dragonyphoenix | Writing Exercise: psychic distance

So I was playing with Gardner’s psychic distance example, turning it into a writing exercise. I took a scene and tried writing it at each of his psychic distance levels, planning to compare each new scene. It didn’t work out the way I’d expected. Instead of ending up with four (I left one level out) comparably written scenes, they kept getting better. I’m not sure if that’s because the final levels are easier or if I was editing as I rewrote. Anyway, here’s how it came out.

First Draft

Wesley walked to the basement library quietly. He'd thought about tiptoeing, but he had every right to review any book in the house, and besides he was fairly sure Faith, with her Slayer senses, would hear him. The tome he pulled out was a copy of an ancient scroll, an artifact from an Etruscan civilization whose people had inexplicably vanished centuries earlier. Unfortunately Etruscan wasn't Wesley's strongest language. He thought about his Etruscan to English dictionary, the one sitting on a shelf in his bedroom. It would probably be easier to sneak the tome into his bedroom rather than bringing the dictionary down to the library. There was less chance of getting caught if he was only going one way.

1: It was winter of the year 1853. A large man stepped out of a doorway.

Wesley's steps on the stairs were firm and precise, until the sound of a fist hitting a punching bag emerged from the training room. He stopped and listened for a moment before proceeding more quietly than before, as if even his steps might be heard through the closed door.

The library was empty, and he shut the door quietly, careful not to make any noise. He didn't even look at the books, but instead opened a large drawer, pulling out its contents. He gently sorted through the ancient papers, choosing one from close to the bottom of the pile before carefully returning the rest to the drawer. He scanned the writing on the scroll and then glanced up toward the ceiling. He winced as he rolled the scroll into a loose cylinder and checked the hallway in both directions before tiptoeing back up the stairs.

2: Henry J. Warburton had never much cared for snowstorms.

Wesley Wyndham-Price, concerned that he might be heard, tiptoed down the stairs. Pausing, he listened to the sound of a fist hitting a punching bag and wondered if he could make his way into the library without getting caught. He had every right to be there, but preferred to keep the course of his investigations to himself. Ignoring the shelved books, he opened a large drawer, pulled out a stack of scrolls, reading through each and finally selecting one near the bottom. He thought about fetching the Etruscan-to-English dictionary from his room, but preferred not to be caught with the scroll. It would be better by far to take the scroll upstairs where he was unlikely to be interrupted.

3: Henry hated snowstorms.

Wesley listened closely to the sound of fists hitting a punching bag as he tiptoed down the stairs. Just as he pushed the library door open, the sounds stopped, and he froze, waiting in near terror for Faith or Cam to find him, not that he didn't have every right to use the library. He could hear murmurs coming from the training room. Apparently they hadn't heard him.

The library was cool and quiet, as if even the murmurs from the training room were not intrepid enough to brave this scholarly place. While the shelves held a variety of fascinating tomes, some which he'd never had a chance to read before being dragged to Taylor's home, Wesley went straight for a set of long drawers. He opened the third from the bottom, pulled out a large stack of scrolls, and started searching through them, carefully lifting each one and setting is aside before looking at the next. After reading over a scroll from the middle of the pile, he set it aside before putting the rest of the scrolls back into the drawer. He looked down at the scroll and then up toward the ceiling. His Etruscan-to-English dictionary was upstairs in his room. Should he bring the dictionary down here or take the scroll up there? He didn't want to get caught with the scroll but was more likely to be interrupted in the library. Wesley winced as he rolled the scroll into a loose cylinder, assuring himself that he wasn't, in truth, damaging the scroll. He listened at the door and then opened it, looking down the hall in both directions, before making his quiet way up to his room.

4: God how he hated these damn snowstorms.

Wesley heard a fist hitting a punching bag and froze half-way down the stairs. Damn, he hadn't realized Faith would be training down here. The sounds continued, punches from the training room and then a low muttering. She must be talking with that woman Mr. Taylor had brought in. Righteous rage brewed in his heart, bubbling up and spilling over. They had no right to take his place in that manner or in any manner really. Feeling even more justified in his decision to keep his research to himself – the Council would surely listen if he was the one who found the demon – Wesley continued down the stairs, tiptoeing this time.

