tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1807489012298254792024-02-20T22:58:15.109-08:00Writ in WordMy attempt at making words work for me.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-19442494140361991002013-11-28T21:15:00.001-08:002013-11-29T11:26:55.133-08:00Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge: Part UnoThis week, and for the next several, Chuck has an experiment going where you write 200 words of a flash fiction. Each week you will select another story and add 200 words to it, building a flash fiction in five part from (theoretically) five different authors.<br />
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Chuck's blog is here - <a href="http://www.terribleminds.com/ramble/blog">http://www.terribleminds.com/ramble/blog</a><br />
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<b>The Tunnel</b><br />
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The tunnel shook again, small cracks creeping through old masonry, and Nora grabbed onto Billy to keep her feet. Jack was trying to urge Marie forward but he couldn't get her to stop crying. Nora didn't blame her, the whole thing was terrifying and nobody had a clue what was going on. They'd pushed forward through the old river tunnels after their normal entrance collapsed and now they were down to two flashlights.<br />
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"Are those bombs?" Jack asked, his voice cracking from the dust in his throat.<br />
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"Who would bomb fucking Trenton? We have like two thousand people in the whole town." Billy snapped back. Nora swept her light ahead, a large metal door at the end of the hallway coming into view.<br />
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"What then? An earthquake?" Marie managed between sobs. Nora stepped back and grabbed Marie's other hand, finding it slick with blood from the fall.<br />
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"No, honey. We're nowhere near a fault line." she replied, doing her best to sound comforting.<br />
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"Shit, man. This is fucked," Jack moaned, his bravado fading. "I just wanted to smoke some pot and get laid..." He fell silent as the door ahead of them suddenly creaked and began to swing open.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-43204950850926927762013-11-05T14:03:00.003-08:002013-11-05T14:04:05.514-08:00Seattle Visit Day #2: Caffeine A-GogoSo, today wasn't particularly eventful. I had intended to begin <strike>begging</strike> looking for jobs today but I was too lagged and sick from the flight. Instead, I picked up some cold medicine and watched horrible movies all day on Netflix. So, now seems a good time to start my coffee roundup.<br />
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<u>Coffee Talk</u></div>
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The term coffee talk here is a misnomer. I hate coffee. If you drown it in sugar and milk I can stand it, but I don't think it even qualifies as coffee when I alter it that much. I do, however, love tea. Chai tea in particular. In my search for the best chai options in Seattle, I've visited four places. I will be using the CtS scale for measuring these places. The Compared to Starbucks scale exists because Starbucks is where I usually pick up my chai options in Florida and therefore I can make them the baseline. Starbucks will get 3's in all categories to make them the absolute average for comparison.</div>
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Eltana:</div>
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Not a coffee house, but I did try their chai tea when I grabbed a bagel the other morning.</div>
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Space: 5/5. They have a lot of room here, a dozen tables and counter space that can accomdate a large crowd.</div>
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Amenities: 4/5. They post a puzzle every week for their customers to work on, which is a nice time waster.</div>
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Chai: 1/5. Terrible. Practically water. I can't fault them too much. They are a bagel place, after all. But man, this was god awful stuff.</div>
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Black Coffee Coop:</div>
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Space: 4/5. Big area here. Couches, tables and counter space to accommodate the writer crowd. The place feels very open. They do share a bathroom with the lounge next door, which could be a problem on a busy day.</div>
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Amenities: 5/5. So much to do. Shelves full of books, newspapers and board games make this an ideal hang out for a lazy Sunday.</div>
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Chai: 5/5. Exceptional blend here. Not too strong, but enough flavor to keep me coming back. This is the kind of thing I would buy on a regular basis.</div>
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Stumptown:</div>
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Space: 3/5. A few tables and small counters. The building is small so it's not a good socializing point.</div>
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Amenities: 1/5. Get your coffee and go, really. If you like metal they were blasting it but if you want to focus on something else you'd be hard-pressed.</div>
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Chai: 4/5. This is good stuff, but situational. The blend is strong enough to feel it in the back of your throat, so a bit more than I want. If I needed a kick-in-the-mouth morning pickup this might be the blend of choice but for most days I would probably opt for something smoother.</div>
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Analog Coffee:</div>
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Space: 3/5. About the size of Stumptown but better layout. More counters keep the walking area pretty clear.</div>
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Amenities: 3/5 Some books on the tables and free wifi give this an average rating.</div>
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Chai: N/A - Ok, this place doesn't actually have chai but I'm mentioning them anyways. I was cold when I got here and I wanted a warm drink, so I went with a chocolate latte and it was really good. On my coffee scale I'd say a 4/5. Not too much coffee taste after a bit of honey and milk. Honorable mention for doing well at what they do.</div>
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It's interesting to me that all the coffee shops around here have simple syrup available at their fixins counter. I've tried it and I think I prefer it to honey or sugar. It definitely mixes better, given it's composition, and the sweetness isn't as shocking.</div>
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Tomorrow I will talk about my first job walk-ins and mass transit.</div>
WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-37660525418493274132013-11-04T10:51:00.001-08:002013-11-04T10:51:15.103-08:00Seattle Visit Day #1: Slopes and Grades<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxmXPkZad5p0tOGssVrn7WGj_HOonPZZML0mj4DJilaSATGvysKlxmVTS91tOpjApOO95vNo-712J0MmRpGx5Erpive-tB-eMb7Jdi84gtXJHrEHuwvV05_p9V-k0scFLjbLOKc20I8I8/s1600/IMAG0149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxmXPkZad5p0tOGssVrn7WGj_HOonPZZML0mj4DJilaSATGvysKlxmVTS91tOpjApOO95vNo-712J0MmRpGx5Erpive-tB-eMb7Jdi84gtXJHrEHuwvV05_p9V-k0scFLjbLOKc20I8I8/s320/IMAG0149.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
It is a balmy 47 degrees in Seattle as I step out for my wanderings. Sunday, the day of rest, and a good first day here as it will allow me to acclimate without worrying about job hunting. My first goal is to connect where I am presently staying with the area I remember from previous visits on my mental map. It is evident that fall is turning into winter as I wind through the narrow streets.<br />
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Those colored leaves indicate seasons. Florida was never much for having seasons beyond Summer and Not Summer. Back on the subject of narrow streets, my god...two cars could barely pass one another on these roads and people park on both sides to form this narrow channel that you'd have to navigate. Seattle is not a huge driving culture, though. I've passed more people walking here than I'd see walking in Florida in a year. The weather is much more accommodating too it, though. You don't die of heat stroke after ten blocks. More on mass transit and biking in a later post, I think<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-l69WRnP3HoqT2L5cqY8m-8-hgLG_L4wtzzZhxtfaQ8aCCODNg5DXBphmA-RUd_49u4cNJzCRgBTcTpmJZjXGSSSSf4DqReC-qTCPmtUYXb-Q-ZbWV9UPPsQQEJJbxIayWhlM28eLJ374/s1600/IMAG0150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-l69WRnP3HoqT2L5cqY8m-8-hgLG_L4wtzzZhxtfaQ8aCCODNg5DXBphmA-RUd_49u4cNJzCRgBTcTpmJZjXGSSSSf4DqReC-qTCPmtUYXb-Q-ZbWV9UPPsQQEJJbxIayWhlM28eLJ374/s320/IMAG0150.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This picture shows more of the seasonal look for Seattle but it doesn't convey what I am aiming to show. This street is at a steep grade, like many in Seattle, and hiking up that sidewalk was a chore. If I'd known I was taking this trip earlier I would have gotten back into running to build up leg strength. Even in my underprepared state, though, I didn't find the walking to be unbearable.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnEFdubprk8qn0z2HZc-yO8kSPGcfjHrbretrv8wSiDDbEuipeQ0njtdgykfOJcHe1RzlP5_wBokQsiRzLHuxqNdhGa3n5PoHQtik6lwwtwPbX4rdlzZ6pzeZf-BBw7EikDn9DYog_6-e/s1600/IMAG0151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnEFdubprk8qn0z2HZc-yO8kSPGcfjHrbretrv8wSiDDbEuipeQ0njtdgykfOJcHe1RzlP5_wBokQsiRzLHuxqNdhGa3n5PoHQtik6lwwtwPbX4rdlzZ6pzeZf-BBw7EikDn9DYog_6-e/s320/IMAG0151.jpg" width="177" /></a></div>
This is something you see a lot of in Seattle. Parking is a real pain in the ass because the city isn't exactly rolling in space. Most of the buildings are multistory for that same reason. So this is another downside to owning a car here. Not only do you have to pay to park in a lot of places but most residential buildings also have a monthly parking fee associated with them. No thank you.<br />
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After about fifteen minutes of walking I came across an area that looked familiar. Sure enough, the campus for Seattle Community College in Capitol Hill was my first landmark. From there I followed the streets I recalled until I found Pine and spent a few minutes walking through Cal Anderson park. A soccer field, tennis courts, a fountain. Very relaxing stuff. Public works is big here and it is nice to see that the parks are well maintained. From there it was just a few blocks to my first stop of the day. Eltana.<br />
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Eltana serves wood-fired bagels with a variety of interesting spreads. Sweet and savory options line their board and they change frequently. After running through a few fruit blend options, I settled on a salt bagel with the caramelized onion hummus spread. Excellent choice. Too bad the chai tea didn't exactly hold up. More on that in my first Coffee Talk later this week. Check out that bitchin' flannel that some awesome people got me.<br />
