Overcoming Obstacles

If you've heard me talk about my larger scale writing projects or even been around when the topic of writing comes up, there's a pretty good chance that you've heard me utter some form of the following words: I hate editing.

But the thing is that I truly do enjoy writing. So why then would something related to the process bother me so much?

I suppose you could say that it's a few things. First of all, editing is an entirely different beast than simply making a draft. Drafts, first drafts in particular, are made with reckless abandon. The process appeals to my track-skipping, bounce-around, scatterbrain, giving it the opportunity to go down avenues that straight-line, focused thinking wouldn't provide. A longstanding practice of mine when making drafts is to write until I get bored, then skip to the next thing that interests me in a given section or chapter. After all, it isn't really a big deal if a scene or two never gets covered.

Of course, the larger issue rears its head when it comes for editing. Those gaping holes in the story have to be addressed one way or another, leading to the obvious question of whether or not the idea was worth writing about in the first place.

And really, part of me wants no part of this process. No matter how flawed I may know my draft might be in reality, there's still the notion that most of it is pretty good work. The thought of having to go back and cut out huge swathes of words simply because they don't fit the greater vision is a tragedy I hate to face.

Likewise is the time taken reflecting on what needs to be added. There are the gaps in story that I may have skimmed over when writing a first draft, but there are also the extra parts. They are the ideas that came after I had already gone through that particular section, or things that crossed my mind as ideas after the fact. They are the characters that didn't seem important until later, or who weren't even concepts until the process hard started. They, too need their fleshing out and work done.

I realize that the work is a necessary evil. I understand that to reach - truly reach - the next level of my work, I have to get over this hurdle and build a solid second draft. And scarier still, most likely a third, possibly a fourth, and so on.

It's a daunting task, but it's one that I want to do. So in this regard, I set a simple goal, and make an honest pledge. I hereby declare that before the end of March (and the beginning of April and the inevitable chaos of Script Frenzy), I will complete a second draft of at least one long term project that I've worked on. It's the very least that I can do. Well, short of nothing. But I've done that for a while, and it doesn't sit well with me.

Once More Into the NaNo...

It's my (pretty much) last chance attempt to talk anyone into getting on board the NaNo train. And because they can tell it much better than I can, here's the penultimate promotional mail from the organizers of NaNoWriMo, including a useful (but probably slightly exaggerated timeline):

Dear National Novel Writing Month Author,

Hi there! NaNoWriMo Program Director Chris Baty here. It's so great to have you writing with us! Before we get rolling, I wanted to send you a quick guide to our upcoming month of literary abandon.

Here's the plan:

Today: If you haven't already, please make a tax-deductible donation to help us pay for National Novel Writing Month and NaNoWriMo's Young Writers Program. NaNoWriMo is a nonprofit, and we've spent nearly half a million dollars getting this swashbuckling adventure ready for 150,000 adults and 35,000 kids and teens around the world. Our goal is to pay off this year's expenses and set aside enough to expand and improve both programs next year. With your help, we'll do it! Thank you so much to everyone who has donated so far!

Tomorrow: Make sure you've set your time zone correctly (it's under User Settings). Some word-count features appear and disappear at midnight on November 1 and November 30, so dialing those in now will save you stress later. Join a local region, and find out when and where the first novel-writing get-togethers (called "write-ins") for your city or town will be held.

October 31: Get your first pep talk email. You'll receive about three of these a week; one from NaNo staff and two from our panel of esteemed celebrity pep talkers. Spam filters love to eat pep talks, so if you don't get yours, just drop by the pep talk page (under Fun Stuff) where they'll be posted as soon as they go out. Our first guest pep talker will be Jasper Fforde; he'll be parachuting into your inbox next Wednesday.

November 1: At midnight, local time, start writing your book. You need to log 1,667 words per day to stay on par. The website will be very slow for the first few days of the event, but with patience you can update your soaring word count in that box at the top of our site. Watch your stats graph fill. Send a link to your author profile to your friends so they can follow your progress. Revel in the majesty of your unfolding story. It's November 1! You are an unstoppable novel-writing machine!

November 2: Stop writing. Wonder if you should start over. Keep going. Feel better.

November 8: As the first full week of writing comes to a close, you will be at 11,666 words. This is more fiction than most people write in their lifetimes, and you did it in a week. Go, you! This is also Municipal Liaison Appreciation Day, a raucous international holiday that celebrates NaNoWriMo's volunteer chapter-heads (the folks who organized the write-in you went to last week). Chocolate, flowers, and gifts of expensive electronics are appreciated.

November 13: Nothing really happens on November 13.

November 15: After the second week of writing, you will be at 25,000 words. This is the approximate length of such legendary works of fiction as The Metamorphosis, Of Mice and Men, and Twilight: The Complete Illustrated Movie Companion. You're halfway to winning! Attend a Midway Party in your town.

November 16: The second half of NaNoWriMo dawns. Writerly confidence builds. Your book comes to life, and characters start doing interesting, unexpected things. Nice. Weird.

November 22: After the third full week of writing, you stand at 35,000 words, the NaNoWriMo milestone universally recognized as The Place Where Everything Gets Much Easier. This is also when you fly out to San Francisco and join us for the Night of Writing Dangerously Write-a-thon, where you'll help us set records for group noveling and candy consumption.

November 25: Novel validation and winning begins, and Word-Count Progress Bars turn from blue (under 50K) to green (over 50K) to purple (over 50k and a verified winner!). Check our FAQs for details on uploading your manuscript and winning. A limited number of 2009 Winner T-shirts will appear in the store. These will make you smile, and will feature a squirrel.

November 26: American Wrimos celebrate the true meaning of Thanksgiving by gathering together with friends and family, wolfing down a huge meal as quickly as possible, and then ditching those friends and family to hide in the bathroom with a laptop.

