Still Not Dead

Just busy and haven’t had time to write much in the past few weeks. Been obsessively worldbuilding, though, in between things. Here’s a map I drew.

It’s only as detailed as my current needs — like, really there’s sovereign borders and railroads and more than three cities, but only like three of the cities and so far zero of the railroads really matter to the plot. (I shouldn’t promise not to come up with a train chase/escape scene for later, though. that’s a good idea. huh. the map is helping.) I haven’t marked the protagonists’ travel path either, but if you play connect-the-dots with the landmarks I’ve bothered to mark, you’ll get the idea.

It’s been a busy summer but I will get back on the writing wagon as soon as I can. Right now, I’m going to bed. I love you all.



Writing This Novel Feels Like Playing Jenga

I don’t have a whole lot to say about this blob of prose. Frankly I am just throwing it up here for the feeling of accomplishment a blog post gives me, after spending weeks obsessively restructuring. But if you were thinking to yourself “boy, i’d love to read an enormous scene-and-a-half of character and culture establishment that I might recognize from a previous version, and then critique it on pacing and tone”, well then today is your lucky day.

Over 6K words following the jump.

Continue reading “Writing This Novel Feels Like Playing Jenga”

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”

Revised an earlier section, but that’s boring for you, so instead here’s this drawing and I’ll see you next week

I was revising this section yesterday, but I’m still not quite settled on it so I’m not gonna bore you with it right now. I’ll just leave you this small bit of in-progress description and this matching sketch I apparently drew a while ago. See you next week, if the muse pleases!


the pillars (466x640)

The pillars were a landmark, visible against the sky from the far side of the Bridge. They stuck up from the hill rather uncomfortably — like ribs from a butchered carcass, Billa often relished pointing out. Tedis thought of them instead as a row of giants standing in file to watch all the coming and going below. The five huge stones, capriciously balanced atop a line of weather-carved stone pedestals, would be their heavy misshapen heads. They looked every moment as though about to topple. It was uncomfortable to stand too close to them.

The walk was less of a walk than a climb; the hill was rough and steep. But with each other’s hands to lean on Tedis and Ghavan managed it quickly. They paused only a moment in the shadow of the largest pillar to catch their breath and bearings, and to glance down at the truck looking tiny as a toy below them. Then they skated quickly down onto the sand pit, getting sand into their boots and not bothering to mind very much because ahead of them lay the crater.

The hollow was almost unrecognizable. The bushes that dotted it, which should have been buzzing with fresh blooms this time of year, were blasted and black. Black rays of scorched sand fanned out across the sand a hundred feet wide and at the center of the burst, a glossy pit of hot glass crackled out the remnants of some immense heat. The air rippled and shimmered.

And in the bottom of the pit, tipped over in the ash, was Something…

The beginning of a beautiful bromance

I’m back! So are Billa and Victor, and snark, and tea, and alcohol. (Coffee for me, of course, because Panera.)

Read this (if you haven’t already) and then you can segue right into the continuation of that scene, below.

Roughly 1500 words following. As always, bolded words are placeholders for words that sound better, or will once I think of them.

Thanks guys. Enjoy. 😀

Continue reading “The beginning of a beautiful bromance”