Dickensblog

Fanfic challenge: Something new

Time for a new fanfic challenge! Your assignment: Write a story based on a Dickens novel that you like but have never written from before. (Characters that you wrote about in the group fanfic don't count; you can have written a scene with, say, Estella for that one, and still write a Great Expectations story.) It can be as short or as long as you like. I'm going to do an Our Mutual Friend story (just as soon as I finish a David Copperfield one I'm working on!).

By the way, this reminds me: I never gave the name of the novel I quoted from in the crossover challenge! It's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë.

Brought to Life: The two-part finale event, part 2

The second part of the two-part finale of our story has two parts. (You may have to think about that one for a minute.) Nina has written the final chapter (of which you read the first part last week), and I've written a short epilogue that will immediately follow her installment.

It has been a very great pleasure working with all of you on this story, and I think we should all be proud of what we've done! I hope we get to do it again sometime.

And now for part 2 of Nina's final chapter.

***

A great metal beast is the steam engine, tearing its way through the countryside, shrieking and clattering, leaving trails of evil black soot in its wake. How appropriate, then, that it was the chosen conveyance of Messrs. Pecksniff and Heep, as the sun rose once more, as they stirred from their lodgings with their companions, brought their deceit and falsehood along for the ride, and wound their way upon a clanging serpent into the hallowed cleanliness of the English landscape.
 
***
 
A little copse had been selected as the site—Jenny, unbeknownst to Mr. Dickens’ band, had been in possession of a map which she had observed covertly, and thus had been able to direct their rivals to this secluded place of advantage on the skirts of the Crossroads Inn. “This way, we can save you from public shame,” quoth Miss Wren, decisively, to Miss Trotwood’s satisfaction.
 
All of that group had traveled together—even Mr. Guppy, because Ada had protested it would be uncharitable to leave him behind in his condition. Though the knowledge that he’d been placed in Mr. Woodcourt’s especial care would likely have deathly mortified the law clerk. In fact, that young gentleman actually opened his eyes near the end of their journey. In his half-stupor, he could observe a tattered greyish sky over his head, and wondered what atmospheric complications had rendered such a singular firmament. Further studying told him it was in reality the dingy roof of a closed carriage, which induced him to wonder what he had gotten himself into. All of a sudden, he heard voices all around him.

Brought to Life: The two-part finale event!

Have we been watching a little too much TV around here, or what? :-) Nina is writing the two-part finale of our Dickensian group fanfiction. The first part is below, and the second part will run next week, after which I will wrap things up with an epilogue. So I guess that really makes it a three-part finale, technically, but I don't think epilogues count as actual chapters.

ANYWAY, without further ado, here we go!

***

“The end of all is near.” So Madame says. So she knits into her cloth, like some Fate conjured from the ancient worlds, some enchantress working an evil will upon her rivals. The humble milk cart stops in front of a fine brick establishment in London town.
 
A golden-haired girl flies into the arms of the boy who loves her; “Richard, you are safe!” Ada cries, and he replies, “Indeed, but there are greater trials ahead—I pray I have the courage to face them!” A stately gentleman, with a wild beard and flashing eyes, introduces himself to a huddled group of young men; “My name, sir, is Nicholas Nickleby,” one of these begins—“How well I know it!” the author interrupts fervently. “But we must begin our plans!” A young lady with rich brown hair and an emerald dress surveys the proceedings with a harsh eye—and instantly notices the ashen face of a bound Bradley Headstone. “I suspect you are regretful of the part you played in this?” asks Sydney Carton, appearing at her shoulder. And finally, a benevolent old man rushes to learn the fate of his presumed manservant, who lies faint in a puddle of curdling milk. “Oh Sam, Sam,” Mr. Pickwick cries, wringing his hands in distress, “If only you weren’t so blasted ornery!!”
 
Thus the reunion of the two parties, thus the beginning of the end, and Madame, recording the company’s plans and correspondence as a scribe of old, knits on.
 
But suddenly, amidst the hurried sketchings of possibilities and schemes, Miss Betsey’s voice rises, creaking like a crazy old door, above the din. “Where,” she asks imperiously, in a voice severely constrained so as not to show emotion, “is the child?”

Brought to Life, part 8

This part is by Christy. Join me in the comments section for a discussion of how the next couple of installments should be parceled out as we move toward wrapping things up!

***

Our story must now return to the person with whom it started—not Mr Dickens, but Miss Summerson, for without Esther’s sudden appearance in Dickens’ reading, his life would have gone on as usual. Under the protection of Mr Pickwick, Esther and Ada Clare went out into the new morning, in haste for Nicholas Nickleby’s house. The two beautiful girls (for beautiful Esther still was, despite all disfigurement; no change of face could hide what had always made her truly beautiful) had never before experienced such a journey of haste and hiding, such looking out for pursuit, such worry for the ones left behind. Despite all bluff Mr Pickwick’s reassurances, Ada clasped her hands before her in terror for Rick going on to confront the villains, and Esther—did she, in her heart of hearts wish Allan Woodcourt had never been drawn into the fray, out of his rightful story?

Brought to Life, part 7

This part is by Nina. Christy, I think you're next, correct?