November 30: By midnight, local time, we will all be the proud owners of 50,000-word novels that we barely could have imagined on October 31. Plan to attend your local NaNoWriMo Thank God It's Over Party, where grins will abound, champagne will flow, fives will be highed, and wrists will be iced.

You did it. We all did it.

December 1: Sleep will fall heavily across NaNoLand, as 150,000 writers close the book on a crazy, oversized dream.

December 2: The "I Wrote A Novel, Now What?" page goes up on the NaNoWriMo site, containing some special items for our winners from sponsors CreateSpace and Scrivener, along with advice on revision and next steps from published NaNoWriMo authors.

December 3: Rewrites begin.

It all starts very soon, brave writer! Here's to a great month together!

Chris
NaNoWriMo

HouseKeeping: The Path of the Writer

So I mentioned a week or so ago that I would get around to publishing at least one item within the next year. I'm still not sure what exactly will come out, but I have had a few ideas for things that I think might work well.

The first idea would theoretically be the easiest, and that would be to just do a compilation of some of my better rants and essays here. In my head, that would be simpler than any of the editing and rewriting I'd have to do to get my previous work together, even though I would probably end up editing a lot of crap... er, gems of gold before I put them in book form. The con side would be that all (or most) of the material would be available for free on the site. But the pro side (and what I would probably aim for) is that I could include any of a number of items that I may have worked on but never gotten around to posting. A bit of a bonus incentive for all both of you that stop by regular enough to have read all of the stuff I've posted.

That's assuming that I really care about that as an action, anyway. Honestly, I'll probably buy a copy, and then that'll be the end of it. I've thought about doing something wacky like offering up the proceeds to charity. But then I'd have to find a charity, and then I'd have to pretend that someone would buy it. Still, stranger things have happened.

The other option is to throw one or more of my independent projects together and put it out there. That's a much bigger kettle of fish for me to fry, though. If nothing else, it puts me into the position of exposing some of my work to the public (even if the public, in this case, would be a limited capacity). That, and I'm not really in love with my first major effort. And I told myself I was saving my next major effort for my NaNoWriMo project this year. Still, I might just say screw it and put it out there, anyway. It's probably better than I think it is, and if nothing else, it sets up the lead characters for the other stuff I have planned for them.

So that's that. I'll figure out which of either path I'll be taking over the next month and change, and presumably something should be out there by the end of the year (or early next year... I make no huge promise on the timeline).

This Week's Housekeeping

... which shouldn't imply that this will become a weekly thing.

What to say, what to say... there is so much going on these days. First of all, Planet Houston Podcast is still going strong and will continue to do so for the near future. There will probably be a few more Tuesday evening broadcasts before it's all over, but the desire remains to keep doing it. Thanks to everyone who has and continues to offer support.

Also, I have to announce that I am now on Twitter. Yes, I gave into the darkness within, but it does seem to have its uses. If nothing else, it could provide more access for some of the other things I am working on.

And speaking of that, you may have noticed that I posted several excerpts from a former writing project of mine (items that all one of you commented on... grumble, grumble...). Well, I've been bouncing around the idea, and looking at this Lulu.com thing that a few people I know seem to be utilizing, and I've decided... why not? So sometime in the not so near future (probably early next year at the rate of progress I seem to move at), I will publish... something. Whether it's going to be a previous project, some new project, or some compilation of old items, I can't say. But at some point, I will need some support... the moral kind if not the financial kind.

So that's what I'm up to. Unfortunately, it means a somewhat major commitment for me, but the end result should be a pretty good thing. I hope. At least I can always say that I did it.

Revisionist History: Part 2c

(The final chapter, wherein we actually go back to earlier in the story to see how Edith and Lake socialize and interact. They're really the best of friends, they are. Here in one of the opening stanzas, we get a look into the inner workings of what a clan meeting for the city's Hunter's Guild looks like. Although arguably, you probably wouldn't call this meeting typical...)

“Abernathy.”

“Here.”

“Anderson.”

“Here.”

“Andrews.”

“Present.”

Roll call. Arguably one of the single most annoying periods of time in the history of creation. It begins at childhood, and proceeds to be a nuisance until death. Or at least that’s how some would view it.

“Barnard.”

“Here.”

“Laraby.”

“Yeah, I’m here...”

“Kendricks”

“Here.”

“Montayo.”

“Uh, he’s dead.”

“Really. Cripes, that’s a shame. I already wired his pay for this week. That’s gonna be a pain to get recalled.” Edith Fortunado was always the first to display her own special brand of sympathy. If she remembered, she’d probably use part of the recalled wages to send a wreath or something else fitting. Roll call continued for the ragged bunch, missing names being skipped over and recalled again until the wary midget of a woman just couldn’t stand to do it anymore. “Aw, screw ‘em. Let’s get the meeting started. Any old business to resolve?”

Barnard was always the first to chime in like the teacher’s pet he most assuredly must have been throughout most of his life. He caught himself just short of raising his hand for attention before coughing it up, “Well, Montayo had that one thing you were supposed to look into, but uh ... well, he isn’t here.” His shoulders bobbed in a brief shrug before glancing back over his contact sheet.

Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”

She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”

Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”

The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.

“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”

There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.

Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.

The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.

Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.

“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.

Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”

The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”

Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.

Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.

“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”

Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”

For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.

“Say… are you coming on to me?”

The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.

Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.

“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began to slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.

Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this new found rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”

Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”

Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.

“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.

Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”
...

(Now the one thing that occurs to me as I reviewed this was a rather obvious error I made in the storytelling. Because this is supposed to be the first time that you meet either Edith or Lake, and neither is particularly described in detail. That's a terrible throwback to the fact that I just didn't care about that particular detail when I started writing.

In fact, one of the things I have a bad habit of being deficient about is writing character and location details. If I'm not in the proper zone, I tend to skim over them and revisit them later, focusing more on advancing the story. But both do get described in more detail later, so I suppose I should just go back and drop some in here.)