The library felt like a haven. Surrounded by the scent of ancient books and the feel of the library, Wesley let his cares drift away, but only for a moment. He had his duty to think of, and it would be much easier to perform without the interference of Mr. Taylor and his associates. If he was going to convince the Council that he was mature enough to bear the responsibility of training the Slayer without outside help, then he needed to identify this demon on his own.

The man with the dog had mentioned a white worm, what he had thought was merely a dream, but Wesley wasn't so sure. There was something out of Etruscan mythology, but the tome Wesley had read it in was in England, safe in the Council library. Wesley wanted to be certain he was on the right track before calling for confirmation. Mr. Taylor had a scroll, of Etruscan origin, here in the library. That would be a more appropriate place to start.

On one side of the door was a set of long drawers. He opened the third from the bottom, pulled out a large stack of scrolls, and started searching through them, carefully lifting each one and setting is aside before looking at the next. After reading over a scroll from the middle of the pile, he set it aside before putting the rest of the scrolls back into the drawer. Leaning over the scroll, he started reading through it, but almost immediately pulled back with a jerk. Etruscan had never been his strongest language. Should he bring his Etruscan-to-English dictionary down here or take the scroll upstairs? He gave a glancing thought to working in the library, where anyone could barge in without even a token by your leave. No, that wouldn't do at all. He would never be able to explain why he was looking at such an obscure text. The research had better be done in his room. Wesley winced as he rolled the scroll into a loose cylinder, assuring himself that he wasn't, in truth, damaging the scroll. He listened at the door and then opened it, looking down the hall in both directions, before making his quiet way up to his room.

Snow. Under your collar, down inside your shoes, freezing and plugging up your miserable soul

Ooops, missed this one somehow.

Second Draft

Hearing a fist hitting a punching bag, Wesley froze halfway down the stairs. Damn, he hadn't realized Faith would be in the training room. Hearing a low muttering, he realized that woman, the one Mr. Taylor had brought in to take his place, was down there as well. Even though he was alone on the stairs, Wesley stood up taller, determined not to let this betrayal of his office get to him. If anything, this reminder merely strengthened his resolve to investigate the demon on his own. Once the Council saw his competence, they would call off this charade.

For Wesley, libraries had always been a haven, a place to escape the drama of day-to-day life and soothe his soul. No matter how he was mocked outside of the halls of academia, inside a library, Wesley was at his best. The man he'd met earlier, the one with the dog, had given him a clue, one that Mr. Taylor and his associates didn't have: a white worm. The man had thought it merely a dream, but Wesley thought otherwise. There was something out of Etruscan mythology, something read decades ago and barely remembered, tickling at the back of his mind. Unfortunately the original tome he'd read was back in London. While he could call and have the Council librarian investigate the book for him, Wesley wanted to make sure there was no doubt who had identified this demon. There was a scroll, here in Mr. Taylor's library, that might provide the information Wesley needed, proving once and for all that he could handle his Watcher duties all on his own.

To the left of the door was a cabinet with a set of long drawers. He opened the third from the bottom, pulled out a stack of scrolls, and started searching through them, carefully lifting each one and setting it aside before scanning the next. After finding the scroll he'd been looking for, in the middle of the pile, Wesley set it aside before placing the unused scrolls back in the drawer. Leaning over the table, he started reading through the Etruscan scroll but almost immediately pulled away with a jerk. What was that ideograph supposed to mean? He wasn't quite certain, and unfortunately his Etruscan dictionary was upstairs in his room. He gave a glancing thought to continuing his work in the library, but anyone could barge in without even a by your leave. No, that wouldn't do at all. Dissembling had never been his strong suit. This was an obscure text, and any excuse he came up with for reviewing it would be seen through at once. The research had better be done in his room. Wesley winced as he rolled the scroll into a loose cylinder, assuring himself that he wasn't, in truth, damaging the ancient text.