As an inspiration to myself, here's a tidbit from an ENT story I'm procrastinating on:
Trip leaned against the cool stone pillar and stared out over the Vulcan landscape from under the sheltering shade of a massive rock ledge. From this lofty vantage point he could see several small towns spread out below the mountain and, farther in the distance, the hazy spires of the capital city, Shi’Kara, wavered in the mid-day heat. A transport ship, nearly invisible against the sky because of the distance, slowly and laboriously lifted from the western edge of the city and into the atmosphere.
Behind him, just inside the temple’s entrance, he could hear the Vulcan priest saying something to what was left of the… he frowned. What had T’Pol called it? A kat’ryar, kat’ritan? He grimaced. Honor guard. That’s what it was - a Vulcan honor guard of dignitaries for a tiny innocent.
Oddly, the thought didn’t bring a tear to his eyes. Ever since that private moment in T’Pol’s quarters – was it really only six days ago? – he hadn’t felt the urge to cry, though he was beginning to wish he could. He shifted uncomfortably against the pillar at the thought. It wasn’t an inability to feel something that was bugging him; in fact, it was just the opposite. Since just after the meeting with the Coalition representatives, he’d felt weary and worn out, but on edge. The same sort of anger that had bubbled up inside him after his sister’s death was threatening to do the same now and he didn’t know what to do. He acknowledged the baby’s death. He’d cried. He’d talked to the psychologist from Starfleet Medical. He’d done the social rituals for two different cultures – two different species if someone wanted to get technical about it.
He glanced back over his shoulder. The Vulcan priests hadn’t seemed to know what to do with him, other than to acknowledge his presence and part in the ritual as the baby’s father. Now that it was over, they spoke to T’Pol. Trip’s gaze shifted from the tall, severe looking man in priest’s robes to T’Pol’s pale face. Part of him thought he should be there, by her side or even in front, shielding her from others. But another part of him realized that she needed this contact with other Vulcans, to deal with this in the way that Vulcans dealt with this sort of thing.
He closed his eyes and tried some deep breathing. He was beginning to appreciate the quiet way Vulcans grieved. Frankly, it was a welcome change from the countless “I’m-so-sorries” and flowing tears that had dominated the past week. Sorry didn’t make it better. Neither did the rituals and the fire pits, but at least the Vulcans had let him be.
And here's a bit from a
Sherlock story I'm procrastinating on:
John placed his hands on the boot of the car, evenly spaced and with just a little pressure, as if he was trying to keep the vehicle from lifting off the group. He took a deep, calming breath, letting his chin drop to his chest.
“I said I was sorry.” But the tall black-clad figure behind him who spoke the words didn’t sound very sorry to John’s ears.
So John said so, in as even a tone as he could muster under the circumstances. “You don’t sound sorry.”
“And you sound angry.”
Well and so. John looked up, took another deep, breath calming breath… and then vented anyway. “You’re the one who drives!! How could you forget the petrol?! You! You, who remembers every seemingly insignificant detail of a crime scene!" He paused only long enough to take in more air. "You do realize we’re at least 200 km outside of... anywhere!”
“263."
“Right. Yes. Thank you for that.” John smacked the boot of the car once and stepped to the side. “263. And the nearest train station is?”
"And they're not insignificant details,” the other man said tightly, ignoring the question, "That's the point."
I swear, I will get at least ONE more paragraph on something, anything, written before the end of the week.
Posted: Fri Jun 05, 2015 8:03 pm
I've missing your stories.
You're doing an excellent job of contrasting Human and Vulcan cultures. And poor Trip. He's trying to pull himself together, but he still seems a little lost.
I can hardly believe it. Now the beta may tell me it stinks and it's back to the drawing board, but at least I've tried. If only I was a good a writer as I am a procrastinator. 
). But I am happy that I wrote a new chapter and that I have an awesome beta.