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From there I wound my back down Pike and stopped at the QFC to pick up some groceries for my stay. I intend to eat one interesting meal a day while I am here so that I can showcase some of the excellent restaurants around. That said, I'm also not a millionaire so my remaining meals will be Banquet frozen dinners and cereal.<br />
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On the way back I passed the Raygun Lounge. This is a gaming lounge set up by Gamma Ray Games, a local RPG and board game store. They have a nice drink list and the store itself was staffed by friendly folk when I was here last. I will have to stop in this week and check it out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiee48hPKSxYl7wnA6n-7CC0DNqoGuPY02oSZu5vVRUWhswelUKMjXonuRdKYhet_s8kY64gbDO9517YqrXAClctQlM40wWDdgGYkLBK9poQ7t-BpIQeHrj8TjJekL6l6rlAbv2k8u4_2W9/s1600/IMAG0154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiee48hPKSxYl7wnA6n-7CC0DNqoGuPY02oSZu5vVRUWhswelUKMjXonuRdKYhet_s8kY64gbDO9517YqrXAClctQlM40wWDdgGYkLBK9poQ7t-BpIQeHrj8TjJekL6l6rlAbv2k8u4_2W9/s320/IMAG0154.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No sun in Seattle, eh?</td></tr>
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All told I probably did three miles in my wandering today. It didn't feel like three miles but my legs might disagree in the morning. Sadly, I feel like I have a cold coming on from the stupid sick children I got stuck next to in the airplane. I never seem to make it through a flight unscathed in that sense. Southwest does have nice seats and plenty of leg room but if you get stuck in a C boarding phase you are not going to like what kind of seating options are left to you.<br />
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On the weather, it was dry all day today. Rain is supposed to come late tomorrow afternoon, so we'll see. Even with the temperature in the low forties I never felt cold. A heavy sweatshirt or a light jacket kept me comfortable. I brought gloves and a hat just in case, and the temperature is supposed to drop over the weekend so that may have been smart, but even in the colder weather on my previous trip I never felt miserable like I do in Florida heat.<br />
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Oh, right...so to conclude.<br />
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The rest of the day was spent getting settled in at the apartment. Having realized on my walk home that <a href="http://www.inthebowlbistro.com/index.php">In the Bowl</a> was only 3 minutes from where I was staying, I couldn't resist. Below, I present you with my dinner for the evening. Pumpkin curry, melting culture and a thai iced tea. And yes, I made my wife watch me eat it over the computer because I am just that kind of a jerk.<br />
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WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-51755174216569882552013-08-09T08:59:00.002-07:002013-08-09T09:10:34.234-07:00Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge: The Devil's DoorstepThis week's challenge is to create fiction in a -punk genre, preferably one that hasn't been done before. I give you hellpunk, a world of stolen energy and malicious invaders.<br />
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Chuck's blog is here - <a href="http://www.terribleminds.com/ramble/blog">http://www.terribleminds.com/ramble/blog</a><br />
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<strong>The Devil's Doorstep</strong></div>
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"The most important thing to remember here is that lunch is from 12 to 12:45, no earlier and no later. You follow, rook?" Rory paused his brisk pace to glance back over his shoulder. The new guy was right on his heels, nodding and tugging uneasily at his loaner uniform.<br />
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"12 to 12:45. I got it," he replied as Rory started moving again. "But my name is Greg." Rory waved a meaty hand at that.<br />
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"You're rook until you get through the probationary period. I've seen too many fresh-faced kids wash out to learn names any earlier than that." They stopped next to a facility map mounted above a water fountain. Rory tapped the display and it zoomed in to follow his motions. "Main entrance is here, where you came in. We came this way through the locker room." Greg tapped a large room in the center of the image.<br />
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"Is that..." he began, only to have Rory cut him off.<br />
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"Central siphon and storage. That's where it all happens, and where it sometimes goes wrong." Rory took a moment to look the kid over. No more than 23, probably fresh out of vo-tec. "You understand your job?"<br />
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"Maintenance and containment. Fix what's broken, trap what gets through." Greg said, his face lighting up and then falling in response to Rory's stone faced stare. "Right?"<br />
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"That's a textbook answer, rook." Rory said, stepping away from the map and moving down the corridor. "We're dealing with dimensional exchange. We're sucking power straight from the devil's own doorway. So yeah, we fix what breaks and we trap what gets through but that doesn't cover it. We deal with demons. Not those branded reformed types they let roam the streets. I'm talking genuine, hell-on-wheels, free-willed demons."<br />
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"Well..." Greg swallowed hard as he formed the words. "I've seen orientation sims." Rory grunted and ran a hand through salt and pepper hair.<br />
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"Sims don't bleed acid. They don't belch fire and they sure as hell don't smother you with their skin. You've seen movies, rook. Things out here are real." Greg straightened up, the oversized uniform falling limp around his shoulders.<br />
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"I've been fully trained. I scored 273 on my licensure exam." A chirp from Rory's radio ended the conversation. He tapped the button and one of the surveillance tech's began to speak.<br />
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"Hey, we've got a rank one blip in the east siphon chamber. Looks like an imp came through on the last pulse. You free to check it out?" Rory shot Greg a glance and shrugged.<br />
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"Looks like we'll see that training in action. We're on it." A second tap on the radio killed the connection and Rory began the trek towards the east wing. He didn't pause, just jumped right into the next speech. "Imps are cake. Small, quick but pretty harmless. Irritants more than anything. Pulse spikes tend to frazzle the safeguards and imps are already weak enough to slip through on bad days."<br />
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"So is this a standard incap and deport?" Greg asked, trying to keep pace.<br />
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"As standard as it gets when you deal with other-dimensionals. But yeah, we'll shriek it and toss it. Your shrieker is your best friend here. Harmless to humans, hellish to demons. Even works on devils if they aren't leeched." A flight of stairs and two left turns brought them to a pair of reinforced metal doors. Two men in black and grey security uniforms stood at either side, rifles slung over their shoulders. One nodded and worked the locks, pulling the door open.<br />
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"Don't let the guns fool you. They're here to scare away angry protestors and terrorists. A gun won't slow down a devil, andeven demons can laugh them off for a few shots." Tapping the radio, Rory cleared his throat. "We are headed in to the east siphon now."<br />
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"Anything I should expect?" Greg asked, his confidence clearly suffering now.<br />
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"The secondary siphon chambers aren't too bad but you can expect to feel some changes. Pressure behind your eyes, a cold hollow in your chest, nosebleeds...all common. If you start to feel numb head back to the hallway. Don't wanna risk a seizure in there." Rory said as he pulled the shrieker from its holster.<br />
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"Got it." Greg said, peering into the ochre glow. A push from Rory got his feet moving and they both stepped through the door. The door closed behind them with an echoing *thud*. Rory tapped his finger against the shrieker in his hand. It always reminded him of an electric razor, the kind they had before laser shavers became the rage.<br />
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"You go around the left side, I'll go right. Keep your shrieker ready." Rory said through gritted teeth. They split, each going their own way around the large central collection tank. Standard issue work boots came down loud on the metallic flooring. Greg disappeared behind the collector and Rory turned his eyes up towards the vent pipes. He spotted the torn grating easily, a perfect fit for an imp. The collector shook as another pulse rippled through it and Rory strained to listen past it. Was that a grunt? A gasp? He picked up speed, darting towards the other side of the tank. A shriek cut through the air and he circled around in time to see Greg standing over the writhing form of an imp.<br />
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"Well, well. Nice catch, rook," he said as he stepped up to them. The imp was small, a runt even by their standards. It clawed at the air as the shrieker assaulted it's heightened senses. "Keep it centered for a few more seconds." Moments later the imp gave up, collapsing into an unconscious heap. Rory took the feet and they carried it over to the deportation port. A swipe of his badge opened the eye, a shimmering oval of blue energy rippling behind it.<br />
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"One...two..." The duo heaved the body into the pool, watching it vanish in a crackle of sparks and a puff of ozone. Wiping his hands on his pants, Rory spared the new kid a smile. "Not a bad first day." Greg holstered his shrieker and started towards the door.<br />
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"It wasn't as bad as I expected." he replied. As they moved toward the door something caught Rory's eye. A breach in the separation tank, large enough to fit a human if they hadn't eaten in two weeks. The possibilities flipped through his mind and his eyes narrowed. Tapping the radio again, Rory let Greg gain some distance before whispering into the receiver.<br />
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"Central, do we have any rank 3 blips in the east siphon chamber?" A moment passed before the tech came back with a negative response. Stepping up to Greg, Rory put a hand on his shoulder.<br />
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"Looks like it's 11:20. Lunch?" he asked. Greg smiled, that same proud grin as before.<br />
