One Lovely Blog Award // all the Sherlock things

 Liz @ Out of Mind, Out of Coffee tagged me with the The One Lovely Blog Award.

Why is there a "One" in the title? There seems to be many "One Lovely Blog"s. Yes. I am questioning blogging social norms. (Because that's what books have taught me.)

Back to topic, I'm supposed to tell you seven things about myself. You know the rules so they go without saying. Also, I've realized that the last few posts have a dramatic lack of Sherlock gifs.





I know. You're all rightfully irked by this aberration. So today I shall make it up to you.

1. I've decided that I want to know all things Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps it's a strange ambition? 

 

But I have decided and I will not waver! This year I hope to read all the original stories. Perhaps some retellings (Any recs?) And I'll have to put myself through some non-fic about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle which will hopefully not be too dull. Although, I did watch a documentary about how Doyle's stories inspired the creation of modern day forensics and it talked about Doyle too. Apparently, (but obviously) he was a bit of a Holmes himself. People write him letters about their problems and he often used deduction and/or forensics to solve them.

The books I have read are:

A Study in Scarlet

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

The Sign of Four

The Valley of Fear

The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

My favorites so far are The Valley of Fear and the short story A Scandal in Bohemia. There's also one about a carbuncle that's rather amusing too. And of course, The Final Problem which features Professor Moriarty.

I just started The Hound of the Baskervilles.

I'm still looking for a Sherlock story with dragons though. Because everybody knows dragons make everything better. (We're good luck, you know.)

2. From these books, I've noticed that any time America or Americans are mentioned they're associated  with secret societies and Wild West murderers. During Doyle's time, America was still in its Wild West stage. So yeah, there was quite a lot of lawlessness going around (and a crying absence of dragons). But in Doyle's books, the American is almost always the bad guy.

 

Or was a villain in his past. Or is deceitful, or uncivil in some manner. 

I do wonder if Doyle believed that all Americans were cultists who loved murder and guns blazing? Or was that the American stereotype as seen in Britain during Doyle's time? (Yes, I call him Doyle; his full name makes me feel like gargling pebbles. Apologies, Sir Doyle.)

Of course, I've not read all of his works. Maybe there are some more diverse Americans in his other works. If not. . . I find his views very hilarious. Honestly.

I am reading the Hound of the Baskervilles at present and Henry Baskerville is an Englishman who has spent most of his life in America. So far, his only fault is having a hot temper. But then, he's not really American so. . . does he count?

3. To ease your mind, I am not a part of a cult. Nor have I murdered anyone.

Nor have I ever been cast in one of Doyle's books.

4. I find it ironic that Gatiss and Moffat basically gave the fandom murder for Christmas.

 

But of course they would.

5. I'm going to pretend like I'm mature enough to acknowledge that other things beside Sherlock exist. (Is it really true!?)

 Because cinnamon rolls.

Cinnamon rolls exists too.You know, the kind that come in a pressured tube. You pop it open, stick it in the oven, and they come out ginormous and soft. You can unroll them and enjoy their gooey goodness.

Those are the kind I like (unhealthy preservatives and all), and I'm don't need that much frosting. Some people want more frosting than cinnamon roll. But I'll take the cinnamon roll, thank you.

I've considered baking homemade ones. Then the whole lair would smell of cinnamon roll! But I'm too lazy. . .

So basically, if you gave me a warm cinnamon roll, you would be my new best friend for life. Perhaps that sounds impulsive? But it isn't like just anybody hands me cinnamon rolls. People don't give cinnamon rolls as random gifts (why not?!); otherwise I'd have more friends.

6. I'm more of a movie crier than a book crier. (Dragons have hearts and tear ducts too, alright?)

Books that've made me cry:

all The Hunger Games
(this trilogy is like eating three pain burritos; don't tell me that's not a thing)

The Book Thief

(*sobs*)

The Giver
(THEY DON'T HAVE MUSIC?! WHAT AWFUL REALM IS THIS?!)

almost Allegiant

(I was in shock, okay?)

Movies that've made me cry:

all The Hunger Games

(watching THG is like being slayed by a malicious knight)

Wreck-It-Ralph 

Lilo and Stitch 2/ Stitch has a Glitch

(*sniffles* my Stitch!)

