For those who sent me messages, here ya go! 🙂
Note 1: I shortened the questions.
Note 2: Is it just me or does this guy not know how to pronounce DuchoVny?
Q: Are you doing what you went to school to do?
D: Well those programs are not really Fine Arts programs, they’re not writing programs. It’s more like studying to become an academic or a professor and teach literature rather than write it so I don’t know if it’s exactly what I set out to do as a career path, but it certainly was in the ballpark.
Q: How long did it take you to write this book?
D: Well I wrote it as a screenplay over 10 years ago and it kinda has been languishing in a drawer and I decided, after I wrote a novel called Holy Cow a couple of years ago, I realized that I could do it, that I could sustain a novel. That I could write like I thought that I might be able to. I always loved the story and I hadn’t been able to make the movie so I turned it into a novel in about six months probably. The funny thing there’s interest again in making it as a movie so it might turn into that in the end.
Q: Basically asks him if he went with Holy Cow first (which David already said!).
D: They were both ideas that I had conceived of as movies because that’s the business that I’m in. I hadn’t thought of myself as a novelist so Holy Cow was an animated film idea that I had and I decided to do that one first because it felt kind of liberating to kinda write for a younger audience. I felt like I wasn’t being that serious or maybe I might escape some harsh judgement. You know with the fact that I was writing in a genre that might not be taken as seriously as literature and then the Bucky effin Dent was always one of the favorite stories that I have ever come up with. I had the screenplay in a drawer not the novel. Turning anything into a novel from another form is not as simple as it might seem so it did take a while and it grew and it became somewhat different story in the transformation from screenplay to novel.
Q: What did you like so much about making this story?
D: Well you bring up the point. It is set in ‘78 and the charade that Ted the son is able to do for Marty the father which is kind of create this news bubble around him where if the Sox lose they can fake a newspaper or he’s got some tapes on VCR of the Sox winning that he can fool his father. Now obviously in today’s world that would be an impossibility, but when I started to actually think about the nuts and bolts of how and if this guy would be able to fool his father, luckily for me 1978 was the first year that VCRs came out on the market so Ted has a prototype of the VCR and when the Sox lose he’s able to put in a different tape of the Sox winning so that’s how he tries to save his father. But obviously at some point the dad figures out what’s going on and his health deteriorates. There’s a couple of reversals and turns that gets them to the playoff game and the final out and Bucky effin Dent hitting that fateful home run.
Q: How do you feel about what people have said about your work?
D: That particular book was reviewed very well so you know I tend to not read reviews of acting or anything that I do. I prefer not to read reviews, but in the book world it’s kind of a smaller publicity world than obviously movies or television so it’s really review driven so I was interested in reviews hoping that I would get some good reviews so that we could then alert some other people that it was getting good reviews, etc. So I was happy. I was happy that people seem to get what I was trying to do and they were moved by it. My intention in writing the screenplay first and then the novel was to… you really write an old-fashioned book or movie to where you’re moved to laughter and tears. I think that’s the story that I set out to write.
Q: Which one do you do best of the three? (Act, sing or write)
D: I don’t know. I’ve certainly acted longer, or I’ve probably written longer than any of it. But you know, they all come with different sets of challenges. I’d say with music that I’m probably the least developed of any of those things, but then again that brings with it the excitement of learning new things, of being a beginner so I don’t know what I’m best at. I think I enjoy doing them all.
Q: This guy’s got no problems. He’s made it. His life is complete. Am I wrong?
D: Well I mean, it depends, you know. In many ways life is complete but I just- I don’t wanna see it that way. I just see it as, you know, those were like seasons as an athlete, a job that I had. We had a good year, a bad year. But to me life is really about trying the new things and it’s not something about proving myself, but really enjoying myself and continuing to express myself. I also have a family so that completes my life in a completely different way. I’m grateful for the successes I’ve had and yet it’s still fun to try new things and even failure can be a great teacher.
Q: What do you want people to take away from the book.
D: I’d like them to laugh out loud and I’d like them to cry at certain points. I’d like them to have an experience. Baseball is like… My own son is gonna be a better player than I ever was. He’s got a rocket for an arm. He’s a pitcher. It’s a way to talk about other things, it’s a way to talk about stuff, but communicate and spend time. It’s just kind of a wordless… it’s a long game. It’s a game of silences and it’s a game of lulls. It’s not action-packed. It’s like bursts of action. So there’s a lot of time to talk in between. Even like when I was in high-school, and this was before call-waiting even, this was like when you monopolized your one telephone line, I remember watching a ballgame with a buddy of mine, him on one phone in his apartment in New York and me in my apartment, two hours on the phone mostly silent just watching the game and making the occasional comment. With baseball you can do that.
Étiquette : thank you for this!
When the Ink Dries III
Rated: Explicit with a warning for self harm references.