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"Great. I'm starved." he replied. Rory exhaled in a sigh before smacking the wrench at the base of Greg's spine. The kid went down with a startled howl and Rory was on him in a flash, pinning both arms with his knees.<br />
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"I know you're in there kid, so hear what I'm saying. When a devil gets through it's bad business. Fortunately they can't really grasp sorting short term memory when they first leech." A flicker of violet in Greg's eyes revealed the presence of a rider. "Unfortunately, once they leech there's no getting them out." The rookie's eyes alternated between violet rage and sky blue terror.<br />
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"No...stop...wait..." It was all Greg could manage in his struggle with the monster inside him.<br />
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"I'm sorry, rook," Rory said, his voice soft as he lifted the wrench above his head. "Today just wasn't your best day." The wrench came down with a wet crunch and the screams of a thousand damned souls. Rory pushed himself to his feet, letting the wrench fall next to the twitching corpse. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smears of blood tracking his skin.<br />
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"Not my best day either."WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-23096412762378667232013-06-25T05:11:00.002-07:002013-06-25T05:12:54.803-07:00Tuesday Reviewsday: World War Z (Film)I admit to going into this film with a distinct bias. I've read WWZ a few times, being that zombies have been something of a hobby of mine since I watched Night of the Living Dead when I was ten. Those years were very formative for me and created some strong opinions that remain with me to this day. In a similar vein to how my first games of D&D cemented first edition as tops among the available options, NotLD showed me how zombies were meant to be portrayed. Plodding, mindless and dangerous in large numbers. I've adapted a bit on this in the years since, as I've found plenty to enjoy in the variety of zombies presented to us in the modern era, but WWZ as presented in the trailer seemed like too much of a jump from the source material. I imagined a series of smaller films detailing individual's experiences during the outbreak. Something similar to the interviews that made up the chapters of the book.<br />
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I can honestly say that I walked out of the theater surprised at how my tune had changed. Yes, it isn't exactly WWZ as Max Brooks presents it to us. The film follows one man as he travels the globe in search of a way to combat the outbreak and return to his family. The zombies aren't what the book gave us, and the film doesn't cover the entirety of the war, but that doesn't make it bad. It does give us the fall of New York, the Israeli quarantine and the UN presence. It isn't a perfect WWZ adaptation but it does do a number of things really well.<br />
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The film feels like one man's story, like it could fit in the novel as one of the interviews even though we see it unfold first hand. It was able to maintain that personal feel by tying the main character to his goal of returning to his family even as he flies halfway across the world. The opening scenes where he and his family try to flee the outbreak work well to cement that. The fact that he does so much globe trotting helps to show us what I always felt was the most important part of the novel; the global pandemic. We are shown how various areas of the world have fared against the onslaught and the often drastic steps they have taken to defend themselves.<br />
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Brad Pitt's performance is standard for him, so if you're a fan you're likely to enjoy it. I found the side characters that accompany him during his trip to be more compelling. A cocky virologist seeking clues, a hardened military commander who does his job, a tough but young Israeli soldier. I was interested in the varied personalities as they entered and exited the story, keeping a fresh perspective available. The movie keeps moving at a pretty decent clip, pausing only a couple of times to let the tension build again. Pacing, acting and direction are all handled quite well here.<br />
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World War Z is not a great adaptation of the source material, but it's a solid example of how one man might have experienced an outbreak. It takes liberties and I can imagine Max Brooks might have some legitimate reasons to dislike it, but it does manage to maintain that mix of personal and globe-spanning that I found compelling about his book. As far as it being a zombie film, it's among the better ones we've been given in recent years. It presents the intensity of an assault by endless waves of rabid undead more acutely than most and as a fan of the genre, I can safely recommend it.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-71439619992731612782013-06-24T05:21:00.000-07:002013-06-24T05:21:27.881-07:00Clarion Write-A-Thon VotingClarion is officially upon us, and that means I need to start putting in work. This week will be largely devoted to putting the finishing touches on a few things and getting my blog posts up consistently, so that gives us all time to do the voting I previously mentioned. To recap, here are three projects that I've done prep work on.<br />
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A sci fi/western/dystopia (think Alien meets Firefly meets Blade Runner...and they fight crime) tale about siblings who seek justice after they lose their father and their land to a corporate robber baron. This one has it all; cybernetics, alien technology, a giant pterodactyl. I am clear on where I want this story to go, but I'm sure where I want it to sit in terms of readership yet. I do feel like there is a lack of space-based Middle Grade and Young Adult fiction out there, so I might shoot for that demographic.<br />
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A crime thriller noir erotica (noirotica) about a crime family courier trying to clear her name after someone frames her for theft. This one is more along the lines of Sin City meets Red Shoe Diaries. It has everything you could want; dark streets, a cynical protagonist, steamy sex in the snow.<br />
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A southern gothic horror story about two generations of a tainted bloodline returning to their ancestral estate just in time for terrible things to occur (and some monsters, cause that's always cool). I've wanted to delve into southern gothic for awhile but I didn't have an idea that seemed to fit. You want it, you got it; ancient curses, deep south blood feuds, a drunk cousin with a gun.<br />
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So, anyone got an opinion? Drop a note in the comments with your thoughts and I will get started on the most popular option.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-5241691339694335892013-06-17T19:44:00.002-07:002013-06-17T19:44:54.344-07:00The Grand ExperimentI have been wrestling with how seriously to take writing for awhile now. I go through fits and starts, long stretches of creativity and equal gaps of suckage. People write through mind numbing, sixty hour a week day jobs and my hat goes off to them but I've never been able to manage it. I can't keep my brain rolling forward with ideas when I have a desk full of paperwork and half a dozen sites to visit. The decision on whether or not to take more time away from a paying gig in hopes of turning writing into an equally paying gig is a difficult one. I'm in a situation now where I would be able to reduce my hours and still cover my bills with my present job but I wouldn't have much else.<br />
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So, I will be using the Clarion Write-A-Thon this year as a measure of how viable it might be. Not from a monetary perspective, but rather as a productivity factor. If I can consistently produce creative work at the stated minimum of 1,000 words a day, five days a week while maintaining my current workload it stands to reason that I can put out twice as much with less work on my plate. I would need to approach writing as a job, which would mean I couldn't work exclusively on creative stuff. I'd need to supplement my finances with article writing via a work-for-hire system like TextBroker or Elance. If I can get myself into a position where I write every day and make money consistently (no matter how little), I think I can put myself on a track to something better. Something that I'd genuinely enjoy doing.<br />
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Feel free to stick around and follow my progress.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-51126937158771218352013-06-01T09:33:00.002-07:002013-06-17T16:56:31.395-07:00Clairon Write-A-Thon 2013<br />
As you may remember, last year I participated in the Clarion Write-A-Thon to raise funds for the Clarion Writer's Workshop. If you don't remember, I talked about it on my blog <a href="http://writinword.blogspot.com/2012/06/clarion-write-thon.html">here</a>. I found the experience to be extremely successful at boosting my motivation and word count. I was able to interact with a group of other writers in a team and share success stories, get helpful tips and just have it reinforced that other people struggle at this whole writing thing, too. In the end I raised a nice chunk of money for a program that I'm very excited about and got many thousands of words done on some of my projects.<br />
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So I'm doing this thing again. The same goal (30,000 words) as before, since it seemed to be a nice challenge without being overwhelming. Things kick off on June 23rd this year and run for the usual six weeks. I have a couple of possible works that I can focus my attentions on this time so I'm putting the option out there for anyone to weigh in. The prep work has been done for a sci fi/western/dystopia (think Alien meets Firefly meets Blade Runner...and they fight crime) tale about siblings who seek justice after they lose their father and their land to a corporate robber baron, a crime thriller noir erotica (noirotica) about a crime family courier trying to clear her name after someone frames her for theft, and a southern gothic horror story about two generations of a tainted bloodline returning to their ancestral estate just in time for terrible things to occur (and some monsters, cause that's always cool). You can drop comments on this blog or hit up my twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/WritInWord">here</a> to cast your vote. Don't forget to follow the excerpts I'll be posting to my profile page on the Clarion website.<br />
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So,
if you have money to spare and would like to support the efforts of
budding writers I would ask that you check out the link below and
consider sponsoring me or one of the many writers on the list. You can donate a set amount or sponsor for an amount per goal achieved. Sponsoring can be done in increments as tiny as .0001 cent per word so don't let the high word count goals scare you.