The Iron Giant

(every time; that movie is so underrated)

Jurassic World

(the iconic T-Rex almost died, okay?! He's a near cousin and part of my childhood.)

almost Tangled 

The Amazing Spider-Man 2

(*weeps*)

Rigoletto 

Big Hero 6 

(cartoons these days are traumatic)

How to Train Your Dragon 2

(I'm too young for this stuff)

When I was a dragonling, cartoons didn't have plot (pfft, what even) and nobody ever DIED. They engaged in epic chases, threw anvils at each other, and blew things up for kicks (it's a wonder nobody died).

7. I talk to the other drivers on the road. Er, I mean, dragons in the sky.

No. I don't have road rage. And you're probably thinking,



 


 I simply recognize bad flying driving when I see it, as I am sure you do. I don't get angry about it. Bad driving is not worth puffing smoke fumes over. I just verbally react to idiots with mild-mannered sarcasm. 

I shall nominate:

Skye @ Ink Castles
Carly @ Books and Etc.
Victoria @ The Endless Oceans of My Mind
Emily @ Ink, Inc.

Are you a movie or book crier? OH! And Sherlock. Have you read any of the books? Any retelling recs? Or what is your favorite Sherlock film/episode?

Starting Sparks: The First Pawn

Today I've an entry for Starting Sparks. I know. It's the last day.

 

 The park was busy today. A couple joggers passed Jeff without a glance at him. A little dog ran about and stopped occasionally to give the rope toy in his mouth a fierce shake. A leash trailed behind the pup.

A couple on a bench sat very close but the man seemed a little distracted. Some kids played on the swings. They laughed and joked with each other except the fourth boy who was clearly a tagalong little brother.

A man in jeans and t-shirt paced in the grass while he spoke on the phone. Actually, he listened and appeared rather distraught.

"Excuse me, sir." Jeff approached him.

The man frowned at him. "What is it you want?"

"Your dog?"

"What about my dog? He's not bothering you."

Jeff held back a sigh. "He went that way."

The man looked confused for a moment, then finally realized the dog was not around anymore. He cursed under his breath and headed in the direction Jeff had pointed out.

Jeff continued to where the people thinned out and you could hear the birds sing. Robert already sat at the stone table with a chess board. The pieces were set up in crooked lines (Rob would never be mistaken as OCD). But a black pawn and a white pawn were missing. They were no doubt one in each of Rob's fists. There was nothing unusual about Robert today. His hair was a scrambled mess of salt and pepper. His friend smelled like peppermint, and cat fur clung to his pant legs.

"Your cat's name is Faramir, right?" Jeff was sure he'd finally figured it out.

Rob seemed surprised. "What's that to do with our game?"

"I know you named him after a Tolkien character. You're always likening our chess games to Lord of the Rings." Jeff sat down on the other stone pedestal at the table, opposite Rob. "Faramir is your favorite, isn't he?"

"How do you know I've a cat?"

Jeff just grinned.

The crisp sunshine glided off the chess board, almost missing it. The board was too faded to reflect any sort of light.

"You don't have to be smart today, do you?" Robert said.

"It's not something I turn on and off, you know."

Rob rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. Finally, he thrust one of his closed fist toward Jeff. "Which one?" He glanced over his shoulder, almost smoothly.

Jeff resisted the urge to smile. After their last game, he'd told Rob the secret to how he always guessed right. The color of the pawn. Rob always seemed to glance over his shoulder when he tried to push the black onto Jeff. So Jeff had let him in on it. Of course, now Rob expected that Jeff would expect Rob to act in the opposite manner after sharing the secret.

Jeff probably shouldn't have shared it in the first place, as Rob would now reassess his actions tomorrow. But what did that matter? How many more games would he have to play?

"Black," Jeff said.

"Now that's just wrong." Robert opened his palms and revealed the black pawn near Jeff and the white pawn clenched close to his chest. "I think you made that up. About me having a tell. There ain't no strategy to it. It's chance."

"Actually," Jeff placed pawns on the board, "it's chess."