Revisionist History: Part 2b

(This is the second part of an excerpt of the major huge deal writing project I took on last year. I went back to edit it, but was surprised at how solid the thing was untouched. I still touched it up a bit, though. When we last left our fateful pair, youthful Hunter newbie Dani Brightstar was taking a measure of abuse at the hands of clan sponsor Edith Fortunado. Of course, we have yet to hear Dani's side of things...)


"Mrs. Fortunado," Danielle tried to give her response a tone of civility. "I come from a long line of tribal people. I don't expect many people that live outside of that world to understand what it's like, and I'm sure that given your last comment you certainly wouldn’t fall into the category of the understanding type..."

"Now wait..." Edith started, but was stopped short by a brief hand raised by the still speaking Danielle.

"But what I would expect you to understand," Danielle continued, "Is that in that place, among my people, we have a certain set of beliefs. And among those is the belief that you're chosen for a task, but not necessarily the task that you choose. Now, I'm hardly the first one to say that I believe each and every thing that has been taught to me over the years..." She paused for a brief moment of self-reflection before continuing, "But I certainly do believe that the task that I was given was to come here and attempt to help out to the best of my ability. Frankly, if you didn't think it was at least worth the time to have me here, you could've refused my request like many others did."

"Hmmph..." Edith puffed on her tiny cigar, which now had become all but a useless flickering stub. If she was offended by the last part of Danielle's comment, she didn't show it. Instead, she just spat the nub of half dead leaves in her mouth into the trash can next to her desk and smiled. "Fair enough, lady." She leaned forward into her seat again, the elevated chair creaking slightly as she pressed her weight against the edge of the desk. "Now then, as far as your 'mentor' goes..."

The moment of relief that Danielle had was short lived. She had half expected to be tossed out of the office after the little speech she had made, but even after having gotten away with that, she was about to hear about her least favorite subject of the time. Unfortunately, there wasn't really much she could say about the man. The little that she knew about him had already been covered. He was a bit odd, and he had apparently ditched her. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but frown at the mention of him.

Edith noted the frown and responded with a short, gruff smirk of her own. "Listen, I'm not going to lie to you. Lake O'Bannon... well, the guy's not the cheeriest of sorts. And he's kind of rude at times. And inconsiderate. And he's just as likely to blow your head off as he is to shake your hand some days. And I realize that I'm not making much of a pitch for him right now, but hear me out....

"There's really only two things you need to know about Lake O'Bannon. The first thing is that it's all an act. The rudeness, the not seeming to care who lives or dies... It's all just a big show he puts on so he won't be bothered as much. Somewhere along the way, he figured out that that's how he can get by in life, so that's what he does. Deep down, he's really just a sensitive guy that wants to do the right thing. I know what I told the other guys, but I wouldn't have put you with him if I didn't think he would give you a fair shake."

"Some fair shake..." Danielle mumbled.

Edith smiled again. "Well, see... that's just the thing. You hang around him long enough, and you'll start to understand how he thinks. For example, he acts like he doesn't care about his job, but that doesn't mean that he'd go out of his way to do something that would get him fired. Especially when he could just half-step it and get away with it."

Danielle blinked. "I don't get what you mean."

Edith sighed softly. "Take this little 'test' he's giving you. He called it a 'test', didn't he?" She took Danielle's nod as confirmation and continued, "Now see, he probably laid out what seemed like an impossible task for you, but he knows full well that I'd chew him to pieces if he really did that, so he's probably already got an out. So no matter how impossible whatever he gave you to do might sound, they'll be some way to accomplish it."

Danielle went over it again in her head, thinking aloud, "I don't really think so. I mean, all he said was I had to find him in three hours..."

"Three hours? That's all he said?"

"Yeah, three hours. He said that I had three hours to find him, or else..." Danielle stopped as a thought slowly started to slip into her head. "That's not... that's not all he said."

"It's not, is it?"

"No. He said that pass or fail, I should meet him at Celestial Park at noon. In the food court." Danielle still felt like she was forgetting something, but she also felt like she was right on the verge of figuring something out.

Edith glanced at the ceiling for a second, then smirked as she leaned back in her chair. "I think this might be the most retarded thing he's ever pulled." She paused for moment to glance towards Danielle and offer, "No offense to you, mind you. I might have fallen for it, too, if I didn't have on a watch..."

"A watch..." Danielle parroted. It hadn't even occurred to her before that she wasn't wearing a timepiece. It wasn't the kind of thing that she'd find terribly useful with her tribe, and it hadn't occurred to her to purchase one before she got into town. Come to think of it, she hadn't really concerned herself with time at all until she was given a deadline by... Her face flushed as the last bit of realization sank it.

"Ah," Edith moaned. "I think you get it now, don't you?"

"I didn't even think about it... I never would have thought about it..." Danielle stammered. It hadn't once occurred to her to think about what time it was since she went past the checkpoint at the gate. Once the meeting location got moved to the Gold Harpy, she hadn't worried about being on time. And she had spent so much time running around and checking to see where Lake might have gone off to after he disappeared that by the time she thought to check on the time, it had been a good 10-15 minutes, at least. "Nine twenty..." She mumbled, almost to herself.

"What's that?" Edith asked, seeming to have a good idea of the answer already.

"All the running around I did... it was 9:20 before I checked what time it was. But I couldn't have been looking for more than 15 minutes or so..."

Edith chuckled. "If I had to guess, knowing the man like I do, he disappeared around 9:02."

"9:02..." Danielle repeated again. Which meant, she finally realized, that Lake never had any intention of her being able to find him. As ridiculous as it sounded, he had set the stage so that his "test" would end at 12:02, exactly two minutes after noon. If she had been paying attention, and if she had been patient, it would have occurred to her that all she had to do was meet him at the food court on time and she would "pass". Danielle stared at the floor as she mumbled, "But that's... that's just..."

