutting the air like a shout. He was breathless from the exertion.

In years of living with Lionel, Les should have learned where the dividing line was between love and hate. Between need and madness. Between lust and pity. Clark had a way of blurring all the dividing lines, and tearing away all the certainty Lex had ever possessed - the laws of physics and the laws of personal attraction.

If music be the food of love, he thought, it is poisoned.

But everyone has to eat.

A tap at the door. He opened his mouth to say "go away", but Carlo put his head through the door and said, "Clark Kent just came through the gates, sir. Shall I let him come in?"

Was this a coda, or a prelude? He never knew what to expect from Clark.

He swallowed. "Let him come in," he said.

- end -

Comments

[gem225.livejournal.com]

I love this. It's powerful, elegant, and wonderful. I'm so glad that you wrote it. Thank you for sharing it. :-)

I put up a comics post (http://www.livejournal.com/users/gem225/145010.html). Please, if you wouldn't mind, post the comics you read or send me an email with the titles? I really want to check out the ones you're into. I bought three issues of Fantastic Four by JMS because I thought that you'd approve. I have yet to read them, though - tomorrow, if all goes well.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for commenting! I'm delighted that you liked my Lex piece - and thank you for having such a suitable icon to go with it.

I'll go look at your comics post right now.

[lastscorpion.livejournal.com]

Oh, dear! That's beautiful and very sad.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

Oh, what a lovely icon!

I think one of the reasons I have not been writing Smallville fic lately is that I can't have a very positive reaction to the current mood of the show - especially where the Clex is concerned. So while I have no compunction about rewriting anything, or setting all my fic in the first (happy) season, it is affecting my outlook. What comes out is pained, unhappy pieces like this one.

[rosiespark.livejournal.com]

Hey, glad to be the ...um, catalyst. *g*

I've often wished to have watched Smallville so that I could appreciate your fics. They're lyrical and fascinating, in spite of my almost total ignorance of the backstory. This one has echoes of Dunnett and Lymond's attitude to music, and I'm glad you wrote, and posted, it.

I always worry that nothing I write is going to live up to what I've already written. That anything good I've written was merely a fluke - so I spend most of my time Not Writing. Occasionally the internal pressure gets too much and overwhelms my inhibitions - and I write something. But it's not easy.

You look that writer's panic in the eye and it'll back down!

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

Hey, glad to be the ...um, catalyst.

Thank you.

They're lyrical and fascinating, in spite of my almost total ignorance of the backstory.

Thank you for saying so. That is very good to hear. I'm feeling a little frustrated by the mood of the show these days - though of course we've had a long summer break.

I always worry that nothing I write is going to live up to what I've already written.

I try not to worry about my writing in terms of quality. Nothing is ever as good as I want it to be, or as good as it seems in my imagination. So... I try not to think about that, I just think in terms of words on paper, or words on the monitor. One after another.

That anything good I've written was merely a fluke -

Yeah. We need more flukes.

so I spend most of my time Not Writing.

So do I, and I'm not sure why. Lack of energy? Lack of confidence?

You look that writer's panic in the eye and it'll back down!

I'll try.

[lmondegreen.livejournal.com]

Oh, poor Lex. And oh, wonderful snippet!

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

Thank you! So glad you liked it. Yeah, poor Lex.

[acampbell.livejournal.com]

Woo! I especially love the first paragraph and the ending. I love PianoFic, and I've often thought since "Spell" that back in the day we would have had a zillion, but in fact, I had only read a couple. Now, here's another! Very beautiful.

Keep writing!!

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you liked it - thanks for the comments! Yes, I think "Spell" leaves a lot of space for consideration and reconsideration, and it's only now that I realize that I wrote this because the episode bothered me - because it was niggling at me and I was ignoring it. Or trying to.

I hope to keep writing.