They turned the board so that Jeff was White and Rob Black. There were many different ways of choosing who played White, the color that went first. Originally, they had chosen by hiding the pawns as Rob had just done. But the opposite player would choose one of the fists and whatever color pawn was in that fist was the color that the chooser played. But Jeff had found boring. So they'd changed it a smudge.

After the opening moves, Jeff was pretty sure that Rob was either trying to throw him off by winging every move, or Rob planned something much more complex than Jeff could yet detect.

"What did the doctor say yesterday?" Robert rubbed his chin as Jeff took his knight with a pawn.

"Didn't go to the doctor. I'm through with them."

"You know, they might could help. They got surgeries for those."

"I can't afford no surgery."

"But you can't jest sit back and take it."

"And why can't I?" What was Rob doing with his rook? "Look," Jeff said. "I'm tired."

"Well, that's cause you're sick--"

"No, it's cause I'm old. What's the point?"

Rob chewed his lower lip and stared at the board. "What about Jen and Allen?"

Perfect time to change the subject. "I've been thinking. I ain't got anything to leave them."

"Well, I don't think that matters. I mean it's nice and all but--"

"I don't ever get to see them. In fact, I'll never see them again. I want them to at least know I love them."

"Well, they know that." Rob moved a pawn to lure Jeff's queen out. Like that would happen.

"But do they?" Jeff sighed and moved his knight to lure Rob into his own trap. Do they really know? They were just kids after all. And kids know you love them when you spend time with them. You stop to treat them like human beings. And he knew what it was like to be ignored.

"No." Jeff shook his head. "I've got to do something for them."

"Well, what are you going to do?" Rob moved in with his rook.

"Anything! I don't care how or what."

Rob hesitated. "What do you mean you don't care?"

Jeff glanced around but there was nobody. Still he lowered his voice. "I'm not sure exactly. But there's people who's got money. I could. . ."

"Jeff, you don't mean steal!?" Rob hissed in a whisper.

Jeff took Rob's rook with a bishop.

"I do. Unless you got better ideas." Jeff's mind tumbled. "Cab driving don't make good money and I'm too old for anyone to hire me for something that pays more. I don't know a trade. And I don't have the time to learn one."

"Do you know how much trouble you could be in?"

"I could die any minute, Rob. If I get caught it wouldn't matter."

"But what would Jen and Allen think? Is that what you want to leave them with, huh?"

Rob took Jeff's bishop.

"No. Nobody'll catch me. I'm too smart."

"If you're so smart then why are you even considering--"

Jeff ignored him. "The thing is I don't have anything. I don't have a gun or the knowledge. If I at least had some connections who knew. . ."

"Most people would be grateful not to have those sorts of acquaintances."

Jeff spread his hands out. "I'm desperate, Rob."

Rob sighed. He glanced from side to side. He seemed to hunch a little lower. "Look," he said. "I know this guy. He helps people. . . fix their problems. Well, he doesn't really. He just knows someone else who does. I don't really know how it works. But I directed a few people to him and I know he's helped them out right proper."

"Do you think he can help me too?" Jeff took Rob's queen.

"This stuff is illegal, Jeff. You have to be sure." Rob shook his head. "I shouldn't have said--"

"Rob." Jeff wanted to scream. He wanted to cry actually, but he wasn't going to waste time on tears. "I could pop off right now. Right here in front of you."

Rob shook his head. "Don't say--" He made some evasive move with his knight.

"Or the next hour. I might not wake up tomorrow."

"I know it. Stop reminding me, alright?"

"I've nothing to lose. Just lead me to this guy you know."

"Well, it's not like that. I'll tell him, but they'll find you."

"They?"

"Yeah, some organization."

"What's it called?"

"No, I've said too much."

"Don't clam up now."

"I mean, nobody ever says it. You don't use that name."

"Fine, Rob. Fine. But you'll tell him, right? Your friend with this connection?"

"Yeah." Rob rubbed his forehead like he did when he lost a game. "They'll find you."

Jeff nodded and slid his rook into place. "Checkmate."

"What?" Rob examined the board then rolled his eyes. "Here I'm worried about you and the law while you capture my king! Some friend you are, Jeff, some friend."

"I told you. I'm too smart to let them catch me."

"I hope you're right."

__________________________________________________________

The man climbed into the backseat. He asked for Wormwood Street.