Notes: If you haven’t read the previous chapters, go here. Also on Ao3. This is (apparently) a novel length fic so you might want to set aside a minute. Thank you @icedteainthebag for making me earn this one, @holdthiscat for speedy and insightful feedback and @gazeatscully for your endless encouragement and eagle’s eye proofreading.
****
Chapter 7
Stella Gibson didn’t make a habit of watching people sleep.
The last time she’d done it was years ago, a prolonged jag that resulted
in the purchase of three new sets of bed sheets, a zealous effort to fight
memory with thread count. She’d traded one vice for another, would spend
the rest of her life quietly indulging a weakness for pima cotton and crisp
corners, a penchant for Italian linen and French embroidery. But it would
be a long time before she settled in beside someone to wait for their eyes to
open, the sleep-boiled scent of peaceful slumber coming off their hair, the
fragile spot on their neck pulsing with life. There were some luxuries
she simply couldn’t afford.It still brought Stella a twinge of private embarrassment to recall
it so well. Bridget sleeping on her stomach, dark hair always parted
around her pear-shaped ears, clinging to the mattress like a frog in a
rainstorm with her lean swimmer’s leg zig-zagged across the mattress.
Stella would stay in bed tiptoeing her fingers up the crease of a
quadricep, stroking an ear to its sylphan point. And long after the woman
was gone, the lightning bolt imprint of a leg split the bed down the center,
the new sheets continued to bunch in an invisible hand – fleeting images mistakenly
committed to permanence by an overly ambitious pair of eyes. It was a
nuisance but not a surprise. The only other bedroom vigil she’d ever kept
had left an even more indelible impression – a child standing graveside, puffy
lavender rings sprouted like violets around her eyes, watching her father be
put in the ground.So by the time Stella woke up next to Dana Scully for the second
time in her life, she was so practiced in her abstinence that it took hardly
any discipline at all to direct the day’s first glance upward, aim her plans at
the ceiling. Shower alone. Allow guest to wake and begin
gathering own conclusions. Emerge dressed, provide tea and
friendly conversation, make end as forgettable as beginning was not.She licked her lips before turning over, sealing her resolve like
an envelope.
Three years old
– Part 1 –
It took David a full five minutes to figure out what was happening. Which was kind of embarrassing if he considered that his clever three-year-old probably didn’t even need half of the time to come up with this brilliant, almost oscar-worthy plan to make a theatrical entrance. And to fool her parents.
He woke up to her kicking at the covers beside him. Then there was some of the usual rustling and just when he thought she was about to climb on his chest and wake him with a sweet “It’s my birthday, Daddy,”, she crawled towards the foot of the bed and, almost as quiet as a mouse, slid down to the floor.
Now more than curious of what was going on, David opened his eyes and slowly turned his head to the side, catching a brief glimpse of a rustled blonde head in a pink jumper quietly opening the door and slipping outside. And then complete silence.
Weird, David thought and waited. And waited and waited and waited.
After a couple of minutes, he heard a quiet voice coming from outside and some scratching on the wall. It almost sounded like she was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and talking to herself. Almost as if… as if she was waiting for something?
And that’s when David realized what was going on.
As quietly as possible, he scooted closer to Gillian, who was resting on her side facing him, still soundly asleep. “Hey, babe. Wake up,” he whispered and slid his right arm around her warm waist. “Gillian, wake up.”
“Hmm?” she hummed approvingly and blinked herself awake only to see him putting his index finger against his lips to sign her to stay quiet. She looked at him in confusion and mouthed a silent “what?”
“Listen!” he said, and looked at her expectantly while listening to their daughter’s sweet little voice coming through the gap.
“Is she sitting in front of the bedroom door?” Gillian asked in a confused whisper after awhile, eyes still only half open and eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah,” he nodded and couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing her. She was so unbelievably soft and beautiful right after waking up.
“Why?”
“I think she is trying to make us believe that she hasn’t slept in here tonight. And a few days ago, she told me that she’s going to be a big girl now and that she would start to follow the rules.”
“What rules?” she slurred, getting more confused by the second. She remembered some rules somewhere in the back of her head, but had their daughter ever followed one of them?
“Just wait and see!” he said and turned onto his back. And then, a big, hearty yawn came out of his open mouth and he stretched his arms and legs so that the sheets were rustling.
Barely five seconds later, as if she’d waited for the slightest sign that one of her parents were finally awake, there was a soft knock on the door, and suddenly Gillian remembered one of their rules: knock before you come into Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom after the birds started to sing outside. She had never acted on that rule before.
It was absolutely hilarious, and Gillian had trouble holding back a bark of hysterical laughter. This little girl was truly a blessing.
David grinned at her knowingly and waited five seconds before replying with an extra-tired “yes?”. And almost in the same moment, the door was pushed open and in walked a beaming, three-year-old Eaden.