They are always looking for writers to fill the roster, too. If you have any interest in putting words on paper to tell a story this could be a good way to find the motivation.<br />
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Link here: <a href="http://clarionwriteathon.org/">http://clarionwriteathon.org/</a>WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-90338322394559905632013-04-30T08:28:00.001-07:002013-04-30T08:43:18.989-07:00Tuesday Reviews-day: Gods and Monsters Unclean Spirits (Chuck Wendig)I recently finished Chuck Wendig's addition to the Gods and Monsters line, Unclean Spirits. Wanna hear me talk about it? I knew that you would.<br />
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First I will approach the setting, as this is a shared universe in which stories by many authors will likely be told. The gods have come to Earth and strapped on human flesh. The representatives of the world's myriad pantheons are having to deal with the ultimate in 'forced relocation'. There was a good spread of deities in this book that incorporates Greek, Native American, African and even ancient Sumarian mythos. I like how this is handled, with each god retaining elements of their
original sphere of influence while still having to play at being human. There is a lot of potential here and I'm excited to see what will be done with it.<br />
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The main character in this tale is Cason Cole in the role of 'man struggling to reclaim his past'. He was well developed and I found that I was given just enough information about his past to keep me interested without getting bogged down in the details. The sections where dialogue fills in the exposition or backstory feel pretty organic and Cason's own thoughts are quite revealing in the more action-focused moments. That balance can be difficult to strike and I give Chuck kudos for it. Cason's family remain on the periphery of the story but they introduce us to two of my favorite characters so I can forgive their initial inaction. The primary villain's mannerisms were chilling and I think they'd be that way even without cosmic power at their fingertips. Well crafted characters all around, even in the smaller parts.<br />
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Anyone who has read a Chuck Wendig novel before will find a familiar voice waiting for them here. The story jumps from a brisk run to a breakneck sprint several times, sometimes giving you warning and sometimes jumping on your back and hammering you in the head without notice. The violence is well balanced, revealing a clear tableau of pain without dwelling unnecessarily on gore (though I am a fan of splatter horror films so YMMV on this). As I write this I am still able to bring up the images my mind created when I read about dying gods and creepy just doesn't cut it. <br />
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So, complaints? Well, I do have a couple. Cason's wife, while a significant part of the development of the story, just doesn't seem to do a whole lot. After an early moment of badassery I had high hopes anytime a chapter about her appeared. I admit, we do get to meet some awesome deities through her sections but she really feels like a passenger through most of the book. That is actually quite appropriate given her circumstances but it made it difficult to invest myself in her character. Kind of like Barbara from the original Night of the Living Dead, she just seems to sit on the couch and cry through most of the story.<br />
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Then there is the ending. No, this is not a "the ending was crap" situation. I actually really liked the ending and how things came together. I just felt like there was a little more story to tell before THE END popped up on the screen. Another chapter of follow up would have done wonders for my sense of completion, though as far as hooking us for another installment I suppose the route Chuck went is the better option. Any good book will leave you wanting more but in this case things just felt a bit incomplete. This could relate back to my desire to see more from the family but for some reason I just wanted a bit more.<br />
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So what am I saying? Gods and Monsters Unclean Spirits is a solid introduction into what I hope will be an extensive line of books. Well paced with good characterization and a healthy dose of the old ultraviolence, exactly what I expect when I pick up a Wendig novel. It doesn't exactly touch the bar he's set for me with his Miriam Black series but it was a damn fine read that kept me turning pages until there were none left to turn. If you like power mad gods, explosions, betrayal and internal strife I think you'll dig what this book has to offer.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-18081390614104731252013-04-29T08:29:00.002-07:002013-04-29T08:29:35.011-07:00Format Plans for WritInWordIn an attempt to devote more time and attention to this blog I am working on some possible format options to give myself some structure. Let me know what you think.<div>
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Monday: Funday - Monday's posts can be about pretty much anything recreational. I could post updates about the games I am running, fun experiences with video games I've recently had or even (dare I say it?) accountings of some of the 'out of the house' recreation I'm going to try to pursue like kayaking and dance lessons.</div>
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Tuesday: Reviewsday/Interviewsday - I'd like to try and use Tuesday to review books, film or games. This will give me more of a push to read some of the books I have on my Kindle. Movies and games can fill in between novels, and should I find someone both interesting and willing, I could also do some interviews with people to put in here.</div>
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Wednesday: Winsday - This would be something I could do as an occasional features once I gain more of a readership and get some material published. A chance for some lucky saps to win a copy of something I've created. Mensday - I could also use this time to talk about issues that directly relate to men (though not exclusively relate to men, as I honestly don't know that there are enough of those to carry the day) and discuss things specifically with my male readers. Being that I do work in a healthcare related field, I might also use this time to discuss male focused health concerns. What I'd like to do often is put in guest posts from other male bloggers.</div>
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Thursday: Hersday - The other side of mensday, I could use this day to discuss issues that specifically relate to women (with the same caveat as above). Guest posts from female bloggers would be a welcome addition here, too.</div>
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Free-ky Friday: I'd like to put up fiction on Friday. A response to Chuck Wendig's Friday Flashfiction, a chapter of my current project or even just some snippet of work that came to mind that week.</div>
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Thoughts?</div>
WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-34328891976140440482013-04-15T14:00:00.001-07:002013-04-15T21:00:54.075-07:00Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge: Civil Disobedience<br />
This week's challenge is to incorporate one choice from a list of fifteen opening lines presented by readers in the previous week's challenge. I've opted for Valarie Valdes' excellent opener:<br />
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"Once James accepted that he had no choice but to burn the books, the question became which to burn first."<br />
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I also chose to go outside my wheelhouse for this one and present you with neither violence nor death. Instead, I give you a tale of dystopian youthful mischief.<br />
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Chuck's blog is here - <a href="http://www.terribleminds.com/ramble/blog">http://www.terribleminds.com/ramble/blog</a><br />
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<b>Civil Disobedience</b><br />
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Once James accepted that he had no choice but to burn the books, the question became which to burn first. The colors on the covers weren't helpful, as each was a drab black or brown or gray with scuff marks on the corners and dust thick on the spines. Their pages were universally yellowed by age and exposure, some brittle enough to flake off when they were touched. It wasn't a question of the content, either. Like most eleven-year-olds, James had never seen the inside of a copy of A Farewell to Arms or Ulysses. In truth, the fact that his parents felt they were worth saving was the only thing he knew for sure about them.<br />
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He decided by shoving his hand into the pile and yanking out a thin, brown book. No title was etched across the front of his one. He fanned the pages and found them lined with words he couldn't decipher, just like the others. The Old Tongue they called it, a collection of languages from the times before the Ecclesiarch provided the people with a universal dialect. <br />
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"Here ya go, Magpie." he called out, releasing the book with a side-arm toss that sent it spinning across the attic and into the girl's waiting arms. She scowled but even that effort did little to diminish the cherubic nature of her features.<br />
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"I hate it when you call me that. Why can't you just call me Maggie like the others?" she asked, setting the book on the window sill and taking up a box of wooden matches in its place. A few strikes of the match set it ablaze and filled her nose with the stink of sulphur. She paused for a moment, staring at the dance of light at the end of the stick, and then tossed it into the metal wash tub. Lighter fluid caught fast, a rush of heat and then the sticks inside were burning.<br />
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"Maggie is a boring name. You're Magpie. Smart and quick and...stuff." James replied as he pulled two more books out of the pile. He weighed them, forming a scale out of his arms, and opted for the musty copy of The Great Gatsby. He gave this one an arc and it hung in the air for a moment before plummeting into the flames. Sparks kicked up in a flurry of tiny flares and Maggie covered her eyes against them.<br />