***

We, as travelers through the universe of pen and ink, must leave Mr. Guppy in this terrifying force of literary villains to return to the author of all the chaos, Charles Dickens, whom we must admit was feeling very dull and boring in the midst of all the action and personality of his characters.  "I always fancied myself as an interesting sort of maverick," he thought, a bit sullenly, as the carriage rumbled dully upon the cobblestone streets, but as he glanced out of the window and saw all the other flesh-and-blood, ordinary people, he felt so much more like one of them—normal, nondescript, commonplace—than he had in decades, since he had first introduced the world to Mr. Pickwick—who just that morning was sitting right across from him, stuffing a pipe!  "The world is indeed upside down," Mr. Dickens came to the wise conclusion, when his glance fell upon Miss Betsey Trotwood and her companion, Mr. Dick, shoved into the corner of the cab but looking oddly comfortable. 
 
Miss Betsey hadn't spoken a word, but had sat rigidly throughout Mr. Dickens' reverie.  Mr. Dick kept casting furtive glances at Richard, and had attempted to give Jenny an apple he had had in his possession, until she nearly snapped his hand off.  Mr. Dickens sighed, not without a tinge of fear for their destination, causing the old lady to rapidly dart her head in his direction.

Brought to Life, part 6

Here's my chapter. Let us know if you want to write the next one!

***

“Not one other word did Bradley utter all that night. Not once did he change his attitude, or loosen his hold upon his wrist. Rigid before the fire, as if it were a charmed flame that was turning him old, he sat, with the dark lines deepening in his face, its stare becoming more and more haggard, its surface turning whiter and whiter as if it were being overspread with ashes, and the very texture and colour of his hair degenerating.”
 
As the words rang out in Estella’s clear voice, they seemed to be reflected in the silent figure sitting before her. That lovely young voice might have been the voice of a magician working Bradley Headstone’s doom upon him, the words shriveling him into the gaunt shadow of himself.
 
“Not until the—” The voice broke off abruptly as the reader was jolted by a sudden bump from behind her. Dropping the book on the table, she whirled to face the man who had stumbled against her. Her delicate brows drew together in a look of scorn at the luckless fellow, who stepped back at the sight.

Brought to Life, part 5

This part is by Marian (and is also posted here). I'm up next. Let us know if you want to write the part after mine!

***

“It was yesterday evening when it all happened. I had just been over to visit Caddy—Mrs Turveydrop—and I had taken my leave at about half-past seven, much later than I’d intended. I walked down to the end of the street directly and waited there a moment, ready to hail the first cab I saw. I’d not been standing five minutes, however, when a boy in a ragged top hat appeared very suddenly, from out of nowhere, as it seemed. He came up to me in a cautious, fugitive sort of way, and startled me further by speaking my name.

“‘Yes, I am Esther Summerson,’ I said. ‘And you—’

“‘Feller by the name of Allan Woodcourt sent me. Said I’d find you here.’

“‘Mr Woodcourt?’

“‘Hush! it ain’t the time for small talk. Come on—if we don’t get out of here sharp, we’ll find ourselves in a pretty pickle!’

Brought to Life, part 4

This installment was written by Nina. Marian has signed on for part 5 (Marian, please confirm this), and I'm taking part 6.

***

When one is faint, one engages in the most absurd contemplations.  This is why Mr. Dickens wondered vaguely, as he was towed along the street by the two Bleak House gentlemen, why Mr. Guppy had such a very hard time holding up the author’s right side, and kept dropping him, to Richard’s worried exclamations.  Of course, it must be admitted they were all rather shaken by their circumstances -- as Mr. Dickens was too weary to explain, the newcomers had been informed of their odd existence by Jenny, who always kept her wits about her as though she packed them in a little reticule.  Ada and Richard understood her, as astonished as they were, but it had taken near a quarter-hour before Mr. Guppy could be made to comprehend.  He had kept on saying things like “under law” and “habeas corpus” until he almost felt Jenny’s wrath a la Steerforth.  Finally he nodded and said “So THAT explains the curious and erroneous terminology hitherto employed in the conversation,” but still no one was sure he entirely fathomed what was going on.

At length, Mr. Guppy cleared his throat and began making diverse preparations for, Mr. Dickens deduced, a speech.  The author decided then and there that never would he write such a talkative person again.

Brought to Life, part 3

This part is by Christy. Comment below if you'd like to write part 4!

***

“It is a smashed carriage!” a second strange voice called. This one was definitely the voice of a young man.
 
By now Dickens thought he had had quite enough of young men appearing mysteriously and troublesomely in his life, but a man’s assistance would be welcome. “Do help us!” he shouted. “We are three, all quite trapped, and I am not certain as to my companions’ well-being! Nor my own, for that matter.”
 
“I’m unhurt,” piped up Jenny Wren’s little reed of a voice, “except my legs are queer and my back’s bad, but that’s not the carriage’s fault.”
 
Someone was pulling bits of carriage off them, throwing splintered boards aside with a cheering vigor. “Everything will be all right, I am quite sure,” the young man said. He put out his arms and lifted Jenny and her stick right out of the wreckage. “Ada, do look after this little girl.”

Brought to Life, part 2

Here's part 2, by Lydia. I've decided to put each installment in a separate post, and create a new tag so you can still read them in order if you want. (Sorry for all the mind-changing -- I've never posted a group fanfic before!)

And now we need a writer for part 3, so please comment below if you want to be that writer -- and ideally, if you can provide an installment by next Friday.

***

Dickens looked around.  Shaken, dismayed, and a little disturbed at what had just happened, he was stuck.  What was he to do now?  Where should he go, who was it that had the key?  Mr. Dickens held his head.  What a day this had been!    

Suddenly, without any warning, a carriage came flying down the cobblestone street towards where Mr. Dickens was standing.  Mr. Dickens quickly stumbled out of the way.  As he looked up at the carriage that had nearly taken his life, he saw a person in the back of the carriage glaring in his direction.  Red hair, pale skin and tall…could it be?