"Crazy?" Edith shook her head. "Yeah, pretty much. But it's the kind of crap I'd expect from him. He's probably been there the whole time. If you quit, and I made a big fuss about it, he'd just point out how you could have figured it out if you had thought about it. Or if you had even had the guts to face him at the food court." She clucked her tongue a few times before adding, "Of course, the decision is yours now."

"Decision?"

"Yeah. Decision." Edith was the parrot this time. "You've managed to figure out what he was up to, but it's still up to you to figure out what to do about it. It's not like he can actually fail you over a lame stunt like this, but he is one of the people assigned to assess you. It’s probably in your best interest to show up at the food court on time. Assuming, that is, that you weren't just blowing smoke up my ass with all of that 'task I was given' crap before."

Danielle pressed her leg against the edge of her staff. If it hadn't before, it was bound to leave an impression when she finally went to stand up. She truly had meant every word she had said to Edith earlier. Danielle had her reasons for being here, and it wasn't part of her plan at all to give up. She could imagine that someone would look at her and think that she wasn't cut out for the job, but that didn't necessarily mean that she shouldn't do it. On top of that, she had felt more reassured than discouraged by the conversation she had here. She wasn't sure that was what Edith intended, but it made her feel better all the same.

"Yeah," Danielle said. "Yeah, I think I'll go there."

"Good," Edith replied. "Good for you. Now, you better haul butt over there. You don't have a lot of time to make it."

Danielle glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that there were roughly fifteen minutes left before noon. "Right," she uttered as she stood up and picked up her staff. She smiled and nodded politely as she turned to walk out of the room. She opened the door, then paused and turned back towards Edith. "What was the other thing?"

Edith, who had started to relax a hair as Danielle was leaving, perked up her eyebrows. "Huh? What that?"

Danielle turned on a heel so that she could better face Edith at the doorway. "You said before that there were two things I needed to know about Lake O'Bannon. The first was that the whole insensitive thing as an act. What's the second thing?"

"Oh, that." Edith smiled. "The second thing you need to know about Lake O'Bannon... is that he's a very good actor."

Danielle found herself inexplicably smiling after the comment. She turned to head out of the door.

"Brightstar?"

"Yes."

"Do yourself a favor and buy a watch, will ya?"

"Right. Right. Thanks."
...

(One of the things that I wanted to establish after having Dani take the brunt of first Lake's attitude, then Edith's is that Dani isn't exactly a pushover. Yes, her inclination is to approach new things timidly, but she's more than willing to stand her ground when need be. It doesn't hurt that Edith pushed a specific set of hot buttons for Dani, which inclined Dani to snap back a little.

As for Lake's little "test"... sure, it's actually a stupid trick, but it's the kind of thing that I'd be inclined to do in a roleplaying session to see if anyone was paying attention to detail. Dani in this unfortunately represents a large chunk of roleplayers who so readily dive into a task or challenge that they ignore the relevant details.

In this case, though, Edith tosses Dani a clue. This is, quite possibly the nicest thing you will ever see Edith do. She not only steers Dani in the right direction, but gives her a little insight into the nature of would-be mentor Lake O'Bannon. Not that said insight will necessarily help her.

It should be noted, though, that I consider Edith's "two things" comment to be a quintessential definition of Lake's character. That I let Edith say it is a testament to how well she knows the man, despite the fact that she would never admit any of that to him in public.

Which brings us back to Lake. Despite my love for one of my creations, he did need to step back at points in time in this story. And even though it was supposed to be his story, Dani ends up taking most of the spotlight. The story just worked better that way. But that doesn't mean that I won't get back to him very shortly...)

Revisionist History: Part 2a

(So I've decided to revisit my much ballyhooed NaNoWriMo project, and since I can't manage to find a more reasonable chunk of this particular passage to use, I've decided to break it into parts. In this first part, clan sponsor Edith Fortunado meets for the first time with potential trainee hunter Danielle Brightstar...)

Edith Fortunado settled into the worn seat behind her desk. Having spent the better part of the morning following the weekly meeting completing forms, reports and other assorted business minutiae, she was looking forward to spending the better part of the next few hours sitting in her locked office and acting like she was busy working. It was one of the few perks that her position as clan sponsor allowed her. She was right on the verge of finding a nice section of newspaper to read through when she heard the knock on her door.

"Oh, for the love of..." she mumbled to herself before shouting annoyedly, "What?"

"Um, sorry ma'am." Barnard's weasely voice strained through the wooden frame of the door. "I know you didn't want to be bothered, but... she's here."

"She?" Edith asked through clenched teeth. "Who on earth is 'she'?"

"The blacko... ahem... the, er, walkabout, ma'am," Barnard answered with a bit of a stammer. "I could tell her you're busy if you'd like. She doesn't have an appointment..."

Edith pondered the idea for a moment before shaking her head. "Nah. I might as well get this out of the way now. Tell her to come in." Edith leaned forward in her seat with a bit of a scowl. She took a few moments to scatter enough of the items on her desk to make it look like she was busier than she ever could have been before taking a deep breath and forcing a faint smile. Sociable enough, she thought to herself as the door opened.

The woman Edith saw enter the room wasn't unpleasant on the eyes. She wasn't very remarkable either, but such is the case with some people. The short cut crop of dark brown hair on top of the woman's head wasn't helping her to look any more feminine, but at least she did have some sort of shape to her. The ensemble of a top and skirt, both made of animal skins, was only bound to make the woman stand out in the city in the long run. But truth be told, Edith thought through her assessment, that can be just as big a plus as it could be a minus.

The first thing Danielle noticed as she turned the knob and opened the door was how old the office looked. She understood more than anyone that in this day and age almost any given person could have his or her own sense of style or culture. She herself came from a place where many of the modern conveniences of the world were ignored in lieu of simpler things. But still, she really expected something less... vintage than the room that she was entering.

Maybe it was just that she expected something different from the leader of the clan she had applied for a permit from. She's not sure why she felt that way, considering the reception she had met earlier in the day in her "mentor". Appearances could obviously be deceiving in cases like this. The leader in question, Danielle assessed, certainly had to have something up her sleeve.