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"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked even as she picked up her book and let it tumble into the tub.<br />
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"Gotta teach 'em a lesson," he said, scratching at a mosquito bite on the back of his hand. "Besides, they don't even read these. Just let them sit up here and get old."<br />
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"Yeah but...I dunno. My grandma told me about a place they used to keep these. She called it a liberry," she said, pausing long enough to catch the next book thrown her way. "Kinda seems like they're important if your folks went to such trouble to hide them from the Censors." James shrugged at that, looking at the wall they'd had to break open to get to the books. It did seem like a lot of work.<br />
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"Well, maybe they shoulda thought of that before they told me I couldn't join the Acolyte's Choir. Anyone over 10, that's what the recruiter's say," he bristled, walking over and setting a thick tome on the edge of the tub so that it would balance beneath his palm. "My dad hates them. Calls them Loodites or something, but I don't wanna be him. I wanna travel the country with a rifle and a list like the Censors do."<br />
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"And what about me?" Maggie asked, her nose wrinkling. "My grandma loves the old books. I think they smell nice and I can even read the Old Tongue sometimes. Are you gonna put me on the list, too?"<br />
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"No way, Magpie. You can come with me and hunt traitors. You'll be better at knowing what to burn anyways." James replied with a laugh, releasing the book and letting the flames claim it. Maggie smiled, her eyes bright at his acceptance, but something inside her didn't feel right about any of it.<br />
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A sharp buzz from outside interrupted her worry.<br />
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-zzzzttt- Attention Sunnybrook residents. The time is now 8 pm. All residents must return to their homes within one half hour. Anyone caught breaking curfew will face a mandatory two month imprisonment. That is all. -zzzzttt-<br />
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The loudspeaker hummed for a moment longer, then fell silent. James grabbed a few more books from the pile.<br />
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"We gotta hurry. My folks'll be home soon." he said, concern creeping into his voice. Maggie reached out and scooped up a few more, several slipping through her arms and clattering onto the attic floor. James stopped to pick them up and when he smiled back at her she knew he hadn't seen her tuck one of the books into her waistband. She didn't like to steal from her friend but she just had to know what Frankenstein was about. It gnawed at her, teased her like glittering gold even as she tossed the other books into the fire.<br />
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<em>Maybe I am like a magpie, after all. </em>she thought, wiping her hands on her blouse as they turned to go.</div>
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WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-46768544141402088822013-02-06T06:50:00.003-08:002013-02-06T06:50:37.917-08:00Pirates who PirateToday is International Please Don’t Pirate My Book Day. It's a thing that I did not just make up. Somebody else did and I like it so that makes it official.<br />
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Chuck Wendig put up a pretty poignant <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/02/06/why-i-hope-you-dont-pirate-my-book/">blog post</a> about book piracy. In his post he links over to <a href="http://markramsden.wordpress.com/2013/02/05/shiver-me-kindle-aka-please-dont-pirate-my-book-day/">this guy</a> who also makes some good points. Giving away a free ebook with a physical book purchase isn't a bad idea. Good marketing if you can put in the time to do it. I do find myself concerned about the idea of try before you buy, though. How many people actually download a movie, book or album and then go and buy that same move, book or album because they like it? Some, I'm sure. But many?<br />
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I don't know if the people who want to test drive something before they buy it are even a double digit percentage in the group of people who torrent things. If someone already has something for free, they'd have to be a real honest type to go drop money on it. Being that I don't believe most people are honest types, I struggle with the numbers.<br />
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It does get me thinking about samples, though. When I get a novel completed I would think putting up a couple chapters on a website would be a smart move. Drug companies give samples. You get food samples at grocery stores. I'd imagine the big issue there would be dealing with a publishing company. They'd probably have something to say about you giving away parts of the books they paid you for. Perhaps that idea is best for self publishing routes like Kindle Direct.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-48369770503041216572013-01-30T13:05:00.001-08:002013-01-30T13:05:48.246-08:00Back on Track or Off the Rails?I have managed to close the gap on my word goals over the last week. I missed the Sunday check-in due to pure forgetfulness but I'll blame that on being new to the whole ROW thing. Here is where I stand.<br />
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My frontier horror story is sitting in at about 4,000 word and is nearly complete. I've done some touch up work on my colonial sci-fi story but it is still pretty rough. I'm hesitant to jump into a full edit while I am still working on the other piece. So I am a little behind but my goals gave me wiggle room so things are still alright.<br />
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Did you all know there is a fellowship contest every year for screenplays? I'm sure there are many, but I recently became aware of the <a href="http://www.oscars.org/awards/nicholl/index.html">Nicholl Fellowship</a> which awards 35,000 dollars to assist budding writers focus on their writing instead of their day jobs. Pretty sweet deal if you can put together a screenplay worth reading. I might take a run at it this year just to keep my motivation up.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-56137178263972164722013-01-24T12:19:00.002-08:002013-01-24T12:19:58.449-08:00A Day Late and 2,000 Words ShortI haven't been as effective in cutting down my word deficit as I'd like to have been. I got a fair amount of work done on my frontier horror tale but I'm still 2,000 words down from where I should be given my 1,000 words a day goal. With the completion of the stories being key to moving on to my next stated goals I feel pretty bad each day that I don't write. That said, I really feel like the story is coming together well and I suppose that is a significant part of it. Not everything can be measured in words, right?<br />
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This weekend promises to be pretty busy as I've been handed an important work project to complete by Monday. I will still need to find the time for writing, though. If I really want to make a go of writing full-time I need to look at it as a job that I can't just skip out on whenever other things are piling up.<br />
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Encouraging words, as always, are welcome.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-27199876495066876522013-01-22T21:14:00.001-08:002013-01-22T21:14:25.581-08:00Girls Not on FilmI've noticed a trend in my writing lately that honestly hadn't occurred to me until I read a rather lengthy, and extremely poignant, article on the lovely interwebs.<br />
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<a href="http://fozmeadows.tumblr.com/post/37490311593/psa-your-default-narrative-settings-are-not-apolitical">Article Here</a>. Yes, it's quite long but the importance of what it discusses cannot be understated on a blog that purports to be about writing.<br />
<br />Back on point, I went back over the unfinished works that I have in my folder and realized that I'm writing a lot about women lately. Greenhorn has a female protagonist in a setting that doesn't usually boast them. Soulless has one as well. My short piece of frontier horror fiction follows a thirteen year old girl's struggle to drag her father's body back to civilization. My colonial sci-fi piece features a female war hero turned convict.<br />
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Looking through the stories I had to ask myself if I was writing about women simply because they were women. Would each story change if the gender of the main character did? In a world where it is common to suggest that everyone is equal it becomes that much more important to remember that being equal and being uniform are not the same. Characters, like people, should be unique and to suggest that gender doesn't have an impact on our behavior and personality is disingenuous. I believe that the female perspective does bring something different to the table than the male perspective.<br />
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I'm not sure when I started to put women in the most prominent positions
in my work but I think the article makes it pretty clear that women are
horribly underrepresented in most forms of popular fiction. The fact that finding a well crafted female protagonist in a work of fiction that isn't romance or some hybrid of romance is so refreshing should be a brightly lit warning sign.<br />
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That said, it is also true that some male writers struggle with presenting the differences in genders appropriately. Some female writers are equally unable to overcome that hurdle. Perhaps it isn't a matter of difficulty representing the other gender, but difficulty with writing in general. Just because it is harder for someone to present a cross-gender viewpoint isn't reason not to pursue it. We only advance our ability by challenging our weaknesses.<br />