Gillian wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen such a big smile on her daughter’s face, and there sure had been a lot of big smiles in all those three years now. She looked so proud and adorable walking towards the bed in a confident, bouncing pace.
“Hey,” David greeted her exuberantly and held out his arms as she climbed up the bed, and pulled her on top of him. “Good morning, beautiful. Where are you coming from?”
“From outside!” she said proudly and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, as if she was waiting to see if her parents would look through her little plan or not.
But before Gillian or David could say something, she apparently decided to change the topic to more important matters. Excitedly, she looked between her parents and suddenly threw her arms in the air.
“It’s my birthday today!” she called out and kicked her little legs into his pillow.
“What!” David looked at Gillian in feigned surprise.
“Daddy! Mommy! I’m thwee!”
“Oh my god! Happy birthday baby girl!” Gillian said cheerfully and put her arm around her daughter to pull her down for a big kiss. “Wow! I can’t believe you’re three years old now!”
“Happy birthday, Eaden!” David pulled her into a bear hug. “You’re such a big girl now! We love you very, very much!”
“Yeah,” Eaden nodded and rested her head on David’s chest, grinning at her mother. “And I know the wules now!”
Gillian chuckled and let David pull her close to them. “You know the rules now?”
“Yes! Do I get my pwesents now?” she asked and put her fingers into her mouth, suddenly concerned if her efforts were enough to be that “good, well behaved girl” who earned herself all those presents she’d asked for. Although she wasn’t sure if it was enough for that little brother she’d desperately asked for, but certainly for the pack of chewing gum.
“Yes, baby,” Gillian smiled affectionately and stroked a few strands of hair behind her daughter’s ear, fighting hard to hold back the tears. “Let’s go downstairs, have your birthday breakfast with all the things you like and open up all those presents waiting for you! How does that sound?”
Eaden smiled happily and flung her arms around her father’s neck. “Like I’m a veeeery good girl!”
« i’m gonna do this. » gillian says and she laughs, holding her phone. david freezes and his heart starts beating faster. « oh no, you’re not. » he tells her seriously, which makes her laugh even harder. « gill, give me the phone. i mean it. » « no. » « gillian. » « david. » she dares him. she’s looking into his eyes and she’s daring him. she’s waiting for his next move. he doesn’t know what to do. he seems helpless. he looks at her and he begs her with his sight. she doesn’t give in. only laughs louder.
“gillian, give me this fucking phone. let’s forget the whole thing and make sweet and tender love.” “no.” “okay. let’s make hard and fast love.” she laughs again. he loves her too much. “it’s tempting but no, thank you.” “gillian, i’m begging you. i’ll do anything you want.” “anything?” “yes.” “alright… you’ll go to baftas with me. you’re gonna be holding my hand, you’ll be smiling at me and you’ll kiss me in front of the crowd.”
he doesn’t have to think about it. they’ve already discussed it. they both decided that they’ll come out once they both feel ready. seems like she does so he’s got nothing left to lose. he looks at her and sees that she’s not joking. he gets serious, too. “i’ll go to the baftas if you marry me.” “what?!” “you know how i feel. i know how you feel. we both want this to be forever. i can kneel right now or at any other occasion. you just have to say yes.” “i’ll say yes if you move in with me.” david thinks about it. he knows it’s not impossible anymore. his kids are grown up, they’ll be still seeing him over the weekends, he may get used to the rain and weird accent. “i’ll move in with you if you agree to do more x-files.” “oh my god, are you serious? david, we’re too old for that shit.” “speak for yourself.” “i am. i’m tired. i’m old and i don’t want to wear that terrible wig ever again.” “so no x-files?” “no.” “okay, i won’t move in with you.” “okay, i won’t marry you.” “i won’t go with you to baftas.” “i will post that photo of you!" david freezes again. she’s laughing again.
"alright” he sighs. “let’s take it slow, step by step, okay? you won’t post this photo, i’ll consider going as your plus one. you’ll consider marrying me. and now you’re gonna put that phone away and get naked again.” she agrees. when she lays on his chest she smiles. “you know i wouldn’t post that picture in the first place, right?” “what?” “i wouldn’t. you’re too cute to share."
(i got carried away and it doesn’t make sense, sorry :D)
–
Oh my god! It’s so sweet, and also, what the hell was on that picture????!!!!
all is good.
for @schmoopielove.
the smell of freshly brewed coffee and scrambled eggs
the sweet taste of orange juice and your lips
your skin so soft against my touch
your whispering responses as i kiss your body the way you love it the most
the moment before you totally lose it
the fact that you cross the ocean to fall into my arms
the moment when we get lost in each other
when you lay naked next to me and you breathe in my american air
when you tell me you love me
the lazy moments when we sit on my balcony and watch crowded central park
the crazy mornings when you want to cook me vegan breakfast
when you step into the shower while i’m there
when you hold my hand and promise to never let go
when i write songs about you
that’s when i know it
i know the whole truth
that all is good