As diminutive as Edith Fortunado was (was midget the correct term?), she must have had some interesting history to end up the head of a clan of Hunters. Her lightly wrinkled face gave way to her age, and her black hair had a thick streak of gray along the left side. The staunch little woman couldn't really do much in the line of intimidating someone in a confrontation, but that, Danielle imagined, could have its positives, too.

Edith decided to get the ball rolling by offering a seat to the entering Danielle. "Welcome. Please sit down." Upon noticing the woman's walking stick she added, "Nice staff."

Danielle started to say something with regards to the comment, but decided instead to just simply sit in the seat offered to her across from Edith. The desk itself was a solid oak, worn by time and buckled gently by what had to be the weight of various files and other items. She sat her staff so it rested between the armrest and her leg, then tried her best to get comfortable in the seating. It was an uphill battle.

"So..." Edith shuffled through a pair of files on her desk before finding the sheet that she was looking for. "Danielle, is it? You mind if I call you Dani?"

"... fine."

Edith wasn't sure why the young woman would agree to something in such low spirits, but it's not like Edith really cared that much about it. "So, Dani... how was your trip? It looks like you made it to the city all right."

"Oh, yes. Not much to say about the trip. It was pretty... peaceful." Danielle's answer was guarded but optimistic.

"Get through the checkpoint okay? No hangups with getting your travel passes or anything?"

"Oh, no. That was just fine, too."

"And how was your meeting? I heard it got moved..."

"Oh, that?" Danielle hedged gently as she leaned to the right in her chair. "I guess I'd say that went fine, too."

"Uh huh..." Edith pressed on, "And your 'mentor'? Everything going fine with him?"

"Mr. O'Ban...er, Lake? He's a little... well, he's not what I'd expe... what I mean to say is that I'm sure that he's a nice enough guy, but...."

Edith's face bent into a wrinkled little smile, "He ditched you, didn't he?"

Danielle all but fell out of her chair at the sudden interjection. "Wha? He... I wouldn't say that...I mean, I don't think that he...” Why exactly was it that she was trying to defend the man, again? Danielle let out a small huff. "Yes. He ditched me."

Edith smiled in earnest, leaning back in her seat. "Yeah, he tends to do that. I'm surprised you actually thought to come here first. Most people would have run around the city like a chicken with its head cut off for a few hours."

Danielle forced out a broken chuckle. The last thing she wanted to do was to admit that she had, in fact, spent the better part of two hours running around the city like a chicken with its head cut off. She had checked every business along the stretch of Main Street where Lake had disappeared. She was halfway through the city gate before she figured that there was no real way that he could have or would have gone to the outside. And she had even resorted to going person to person and asking random strangers if they had seen the man. Which, she mused to herself, was fairly deserving of the laughter that she had received from most of the people she ran into.

Edith stared at the young woman in front of her. She could see on the girl's face that she wasn't entirely comfortable with the topic of conversation. Edith hadn't meant to strike a nerve, but at the same time she wasn’t going to pull her punches either. This was as much an assessment of Danielle's resilience as it was her capability, and before it would be over, there would be far worse in store for the potential trainee than a few hurt feelings

Edith leaned forward and opened a drawer on the left side of her desk. Reaching in, she retrieved a small, tight rolled cigar and popped the end into her mouth. Without so much as an ounce of consideration for whether or not it might disturb her office mate, Edith promptly lit the cigar with a match and took a few short puffs.

Danielle wasn't sure if she was supposed to be doing a better job with this interview. In reality, she hadn't figured out why she had even bothered coming to the guild office. Part of her desperately wanted to find a group of laughing comrades there just waiting to let her in on the fact that she had been the butt of an elaborate joke. 'I can't believe you'd fall for something like that!' they'd chuckle. 'Welcome to the Guild, newbie!' they'd smile. There would also be cake.

Having arrived and finding some of the pointing and laughing but none of the prank-worthy camaraderie she was looking for, Danielle had seriously considered giving up. If she couldn't hack the first few hours of the day, how could she hold up for a week? A month? How was she ever supposed to etch out a life for herself in a city full of mages, psychos, robots and everything in between if she couldn't handle the first few hours? This was only the twelfth time she had asked herself that, and it was starting to feel like a personal mantra. She hadn't exactly expected Edith Fortunado to be a heaping pile of consolation, but Danielle couldn't help but think that the woman could be a little more considerate if she wanted to.

Edith took another pair of puffs from her cigar before propping herself back up into her chair. She looked across the desk at Danielle and vented a stream of smoke from her nostrils.

"What you have to understand..." Edith started with a tinge of sincerity, "Is that a lot of the people around here are worthless. Scum, really. All that pomp and glamour they try to put on the jobs we do is just a spit shine on a crap cracker." She took a moment to assess if that was anywhere near a proper analogy before continuing. "What I mean to say is that this is a hard life choice. It's not for everyone, and it's certainly not for someone that can find work doing something safer. Taking this job will put your life in constant peril. Even when you're not on the job, someone... or something... might try to take a shot at you. Yes, you should be well protected, and once you're with a clan, they'll always have your back, but you have to accept the fact that just by signing up for this job, you're probably cutting your life span in half. There isn't much a of a retirement plan because frankly, not many people make it to retirement age."

"The reason that those guys out there probably treated you like crap is because... well, they generally view walkabouts as bad luck. ‘Blackouts’ is what they call them. Because for some reason, any time one of them shows up, it seems like someone ends up getting killed over it. And that's on top of the usual nonsense that gets people killed around here."

“What I guess I'm trying to say, Dani, is... have you really thought this through? I'm sure that you could make a nice living selling beaded necklaces or horn jewelry or whatever passes for a safe occupation around your neck of the woods."
...