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I hope that my stories present their protagonists as three-dimensional, fully realized <b>people</b> regardless of the gender I've chosen. I hope that my presentation of female characters come across as believable and honest. Mostly, though, I hope that others out there are making the same efforts.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-88115637815043444642013-01-20T08:36:00.001-08:002013-01-20T08:36:16.053-08:00ROW80 Goals First Quarter 2013So I am going to try and follow the <a href="http://aroundofwordsin80days.wordpress.com/">Round of Words in 80 Days</a> system this year. I came across it through Camille LaGuire's blog "<a href="http://daringnovelist.blogspot.com/">The Daring Novelist</a>". It is a goal setting system where you choose milestones to accomplish over each 80 day period with 10 day break between sessions. You post updates on Sundays and Wednesdays, so that will give me a few more blog posts each week. It seems like one of the more manageable systems I've seen.<br />
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So, onto goals.<br />
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I am going to try and apply to the <a href="http://literature.ucsd.edu/affiliated-programs/clarion/index.html">Clarion Writers Workshop</a> this year which means this quarter is going to be really important. Work has been a real drain on my creativity recently and it is going to be a struggle to get the 12,000 words together that I need for the application. I could use some old stuff but most of my material is unfinished novels and the workshop is short fiction focused so I want to send something appropriate.<br />
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That means, at present, I need to do <b>a thousand words a day over the next two weeks</b> to have the stories done, then <b>edit and revise them</b> over the following two weeks. Ideally, I would like to get the application in before February 15th. It's going to be a tight deadline so that means less screwing off and more focus.<br />
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Once that's done, however, I would like to <b>go back to Soulless</b> (working title since I discovered that there is a series out with an installment called Soulless which looks pretty interesting) and start putting in more time there. If I can focus enough to get two stories together of around 5,000 words each, maybe I can make some headway on that project. I really like the idea behind it and I believe it will come together if I can just work on it regularly. If I take a day each week away from Soulless and devote it something shorter (I'm working on a tale about zombie hunting Inquisitors in Black Plague era Italy) then maybe I won't get so bogged down.<br />
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Lastly, I'd like to put up at least one post a week here that is not related to writing. Sunday and Wednesday will be goal posts and I am going to try and go back to doing the flash fiction challenges on <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/blog/">Terrible Minds</a> so if I pick a random topic for another day that will be four posts a week. Shouldn't be too challenging.<br />
<br />
Summary: 1,000 words a day through February 1st. Edit and revise two stories by February 14th. Apply to the Writer's Conference by February 15th. Work on Soulless through March 28th, possibly interspersing this time with Plague Dogs. Four blog posts a week on here.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-46196113826416019312013-01-01T17:28:00.000-08:002013-01-01T17:28:46.797-08:00New Year, New EffortsSo the new year is upon us and we've managed to narrowly escape total destruction at the hands of a turning age. Now is as good a time as any for resolutions.<br />
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1. Care less, write more: Ok, I need to just start writing and stop worrying about whether what I am writing is any good. Nothing is good until it's done.<br />
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2. Run, Lift, Stretch: Three days of running, two days of strength work and a day of yoga to limber up. If I am going to be active in Seattle I am going to need to get in shape.<br />
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3. Less wasteful spending: I need to revise my budget and stick to it. Saving is especially important for my plans this year.<br />
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4: Blog, dammit!: Three times a week, come hell or high water, I will put something up on here.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-33623668736720579102012-09-13T13:25:00.003-07:002013-05-02T09:33:00.820-07:00Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge: The Wrong ManThis week's challenge is incorporate one choice from each of three lists; subgenre, element and conflict/theme. I let the random nature of the dice decide my fate here and the rolls provided me with a detective tale about imprisonment involving surgery. Let's see how this plays out.<br />
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Chuck's blog is here - <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/">http://terribleminds.com/ramble/</a><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">The Wrong Man</span></div>
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It occured to me as the Pennywell Surgeon loomed into view that it often feels like someone is writing my life. The situations I've gotten into, and out of, would fit perfectly in the page of some dogeared adventure novel. It was exactly that fact that kept me from feeling fear as he tested the edge of a scalpel on his thumb. After all, when you've escaped unscathed from a mobster's basement interrogation and put a bullet in the throat of a respected political assassin, knives tend to lose their power.<br />
<br />
"Why can't I move?" I asked, testing my limbs for responsiveness. The man leaned over the edge of the pine box he'd laid me in, the overhead light casting curious shadows across his bespectacled face. He didn't look like a killer, certainly not one who'd kidnapped and harvested the organs from fourteen women in half a year's time. He was pushing fifty with a receding hairline and patches of gray in his beard. The papers had assigned him the nickname but my research had turned up the truth. Walter Demroe, board certified neurologist and surgeon, had been very careful to keep his nocturnal exploits separate from his professional life.<br />
<br />
"Simple anatomy, shamus. I've clipped the tendons and ligaments that would allow you motion in your limbs." he said, as calmly as if he were lecturing to a class. I felt my lips pull into a frown despite my effort to stay stoic. He turned away and I could hear the clink of metal tools.<br />
<br />
"Did you do this to your victims, too? Left them paralyzed while you scooped out their innards?" I asked, the disgust rich in my voice. I didn't need to know the answer. I was stalling, you see, as I'd realized he'd missed something. My right hand twitched as I struggled to move it.<br />
<br />
"Some. Others I used injected chemicals." he replied, a sigh punctuating this words. "I'm rather surprised you even took an interest in this case. They were whores and junkies, after all. The police never gave them a second thought."<br />
<br />
"They never gave me a second thought either. Maybe that's why I felt inclined to dig." My fingers balled into a fist, pins and needles shooting through my arm. I could feel the weight of my pistol pressing heavy on my ribs. I eased my hand slowly upwards.<br />
<br />
"And dig you did. I was content to let you stumble about checking bars and roughing up thugs but once you'd found my office I knew something had to be done." he said. Light gleamed off a saw as he held it up, the teeth jagged and bent. Another inch brought my hand closer to the weapon.<br />
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"So you set me up? Used my ex-wife's cell phone to get me to the park. Where is Marianne?" I asked, fingertips grazing the carved wood of the gun's grip.<br />
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"I'd imagine she's at home, sleeping off her night out with the girls. Only a careless woman leaves her phone unattended when ordering drinks." he replied, pulling a pair of gloves off his hands. He turned back to me, something gripped in his left hand, and found the barrel of my gun shaking in his face.<br />
<br />
"Sorry, sicko. Nobody's gonna take my organs." It took all the strength I could muster to level the weapon and squeeze the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber. CLICK. I squeezed again. CLICK. My strength faltered and the gun slipped from my fingers, falling into his open palm. He smiled, gleaming teeth almost monsterous in the dingy, yellow light. He set the gun aside, opening his left hand and letting the bullets slip between his fingers onto my chest.<br />
<br />
"I am not an amateur, detective. I know my craft well enough to empty my victim's weapons. Well enough to know your organs are riddled with rot and disease. Alcohol and cigarettes and putrid diner foods...you aren't fit to transplant." he said, and this time it was his voice that held disgust. As he hooked a hammer into his belt and hoisted the coffin lid I felt the bitter taste of fear. I tried to move, to kick or punch but all I could manage was a strangled scream.<br />
<br />
"No! This isn't right. My stories don't end like this!" I gasped, choking the words through gritted teeth. He stopped, light flashing across his glasses as his smile faded. In that moment his expression held only pity. I hated him for it.<br />
<br />
"Well, gumshoe, what you've failed to consider is that this isn't your story. It's mine." he said as he pushed the wooden lid into place, plunging me into blackness.<br />
<br />
As I drove the first nail in, I heard the detective scream. Those screams continued until six feet of packed earth drowned them out. I waited for a minute, trying to pick out his shouts from the wailing of the wind, then walked back up the path to the parking lot. The park was my favorite spot, so empty and sprawling in the dead of night.<br />
<br />
Brushing soil from my hands and tossing the shovel into the back of my truck, I smiled. I flicked open the zippo, taking a moment to read the inscription. <i>I knew you'd ace the detective exam. With love and faith, Marianne. </i>The flame danced excitedly until I snapped the lid closed. A trophy of a different sort from this one. There were days when my hobby felt like work but this...this was not one of those days.</div>
WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-25416761549384707312012-07-20T04:29:00.000-07:002012-07-21T11:23:50.857-07:00When it Rains, You Get WetWell, I just received another acceptance for Retention. <a href="http://www.castofwonders.org/">Cast of Wonders</a> hosts an audio webzine which will be podcasting my story in the near future. The audio part is pretty cool, as is the fact that they are paying me 5 British pounds for my efforts. I have now officially been paid to write, which eliminates my favorite excuse to not do it.<br />
<br />
My wife will be spending the next two weeks wandering the wilds of Spain, which should mostly consist of partying by night and sightseeing by day. This leaves me in charge of the homestead, a tragic turn of events for the cats. They now have to seek me out in my rare off-time to beg for attention. I think they're starting to get the point that when I'm at my computer I am too busy to pet them. Cats are smarter than they look. One of them even figured out how to twist the knobs in the bathtub enough to be able to drink from the faucet. Super unsettling. I'm going to lock up the knives.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-49957237011946146862012-07-07T08:03:00.002-07:002012-07-21T08:10:47.198-07:00Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge #2This week's challenge is to take a classic fairy tale, fable or nursery rhyme and bring it out of the past. It can be set in this century or beyond, which left me with a lot of setting potential to chomp on. It took me a bit to settle on a story but I decided that the Pied Piper needed a modern retelling.<br />
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Chuck's blog is here - <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/">http://terribleminds.com/ramble/</a><br />
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<b>The Price Gets Higher</b></div>
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"I call it Sweet Melody," Piper said as he dangled the plastic baggie over the counter. "You can smoke it, inject it or snort it. You won't find a smoother high." The boy reached out and Piper let the baggie drop into his hand, crystals bouncing around inside. The kid ran a finger over the sticker on the back side, a small gold flute on a blue background.</div>
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"How much?" he asked, straightening up and setting his face in a somber stare. Piper smiled, noticing again how talk of money always made kids try to act older. This one couldn't be but 13 but he was trying to project a businessman's aspect.</div>
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"The first bag is free. Call it a sample. Don't worry, though. It's the cheapest drug out there." Piper replied, rising from his chair and walking around the counter with his usual bouncing step. The boy looked uneasy, glancing through the shop window and back to the baggie. Piper laid a hand on his shoulder, urging him towards the door. "Go on. Tell your friends." As the boy pushed the door open and stepped out onto the street, Piper heard music from a passing car.</div>
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<br />
<i>Take on me...take me on...</i><br />
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His eyes narrowed at it, a sneer on the corner of his lip. That song was like an obsession to people these days. You couldn't even go an hour without hearing that shrill refrain. Piper crossed to the door of the shop and swung the sign to read 'Closed'. Across the street he could see the brick facade of the Hamelin Arms projects. He watched the children milling about the sidewalk, acid washed jeans and leather jackets and boom boxes. As he made his way back to the stock room he paused to snatch a baseball bat from one of the shelves. The tag, which read 'Piper's Pawn - $2.50', peeled away from the chipped surface.</div>
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The door swung inwards and the dim glow of an overhead light illuminated the figure in the center of the room. The man was heavy set under workman's overalls, but the chain that bound him to the metal chair was the most prominent feature. Piper let the door swing shut behind him, stepping over and kneeling next to the man.</div>
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"You know, Marcus, I find that this decade doesn't sit well with me. The music, for one. So lacking in any true effort," Piper said. Marcus looked up, one eye swollen shut from a previous beating. "Despite that, I do admire how easily this generation's children are taken in by a quick fix for their unfortunate situations."</div>
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"Fuck you." Marcus spat, blood on his lips, though the words came out slurred. Piper frowned, his lips narrowing to a line, and he stepped back a bit as he tested the weight of the bat in his hands.</div>
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"You did, my friend. You and all the other parents in the Hamelin Arms." Piper paused long enough to slip the tri-colored denim jacket from off his shoulders and toss it onto the desk. Blood stains were always tricky to get out of denim. "We had a very simple arrangement. One that you and your people initiated." Leaning back, Piper brought the bat in a sideways swing. Marcus' knee snapped violently at the impact, followed by a howl of pain.</div>
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"Stop...please...we didn't..." Marcus begged, his muscles tightening against the chain.</div>
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"You didn't what?!" Piper shouted, dropping low to bring his eyes in line with his captive's. "Expect me to survive?" He jabbed at Marcus' chest with the bat. "You made me an offer. Twenty-five grand to get rid of the dealers that were hooking your kids. What did you call them? Rats...vermin...scum?"</div>
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"You don't understand." Marcus interjected, but a quick right hook split his upper lip and choked him with the words.<br />
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"I fucking understand! I killed a dozen men for you. A dozen deserving men, but that blood doesn't just wash away. I did my part and you screwed me." Leaping back, Piper swung the bat high and sent Marcus' head to the side with a hollow 'thump'. A moment later the anger was gone and Piper was smoothing out the wrinkles in his grey Polo. "That's alright, though. I have a new price and you have no choice but to pay it."</div>
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"No...you can't..." Marcus said, his good eye wet with tears.</div>
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"I already have. Sweet Melody is on the streets now. Your kids will come to me one by one begging for more. They will come with their minds clouded and their bodies screaming for a fix. And when they do? When they do, I will take them. Do you have any idea what kind of money I can charge for a relatively healthy child? Factories, drug dens, whorehouses...they will all pay." Piper drew in a slow breath, resting the bat on his shoulder. "But don't you worry, Marcus. You're one of the lucky ones. You won't be around to see it."</div>
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The bat did its work, accompanied by screaming, and the heavy brick and mortar of the building swallowed the noise. It was the kind of music that Piper could really appreciate.</div>
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<br /></div>WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-87372263861726771372012-07-06T07:51:00.001-07:002012-07-06T07:52:20.796-07:00My Name Up In LightsSo, I'm published now. Bleeding Ink Anthology - A Collection of Dark Tales went up on SmashWords as an e-book on the 3rd. It contains a short piece of mine called Retention about a bullied boy's paranormal experience at the local retention pond.<br />
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I've always loved to write but I've also always had a small voice in the back of my mind that told me there was no future in it. That I wasn't good enough to keep people interested. Now that I'm published I can't really use that excuse because somebody somewhere was interested enough in what I write to include me in their collection. Now, when I skip writing to get a few more levels in Skyrim I am really going to feel crappy about it.<br />
<br />
I guess I owe you all some excerpts. Here, feast your greedy eye-mouths on these. <br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In less than an hour I had to go eat a ghost.</span><br />
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-----<br />
<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.6795587631985084" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
sign outside my door swung as it caught those breezes, chain creaking
at the motion. R.L. Hawkins, Spiritualist & Accountant. I’d tried
paranormal investigator before but people look at you funny if you don’t
show up with a cart full of gear. They expect the light show and the
evp and all that. It seemed to be more acceptable for a spiritualist to rely solely on the powers of the mind, which cut down seriously on my
expenses.</span><span id="internal-source-marker_0.6795587631985084" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.6795587631985084" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">---</span><br />
<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.6795587631985084" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Happiness
is as sure a killer as sadness,” I said. “It makes you soft. You get
content and then sadness hits and you’ve forgotten how to cope with
it.”</span>WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-10441337748377170732012-06-29T07:25:00.002-07:002012-06-29T07:25:27.342-07:00Doing Things and StuffFirst, let me extend my gratitude to the masses who have answered my call and pledged funds to the Clarion Write-a-Thon. It means a lot to me to be able to support the foundation and I will not disappoint my sponsors. You guys rock. Expect many excerpts in the coming weeks.<br />
<br />
So, I've been watching Breakout Kings recently and its a pretty decent show. One episode in particular got me thinking. The plot revolved around the team's efforts to catch an escaped child rapist. At one point they interview another child molester who knew the fugitive and I found this character to be particularly interesting for a bit part.<br />
<br />