Another jilted lover. Jeff couldn't stand those. He glanced at photo of Jen and Allen on the dashboard.

But this man had more to live for than some lost love. He reeked of a cologne that Jeff had smelled on some banker before who clearly spared no expense for anything. Not to mention the guy's wrist watch. He was rich and yet had a live-with-mum air about him.

So at least the man wouldn't have asked for the bridge like that other. . . Jeff shivered involuntary. That had been a very bad night.

No. Don't think like that. He had to have the nerves of steel. He was practically about to commit suicide, right? That organization had yet to find him, but when they did he'd have to completely commit.

For Jen and Allen.

Well, if they found him. They hadn't yet. Maybe this organization wasn't as big a deal as Rob made them out to be.

"Wormwood Street, at your request, sir." Jeff stopped the car.

The man got out. Before Jeff could tell him his due, the man handed him the money and an envelope. A small smirk played on the man's lips. Everything about him changed, his behavior, his stance. He didn't seem much like a jilted lover anymore.

"Say hello to Robert for me." And the man left, just like that, into the fog of London.

"Oh?" Jeff turned the envelope over in his hands. Nothing was written on either side of it.

Once at home, Jeff with a cup of tea and stared at the letter. He took a breath. He was going to do this. He picked it up.

For Jen and Allen.

The author of the letter had been waiting a very long time for someone like Jeff. Someone to enact his opening move. Someone brilliant enough. Someone unnoticed enough. Someone desperate enough. And preferably someone with no history of crime. Jeff matched all criteria. Well, except for maybe that one time he set off firecrackers during a funeral. Age fourteen.

How did they know about that?

The author was most inspired by Rob and Jeff's little chess games in the park. While the author explained the plan, Jeff couldn't help smile. He nearly let his tea get cold. That'd be a shame.

But this? Brilliance! Jeff had never thought of killing before. It made him a bit squeamish to think about. Violence wasn't his thing. But it wasn't exactly killing, now was it? And there was no violence involved either. This was the biggest stroke of genius Jeff had seen in a long time. He had to be a part. All he needed was to keep his wits about him. Ha, he could do that!

Of all the things, the organization would pay him to kill. It'd go directly to an account set aside for his kids, because, yes, the author knew about Jen and Allen too.

He said they were doing well.

He said Jeff would receive what he needed very soon.

He said to burn this note after reading it. Jeff had expected no less.

He also said to sprinkle the ashes off the side of the bridge to show his acceptance of this game. They would notice.

Strange. Clearly, the author had a touch for the dramatic, but so be it. Brilliance and imagination had a way of going hand in hand. Or was that genius and madness? Whatever. Was there a difference?

The author mentioned that this game, Jeff's game, was intended to catch the eye of a one Sherlock Holmes. The author was a big fan. "Be wary of Sherlock. He'll notice you."

Lastly, he signed it.

_________________________________________________________

 Jeff trudged up the apartment stairs. He dug in his pocket for his keys.

It had been a week since Jeff had sprinkled the ashes off the bridge. He had received many queer looks from people. Looks that had said, "See up there? What's that funny little man doing?" Jeff wasn't senile. He might have an aneurysm, but he wasn't crazy. Though, he was beginning to wonder if the letter was a huge hoax.

No, they knew about his children. This couldn't be a hoax, right? If it had been, then why?

Because someone was bored. Obviously.

Jeff sighed and opened his apartment door. The door hit something solid. He stepped inside and glanced around for intruders. The place looked most normal. Except, a package lay on the floor. Hm.

Inside the parcel was two bottles and a business card. Well, it looked like a business card. But there was no address nor phone number. Just that unmistakable name. 

_____________________________________________

"Who do we trust even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?" - SH

Disclaimer: It takes place in London, so I apologize if there are American terms in there. I tried to stay away from anything I thought would sound out of place, but as I've never been to the UK, it was hard to know.

I was really nervous about this because of the setting and, gosh, it's bad. Too much telling and it feels pointless.

Also, I have never written fanfiction. Although I've heard that's how some people first get interested in writing. But it seems like all of you like Sherlock the same as me. So I hope you enjoyed this!

Have you ever written fanfiction? What is your favorite BBC Sherlock episode? (Mine is the Hound of the Baskervilles.)