(It should be noted at this point int he story, Dani shows opening frustration because she constantly runs into people who say, "Nice staff," to her (neither she nor the reader understands why at this point) and is almost always asked if she can be called Dani (which she really would prefer not to be called). And yes, Edith is in fact everyone's dream boss. But fear not. This section is specifically designed to spotlight Edith's edge against Dani's seemingly gentle nature, almost as much as the next section is designed to do the opposite.

And yes, Edith is a little person. Not a dwarf, gnome, leprechaun or any other interesting thing she could be. Don't ask me why I went with that choice. I think it was just simple aesthetics.)

Goooooooool!

With just a scant hour before the official end of the operation and with me seemingly not in any big rush to put any big push of work into the effort, I'm going to officially call it. With an unofficial (but what I'm calling final) count of 108 pages, I hereby claim victory in the month long crusade that was Script Frenzy. A winner is me.


After some initial trepidation over the whole thing, I have to say that it was much easier to settle into the pace of Screnzy, and overall I'd say that the goal of 100 pages was much more workable a goal than the 50,000 words that are NaNoWriMo. Although honestly, I think I have love for both projects. It's probably just that I think it much more likely that some off script that I write will get produced somehow over a novel being published. But life is odd and strange, and the exercise isn't necessarily about making something producable anyway.

Still, I will persist in torturing the wary few that come here by sharing some odd snippets here and there. But given the response I've had from when I've shared before (namely none), that may well be an exercise for the sake of doing it, too.

But enough of that. I dedicate this victory to the late Sam Johnson, who I still think about every time I sit down to write something here. I'm sure he'd enjoy this victory, as well as this victory tune, provided courtesy of Earth, Wind, and Fire:



(And yes, I realize the song has no bearing at all on anything. But I already used Kool and the Gang's Celebration for my NaNo win, and I've had this song stuck in my head for most of the day. Best Elite Beat Agents level... ever.)

You the People: Debating Script Frenzy

Time to make the doughnuts. Or in reality, it's time to pick the subject of my upcoming efforts in the writing project known as Script Frenzy. But in this case, I've decided to look for some honest to goodness feedback on the matter. Because honestly, no one has cared enough about my previous writing project to even speak of it. Once. I love you, too.

So I'm putting it to you, all 6 of you (yes, the number's increasing), to give me some input or advice on what sounds interesting to you. Of course, I'll probably just ignore it all and do whatever I feel like, anyway, but try not to stress over that too much. At any rate, here are some of the ideas I'm floating around (all titles are tentative):

Bobby and Bill (Comedy): The classic duo comedy team formula meets a modern world and a slightly more mature set of plots. Bobby has a warped mind, but always the best of intentions. Bill is the stable, more sensible of the two, but prone to bouts of rage. Their friendship is the thing of legends, or at least the fodder of sitcoms.

This idea would also most likely spawn off a few other comedy shorts I've wanted to flesh out, since I doubt the main concept will hole for 100 pages.

Frak (Drama, Sci-fi): When Annie met Charlie, she thought he was a little off. When Annie met Chaz, she knew he needed help. But when Annie met them both together, she knew that there was something wrong with her. Annie always knew that she was a little odd, but she had no idea that looking into it would send her on a journey of self discovery that forced her to face her own duality…

And no, it's not about Battlestar Gallactica! Screw Galactica! I said it. I don't care.

Fortune Hunter: Fortune City Blues (Drama/Anthology): This is the screenplay version of Fortune Hunter, which was the basis for my Nanowrimo project last year. That project is in turn connected to a larger overall project. Which part of either project I work on in April is still up in the air.

Hardcore: The Metal Titan (comic): Meet Trey Montgomery, gifted high school senior and part-time police sketch artist. What, if any, connection does he have to metal behemoth known as Hardcore? And can either solve the mystery of the recent set of robberies in the tech district?

The Moments in our Days of the World (Soap Opera): Okay, so this is a flat concept, and I have no idea where it would go exactly. But I’ve been sporadically watching a few daytime soaps for a while now, and I’ve gotten disturbingly good and figuring out where the plots are going. So why not take a stab at the real thing? You don’t know what to expect because I don’t know what to expect.

So that's the gist of the five main ideas I'm playing with. Please vote in the poll off to the side of the site (you can vote for more than one) and/or leave questions/comments here. I'll be more than happy to expand on any of the premises if someone wants to know more.

Why Do I Choose to Punish Myself?

So Nanowrimo is months in the past, and conversely also months in the future. That's assuming, of course, that I can bring myself to take the plunge for a second consecutive year. It was rewarding, but it was also painful, stressful, and full of chaos.

So why, after enduring that and probably needing a few more months to even convince myself that I'm ready to go again, would I think about subjecting myself to the nonsense that is Script Frenzy? Why? Why not?

I've thought about it, and I've decided that it can't be any worse than Nano was. In fact, for some twisted reason, I seem to think that it should be a little easier. Of course, I've been wrong before. But at least in this case I'm considering it a few weeks before the event starts at the 1st of April.

And for anyone else that might be considering it, you have a few weeks to mull it over, too. The only plus to this is that if you choose to, you can have a writing partner. In theory, that should be helpful, but I'd imagine the wrong one could be just as detrimental.

Unfiltered: Project Nano - Chapter 2

(After the overwhelming response to last week's installment (when I said read it in parts, I didn't mean to take a month... sheesh...) we continue with excerpts from my Nanowrimo project. In this installment, we meet Danielle Brightstar, the would-be sidekick who ends up more of protagonist than I expected her to. Behold the opus that is tentatively entitled: Enter the Walkabout...)

“You have to stand behind the line, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry?”

