I Might?

I am currently entertaining the notion that this story would be better served if we met (character) before being sideswiped by (event), rather than allowing (event) to push characters together in what I suspect would be a dishearteningly mercenary way. So I’m backing up and trying out an alternate beginning, and a character introduction that’s more character-driven than plot-driven. I expect I’ll flail around trying various versions of The Beginning until I exhaust myself, or until every successive attempt has become so similar that they all converge.

I hope.

Continue reading “I Might?”

I’m Not Sure About This

The wind had changed.

It carried the snap of gunpowder in the nose, the smear of soot in the mouth, the grit of boot-churned loam between the teeth. The new wound in the skin of White Ridge bled watchful danger into the air.

News streamed downwind.

As night fell, insects began to creep back over the sand and bravely tap, tap, tap the cooling ground with outstretched feelers. They tasted fire. They picked their way on.

Two Beasts climbed the rise slowly, side by side and silent. They placed themselves down at the base of a pillar. Their long bowed limbs went still as stone, one by one, and the darkness dissolved their shapes amid the jumble of wind-torn rock. They disappeared. They watched and listened.

The old smells of sand and bush were burnt, smeared over with mankind’s smell. The ground was squared and cut and tied in pieces by rope and flag.

Voices floated in the air, the colors of storm and stress. A dog barked. Steam of stew, kerosene fume, rattle of chain, jitter of screwcap. Tiny lights bobbed in the sand pit. Boxes, hinges. Click of locks. Click of gun.

Sky pieces they had, picked from the mountain’s scar, laid out side by side. Metal cold now but still smelling of strange heavenly fire. Glitter of edge, hum of electric lamp. Human eyes scanned the ridge and the sky, human heartbeat fluttered. Slow steps and a thumb on a holster.

A gunshot shook the air, and the bones in the chest, but without pain. A whistle far afield. Shouts. The two Beasts huffed steam into the air, and took the hint, and retreated behind the pillar.

A keening was in the wind. A warning.

The Beasts’ clever fingers twitched for the hinges, locks, twisted glittering edges, glass and iron and the metallic dust of stars. Number and fire and metal may belong to man, but star and mountain and wind did not; and bent blade, rusted pipe, smoking coal and broken bottle always fell to the right of the toughest grip willing to hold them. Let the men scrabble and count for now.

The Beasts looked over their shoulders, then melted down from the ridge and were gone. They took the news with them.

They would wait. They would not wait long.

From the Process

I have written SO MUCH for this project in years past — back before I’d thoroughly workshopped my plot, back before I’d even thought of many of the more important plot/theme elements; back when it was really just a setting and an assortment of characters bonking into each other and angsting their way toward something resembling a plot.

Here’s a scene from the cutting room floor: Victor’s original introduction. Enough has changed since I wrote it that, as a scene, it no longer fits — but there’s lots I still like about it and hope to reuse in some way. I think it does a decent job at implying the cultural setting, and the style and tone feel pretty close to what I’ve since consciously settled on, which is reassuring, and the characters and their personalities have remained consistent (except the broker, but who cares, he’s a throwaway character for expository purposes).

I spent my writing time this weekend pulling apart my plot so I could put it back together again (there was too much macguffin hot-potato and it was contrived and confusing, i thought) so I haven’t got any new prose for you (yet). I will soon. Meantime, here’s this.

Continue reading “From the Process”

It’s Finally Andar

Perhaps it was foolish to try and introduce a character smack-dabbus in the middle of an action scene involving bomber planes and explosions?

What I have finally banged out, here, may be finally working, though… I hope. I’d love to hear what you think of Andar now that we’re finally sorta meeting him, and whether you think this introduction gives you a distinct glimpse and some new questions (or whether it’s just hitting you as “…k”). Also (if you’ve read any of the lead-in to this scene) I’d love to hear whether the catching-Andar-up conversation is really just so much redundant overexplained plot-rehashing. ‘Cause if it is, I’mma fix it.

Roughly 1700 words following.

Continue reading “It’s Finally Andar”

Maybe NOT spelling static phonetically after all

Static is a key player in this scene, though.

So yeah, I reworked that scene wherein Tedis and her dad drive out to investigate an apparent UFO landing site and have unfortunate interactions with both an extraterrestrial THING and a pair of trigger-happy bomber pilots. Various things have changed and I will not bore you by enumerating them; if you’re up for reading a pile of text that you maybe kinda already read… here’s the actual scene for you.

Slightly under 2K words after the jump:

Continue reading “Maybe NOT spelling static phonetically after all”

The fire is probably a metaphor

If you’ve been following the blog before now, I apologize but I’ve skipped ahead again, like way ahead, to a scene that was more entertaining. So whatever questions you might’ve had from earlier sections … keep hanging on to them I guess?

I should point out that it’s daytime in this scene. Billa is sleeping through the whole conversation, not because it’s nighttime, but because he’s hung over from the whiskey that got him through some rather severe emergency field surgery, because uh… because I said so. More on that later. (He’s gonna be fine.)

Anyway, here follows some characters clumsily banging their way around philosophy and myth and race relations and sexual tension. It may be painfully cheesy: please tell me where it hurts, I’m never offended by criticism, I’ll settle for “slightly better than Anakin telling Padme why he hates sand”.

Roughly 1300 words following.

Continue reading “The fire is probably a metaphor”

back on the train, choo choo (lord willing)

March Forth! I have now twice officially Left the House in order to Sit Alone and Uninterrupted with my Novel-in-progress for Two Consecutive Hours. Meaning no disrespect to the two-year-old, and with deep gratitude expressed towards the husband, It Has Been Awesome. Words have been written. If I continue to do this regularly (current thought is, once a week), someday I’ll have a finished novel. Right? Right. Here’s to it.

As proof and for purposes of personal motivation, and for your entertainment if you like, here are today’s Words.

Roughly 1200 words following. (Four hours!! I don’t want to think about how long AN ENTIRE NOVEL will take me, at that rate. La la la.)

Continue reading “back on the train, choo choo (lord willing)”

Passenger

OH, here I am, a day late and a dollar short —

rather, a month late and about 500 words too many —

but here I am regardless, as always eternally grateful for your patience (Josh’s especially), with the second piece of flash fiction I’d promised as a prize for winning my contest back in April. (Claire’s is here.)

This one’s credited to Josh and his prompt:

Orange was the color of madness. Prying off lids, they found fifteen were blue. The sixteenth stared back in the maddest orange imaginable.

I took it in a weird direction. Weird is my favorite direction.

A bit over 1.5K words following. I hope you enjoy!

Continue reading “Passenger”

The Game (Something Different)

Here’s the Something Different I promised you!

Actually, only about half of the Something: see originally, the plan was to write one piece of flash fiction for one winner of my FB contest, but because I have so many creative friends, I received so many brain-fudging writing prompts by the end of this contest that I had to throw the plan out the window and pick TWO winners (and even that was difficult to narrow down) and write TWO things (like I have time for this! eh, it’s my drug) —

so here is the first —

It is called The Game, and I credit it to the illustrious Claire and her writing prompt:

“Unhand the shampoo!” barked the man behind the gun.

Roughly 700 words following.

Continue reading “The Game (Something Different)”