A Study in Dialogue: techniques from Sherlock Holmes

Do you know what happens today? The Sherlock Christmas special plays tonight! To celebrate I thought I'd finally post something I've been mulling over. 

I adore the BBC Sherlock, so last year I finally started reading the original stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (really, his name is a mouthful though). There have been many Sherlock adaptions, especially in recent years, and trust me the originals do not disappoint. In fact, it fascinates me to see Sherlock's origins in comparison to the many versions of both character and story that exist today. 

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One thing I noticed about the story is that Sir Doyle ('scuse me, sir, do you mind the abbreviation?) often uses dialogue as a way of telling us what's going on in the story. 

No, not that bad form of cheating where the characters talk about things they both know of simply to inform the audience. 

I mean things such as:

"And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory."  

Sherlock Holmes, The Noble Bachelor 

by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

 

Instead of leaving off the dialogue to go into a whole: 

"Brrring! 

There was the bell. Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson's rushed footsteps padded to the door."

Sir Doyle has Holmes abruptly interrupt his own conversation to mention the ringing of the bell. The reader understands that someone has arrived without being taken step by step through all the specifics. 

Also, the part when Holmes asks Watson not to leave with the most specific words, "Do not dream of going," implies that Watson has readied himself to leave. Sir Doyle evokes the image of Watson preparing to leave through Holmes' dialogue. We can see it without a tedious narration of it. 

 In fact, we can image it in our own fashion, whether Watson has gathered his newspapers together to leave, or has already stood from his chair, is left entirely to the reader. 

The latter example could be my own supposition, but:

1) In the books, Watson always believes Holmes will not wish him to hear the client's tale. 

2) Many of the old television shows, that follow the original story closely, always show Watson preparing to leave with similar dialogue (this is a common occurrence in the Holmes series).

3) Holmes' mind works so fast, it makes sense that in writing there would not be enough time for a narration of the action coupled with Holmes' verbal observation/request. (Although this may be debatable as it is told from Watson's viewpoint.)

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4) Sir Doyle's frequent use of this dialogue trick makes me think he's using it with real purpose. 

Either way though, I don't often see this used in books today. It's not good to use it very often, of course, as it is better to show things. But it can be very useful, especially in writing from a deep level of POV. 

1) It helps keep things concise, if you're going for a short story (like the Holmes series). 

2) If you're character's mind jumps from one thing to another abruptly, there may be little time left in between for narration. 

3) It can give the impression that the character is talking fast.

4) Also, a character will talk like this if he is very distracted and/or experiencing sensory overload (this has my life written all over it). 

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5) If the characters are so wrapped up in conversation that they only absorb the their environment as an afterthought and so mention it in their dialogue. It's the old, delayed reaction sort of thing (again, this is me to an embarrassing degree).  For instance: 

 "That's very fascinating indeed! Didn't the doorbell ring?" 

 4) It's useful when you do not want to, or it seems unrealistic to, continually "place" your characters. The whole "he went to the door" or "he saw the flowers," can get tiresome as far as narration goes. Showing it through dialogue can mix it up a bit. For instance if you originally had one character seated then he says something to the effect of, 

"'Oh, let me get the door for you.'" 

We know without you telling us that he's now getting up and going to the door. Then you don't have to go through the charade of:

"He stood and dashed to the door." 

Again though, conveying the action through dialogue leaves the image up to the readers. Some will see him dash in a blunder. Others will seem him athletic, and so forth. . .

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 So if you want to show us exactly how he went to the door and opened it, then you'll want to narrate it. 

"He dashed smartly to the door, polished his knuckles on his shirt, and finally opened the it with a cocky bow. 

'My lady.'"

It all depends which way you wish to go with it. I hope this was informative or helpful. It's at least fun to experiment with:

"Yeah, here'd be good." They set it [a table] under the window. "Nudge it against the wall some more. Yeah like that."

(My characters say "yeah" a lot for being in a fantasy.)

____________________________________________________

 I hope you get to watch the Sherlock Christmas special. I'm pretty much like: 

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So have you read the Sir Doyle's originals? What are your favorite Holmes adaptions whether books or the screen? Any recs?