The man behind the counter made a pushing gesture with his hands. “Behind the line, ma’am. It’s for safety purposes.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Danielle took a small step back to accommodate the clerk, bumping into the person behind her in the process. She offered a quick apology to the disgruntled woman, who responded with a series of odd clicks from beneath her cloth-wrapped face. Danielle tried to play it off and focus on what was ahead of her: the city. It was an entirely new concept for her. She had heard the word and seen the pictures, but to actually be at the gates of one was a completely overwhelming feeling. She made a futile attempt at remaining calm as she waited behind the line for her chance to get her pass. In her mind she tried to convince herself that if she couldn’t keep it together long enough to get through the gates, she couldn’t possibly handle what was past them.

No. That’s not an option... She adamantly told herself. She had set out to prove that she could make this work, and it was the exact wrong time to start having doubts about it.

“Ma’am?”

“… Yes?”

“It’s your turn, ma’am.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Danielle bit the edge of her lip at having lost focus long enough to lose track of being next. She wasn’t even inside the city gates and she had already managed to irritate a man behind a glass and a female… she still wasn’t quite sure what the thing was behind her, except to glean that it was female. Or at least she thought it was. This would take some getting used to.

* * * * * * * * *

Having cleared the main gates, Danielle made her way out of the visitor’s center and into the city proper. If she had any prior knowledge of things like stadiums or coliseums, she might be inclined to compare the walkway with the entrance to one of those. As it was, she was more able to equate it with a clearing at the end of a forest trail. She would, naturally enough, have been disappointed had what met her at the end of the walkway been as simple as a field of lilies. Needless to say, she was not disappointed.

The confining nature of the visitor’s center only led to amplify the effect of being in the city’s open space. It was like letting out a big breath to be exposed to the open air again, and Danielle found herself stopping for a moment just to take it all in. The city spanned outward into streets and buildings of various sorts, the first ones being the obvious ones you’d expect to see at a city entrance. The main street (named appropriately enough Main Street) split the city in half as it ran in a straight-line north. Side streets led off to the east and west, as the wall’s curvature made the ones nearest to it simply fade into the distance. The vendors and the wares they had for sale were both varied, spanning from the mundane and practical to the flamboyant and bizarre.

Danielle fought the voice in the back of her head trying once again to convince her that this was a big mistake. She tugged awkwardly at the edge of her animal skin skirt as she watched the various individuals make their way into and out of the area. She had figured that with the city’s diverse cultural background she wouldn’t feel quite out of place in her tribal garb, but she couldn’t help but feel that way as she watched the way things moved about.

“Hey. Nice staff.”

Danielle heard the comment from behind her and turned her head to grasp what the source was. She almost expected the individual to be addressing someone else despite the fact that she was carrying a rather large wooden staff. She was so used to carrying it with her that half the time she barely remembered that she had it. Danielle regarded the man who had come up behind her with an odd expression. “I’m sor…" She stopped herself short of saying that same phrase for what felt like the one hundredth time and instead offered a gently spoken, "Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘Nice staff.’” The frail looking man darted his head around in an attempt to avoid eye contact. By his manner, he seemed worried about what he’d just said.

Danielle had noticed as she turned her head that the man had not been looking anywhere near the vicinity of her staff. In fact, his need to repeat himself seemed more an attempt to make her clear that he had said staff, although why he’d need to do so she wasn’t entirely sure. She couldn’t think of any words that sounded like staff that she might have confused with something lewd, but she didn’t have the largest vocabulary when it came to that particular dialogue. She decided to ignore the fact that the guy had been staring at her and focus more on the fact that he chose to speak. “Can I… help you with something?” Danielle offered as a safe avenue of conversation.

The man squirmed around the issue, his head continuing the same darty movement it had before. It only helped to emphasize his uncertainty. “Are you… Bright-Star?” He chanced to look her directly in the eye for a second before darting his gaze away again. “I asked the girl with a tail and the Amazon lady, but they weren’t Bright-Star. So, um… are you her?”

Danielle turned to face the man fully. Her staff, as it had many times before, pressed into the ground next to her as she planted her feet again. Her face pressed into a soft state of confusion as she replied, “I am. Did the Guild send you?”

“Guild?” The man treated the word like it was an obscenity. “I ain’t part of no stinkin’… uh…” He tried to adjust his tone along with his response. “No, no. I’m not with the Guild. Although the guy… you’re supposed to meet a… he said to… I…”

“Just relax,” Danielle interjected with the start of a smile. “So, Mr.…”

“Weasel. Not Mr.… They… just call me Weasel.”

She could at least see where he got the name. “So, uh, Weasel… someone sent you here, right?”

Weasel bobbed his head in a weak nod.

“And the person is connected with the Guild, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Okay. So why did they want you to meet me here? I thought I was supposed to meet my Guild sponsor at the hall.”

“You are. You were. There was a change of plans.”

Danielle’s grip on her staff tightened a little. “Change of plans? What kind of change of plans?”

Weasel shifted a little as he noticed the slight change in the woman’s demeanor. Just when he looked like he was about to dart off, he began to blabber again, “O’Bannon. He said to tell you… change of plans… new meeting… since he’s not there… He’s supposed to…”

“Calm. Down.”

Weasel snapped to attention at the slow talk like it set off some kind of trigger in his head. He took a deep breath, then started over, “O’Bannon. He’s the guy that you were supposed to meet at the hall. He told me to find you and tell you to meet him somewhere else. Somewhere closer. More convenient. For him, anyway. Uh… but I wasn’t supposed to tell you that last part.” Weasel tried to play off his miscue with a weak chuckle.

Danielle surveyed the man cautiously. For all of the things he seemed to know, she really had no idea that anything he said was true. The guy had a nature that made you feel like he shouldn’t be trusted, but at the same time he didn’t seem to be all that dangerous, either. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being.

“All right. Where does he want me to meet him?”

(Yes, Danielle's entrance is deliberately designed to offset the initial dread felt by an entire clan's worth of hardened bounty hunters. Of course, maybe her presence in the city really is the beginning of something hazardous. Time will tell. Ooh, suspense...)