He was deeply troubled and admittedly guilty of his previous crimes but he presented himself as 'on the mend'. That's an old term for 'getting better'. He spoke about the efforts he had to make to avoid succumbing to his compulsions and that got me thinking. First about how horrible it must be to live with a mental disorder that forces you to do something that you know is abhorrent. The lengths you would have to go to justify the behavior each time you succumbed, and people with these problems inevitably falter before they seek out help, would be exhausting. Secondly, I wondered the whole time if it is possible to present a pedophile as a story's protagonist.<br />
<br />
Not a statutory rape style sex offender. A genuine pedophile with deep-seeded psychological trauma that manifests in an irrepressible sexual attraction to children. I know that Tim Dorsey has had success portraying a mentally unbalanced murderer as the 'anti-hero' in his books, and the success of Dexter is evidence that people can overlook a lot when connecting with a protagonist, but I am skeptical about whether people would be willing to follow the exploits of someone who abused children even if they were actively working against their disorder. We can accept murderers as the vehicle for a story's progression but not child molesters. On that note, would a murderer of children be less acceptable than a murderer of adults?<br />
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Thoughts?<br />
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<br />WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-25923948358557476412012-06-19T19:48:00.003-07:002012-06-21T11:22:59.475-07:00The Clarion Write-a-ThonAs you should know by now, I am always looking for ways to improve my odds of actually doing some writing everyday. This blog is one example which, as of late, has been sadly inefficient. The truth is my work schedule has taken a drastic turn in terms of my time investment and I come home from my 12 hour days pretty beat. As far as excuses go that one is pretty legitimate but I still hate waking up without having put some words down the day before.<br />
<br />
You probably don't know about the Clarion Writer's Workshop unless you happen to be into writing yourself. It is a six-week retreat where selected writers lock themselves away on a college campus and write until their eyes bleed. There have been some notable attendees in the past, both on the teaching and learning side, and I hope to apply for it when it comes around next year. This post isn't really about that, though.<br />
<br />
Alongside the workshop, the Clarion foundation also holds a write-a-thon. They apply the pledged money to funding the workshop and providing assistance to the lucky few who opt to give up six weeks of their lives in pursuit of their passion. I am committing to the write-a-thon this year, which runs from June 24 to August Somethingorother, whatever makes it six weeks. I'm shooting for 30,000 words during that period. 10,000 will be devoted to short works that I can refine for my application to the workshop next year, the remainder being used for my current projects (a 10k word story for an anthology of the sword and sorcery genre and a novel that's currently in the early planning stages).<br />
<br />
So, if you have money to spare and would like to support the efforts of budding writers I would ask that you check out the link below and consider sponsoring me or one of the many writers on the list. Additionally, if you are interested in writing, they are still in need of 17 writers (as of this posting) to participate.<br />
<br />
Link here: <a href="http://clarionwriteathon.org/">http://clarionwriteathon.org/</a>WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-15174517342628964952012-06-17T12:54:00.001-07:002013-05-02T09:32:40.164-07:00Terrible Minds Flash Fiction Challenge: A Tree Far From HomeI've titled this post with every intention of creating more of these. We'll see how that pans out. Chuck Wendig is a writer who I became familiar with years ago for his work on Hunter: the Reckoning, a White Wolf tabletop RPG that ranks to this day as my "all-time #1, run-at-the-drop-of-a-hat" system. He has a blog (link at the end) through which he hands out all kind of free awesome for people interested in telling stories. Every Friday he puts up some kind of flash fiction challenge to keep the creative juices overflowing and I thought I'd start participating because a) I love writing flash fiction and b) I need something to keep this blog moving while I struggle with my own writing issues.<br />
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Chuck's blog is here - <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/">http://terribleminds.com/ramble/</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>A Tree Far From Home</b></div>
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"Charles Donovan Pierce, you put your respirator on this instant!"<br />
<br />
The voice was shrill through the amplification speakers. Charlie pulled the clear plastic cone off his belt and slid the straps over his head, tugging it through straw blond hair until he heard the soft hiss of a seal being made. The smell of ozone faded as the device did its work, filtering out the elements that might be troublesome. The taste lingered, though, like sucking on a penny that had been electrified moments before.<br />
<br />
"Sorry, Ma." he said, his own speaker amplifying the volume. Tearing his eyes away to look at her was so difficult, so unwanted.<br />
<br />
"Damn right, you are. We haven't been here a week and already you're traipsing around like you're on the back forty." Vivian said, her frown visible but twisted unnaturally by the plastic of her mask. She crunched through the grass, her suit slick with moisture.<br />
<br />
"It's just..." Charlie began, his mind struggling for the words as he turned back to the tree, it's bent form swaying so soothingly in the soft argon fog. "It's so like home, ya know. The grass, the trees...well, most of them." His mother reached his side and motioned upwards with a sweep of her hand.<br />
<br />
"What color is that sun, boy?" Charlie didn't have to shift his eyes to know the answer. He'd stared up at it for hours when they first arrived, amazed at shimmering light it created.<br />
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"Blue, ma'am." he replied, reaching out towards the twisted branches of the tree in front of them. His mother's hand was on his wrist in an instant, pulling it back.<br />
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"Right, because this isn't Earth. You don't know what is out here. How dangerous it could be." she said, her fingers tightening.<br />
<br />
"But, Ma, the scientists said it was ok to breathe here for an hour." he said, his eyes locked to the thin green foliage on the spidery boughs. A quick tug pulled his attention back to his mother's face.<br />
<br />
"I don't care what no scientist's say. You don't leave the tent unless your father or I give you permission." she said, her voice tight with anger. Charlie's eyes seemed to focus at that, pupils constricting as fear of his father's anger flooded his body with hormones. "Are we clear?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah...yes, ma'am. I understand." he managed between deep gulps of air. Her hand slid loose of his wrist and she set it on his shoulder instead, the rubberized plastic of his suit rippling at her touch.<br />
<br />
"We just don't want anything to happen to you, Charlie. This isn't home. We have to be more careful here." A slow push turned him around and he spared a glance towards the tree as they started back. It was strange...he couldn't see now why he'd found it so fascinating. He smiled to his mother as she continued. "We have a few more holes to dig before he can plant the supports for our habitat but once that's done I thought we might break out the ice-cream your father freeze-dried before the trip."<br />
<br />
The tree watched them go. It slowed the swaying of its branches and let the mist dampen them again. The chemicals in its leaves ceased to mingle, breaking rapidly down into their respective components. It was a missed opportunity, to be sure. The boy had been so close, so deeply entranced by the pheromones. A minute longer would have been all it would need to finally see what these new creatures tasted like.<br />
<br />
The tree sighed, though it only appeared to shudder in the wind from the outside. It had been new to this place once, too. Fresh from across the blackness of space when it was but a child, eager to plant roots and entice prey. The setback was of little consequence. They would be back, poking the ground with their strange devices and it would be there waiting for them. So eager to explore, these beings were.<br />
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It would sleep until then. Sleep despite the gnawing in its roots, the pangs of undernourishment. Hunger did not sit well with its kind, and it had waited so very long for a meal.</div>
WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180748901229825479.post-74014187677219792942012-05-09T18:48:00.000-07:002012-05-09T18:48:00.735-07:00Not So Much About WritingNot much to say on the writing front. Still doing it. Elder Scrolls Online has been announced. That's cool, right? Sure, I can see the issues with it but it's headed up by the guy who drove Dark Age of Camelot and that game was amazing. What else...Diablo 3 comes out next week. Dragon's Dogma drops the week after that. So those will be fun.<br />
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Friday's suck. I generally work on Fridays and there is usually a game in the evening so trying to get a post in there is a hassle. For that reason, and my constant need to come up with ideas that are not directly related to my current project, I would like to start devoting Fridays to a serial pulp adventure yarn. I can write it over the week alongside the novel and have it all prepared before Friday arrives, leaving me to simply post it up instead of working up an entry. I envision it will play out in short weekly installments, between 750 and 1,000 words each.<br />
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It may begin this week but I'm not going to commit to that completely. Next week I begin a new job which means fewer hours for writing. Actually, it means the same number of hours for writing and fewer hours to screw around on video games and crap. Shouldn't impede my progress if I can stick to my weekly word goals.<br />
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So, maybe a fun little tale of thrilling heroics and dastardly deeds this week. Maybe not until next week. We'll see how it goes.WordWeaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16219035187630101571noreply@blogger.com1