Unfiltered: Project Nano - Chapter 1

(Now that I've got all of the nonsense of what might have been out of the way, back to what was. This is an excerpt from what I guess would chapter 1 of the project, a little ditty that I named "Roll Call". We enter the scene as Hunter Clan Sponsor Edith Fortunado brings her weekly meeting to a halt and resident Hunter Lake O'Bannon prepares to make drag it back to activity... the hard way.)

Edith gritted her teeth at the smattering of murmurs and chuckles that protruded from the crew. If nothing else, she hated the lack of order that always presented itself during these meetings. Heck, she hated the meetings altogether. But they were a necessary evil if she wanted to keep the guild in a state that remotely resembled solvent. Not that she always cared about that, but like most people she appreciated when the lights and appliances worked. Edith waved a hand dismissively. “All right, pipe down you yahoos. Anything else?”

She took the momentary lapse of comments as reason enough to move on. “Okay, then. We can move on to new business. We’ve had a drop in our capture rate over the past quarter. This coincides, surprisingly enough, with an increase in our hunter injuries and fatalities. I don’t have to explain this to any of you, do I? Now I know there have been things going on in the guild, and far be it from me to get bent out of shape by a few of you bums getting put into the ground, but it’s affecting business. The bottom line is the bottom line, and right now we’re leaning more towards red no matter how you look at it.”

Edith gave her small play on words time to hit some of the slower witted members over the head a few times before continuing. “The important thing to remember is to be careful. I know half the city thinks that we’re expendable, but we are actually providing a service here. Contrary to popular belief, if we don’t do our jobs right, the city does suffer. But enough with the pep talk…” The woman had to resist the urge to smirk at the notion before continuing, “On to other business. We have a walkabout today.”

The statement drew more attention than any other one in the morning had. Just about every head in the assemblage perked up and directed its attention to the front. Even a few of the sleeping folks snapped awake at the word. It had been a while since there had been a walkabout in the guild. It had been long enough that some people had never encountered one in their entire career. For anyone familiar with the process, there was the usual mix of emotions flowing through the room. There was the standard order of idle curiosity. There was a sprinkle of novelty. But mostly, there was the fear. The horrible, all enclosing fear of the words that would next be spoken.

“I need a volunteer.” Edith timed the comment for the appropriate mix of drama and amusement. The amusement was mostly hers, of course, but there were a handful of people masochistic enough to find potential joy in the outcome. She brushed her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Aw, don’t cry, ya bunch of babies! I’m not stupid enough to expect any of you putzes to actually volunteer. In fact, I’ve come up with a method that’s more than fair. I think I’ll just consider the lucky victim to be the next person to walk through the door. Yep, that’ll do it. The very next person to walk through that door will be our lucky volunteer.”

There was a certain anticipation in her proclamation that had eluded some of the guild, but like a wave the realization of what was happening was starting to become apparent. A low-based murmuring linked itself to a pattern of individuals checking the clock that hung over the door. Anyone that checked saw that it was clearly twelve minutes after their meeting start time. Anyone with even a trace of sense knew that it was Wednesday. And everyone that knew a certain individual knew that by some manner of habit or heavenly decree, a certain member of their guild almost certainly showed up exactly thirteen minutes late for any Wednesday meeting. So it was with great revelry and a modicum of satisfaction that the group welcomed its tardy compatriot into the room.

Lake O’Bannon strolled into the room in matter of fact fashion. Neither his demeanor nor his appearance would indicate that he was in any rush to get inside. On the contrary, nothing that Lake did gave faintest hint that he was on the verge of either sneaking to his seat or apologizing for being late. It had already been well established that the time that Lake reported in on Wednesday was pretty much his own prerogative.

The popular theory was that Lake had some mystery rendezvous on Tuesday nights that kept him preoccupied, but his general lack of a good mood on Wednesday precluded them from associating him with the usual pleasantries that a “secret rendezvous” would entail. Others carried the popular theory that Lake had some early morning regimen on Wednesday that made him late, but again there were no outward signs that he was exhausted from workout, peaceful from meditation, or (as previously mentioned) in a pleasant mood from any other unsavory activity. A few guild members had bothered to attempt to track him on Wednesday morning to see just what the deal was. The few that remained intact long enough to report to anyone else brought the dismal news that Lake was late simply because he was, and it seemed to just be a matter of fate conspiring to make sure he was never on time on Wednesday. Whatever the reason, today it was bound to provide some much needed entertainment for the meeting.

Lake paused after entering the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his leather jacket as he mumbled something best left incoherent under his breath. It took him a handful of seconds to notice that something was out of sorts… more out of sorts than usual in the group. Too many people seemed pleased to see him. He had found in general practice that too many people happy to see him was rarely a good thing.

“Mr. O’Bannon. So lovely to see you today. And at such an appropriate time, too. “ Edith Fortunado grinned an impish smile that her lack of stature made appear even more so. A few of the guild members reflected the same mock enthusiasm that Edith did, and that was when Lake truly grasped how screwed he was.

Lake let a short huff of air slip out of his lips before starting his query. “What? Am I getting docked? Am I getting written up for that ganger I cracked last week? Am I getting docked for cracking that ganger last week? Am I getting cracked for docking that ganger last week?”

The room hung in silence for the reply of their leader. They knew this was just the opening volley in a classic exchange. Edith debated letting the noose tighten a little more before the big reveal, but decided that there was really no reason to drag it out too far. Besides, all of this pleasantry was wearing on her own nerves. Edith propped a hand against her podium. “I was just informing everyone about the walkabout we just acquired.”

Lake fought back a grimace at the mention of the word, a successful effort that he managed to bend into a small smirk. “Walkabout, huh? Haven’t we got enough crap floating around here without one of those making it worse?” Lake had absolutely no qualms about tossing a general insult out in a room of what should be his allies. Heaven knows they would be more than willing to do the same should the opportunity arise. Still, the comment seemed to raise the dander of at least a few of the assembled, many of whom showed their disapproval by shifting in their seats and glaring.

Edith coughed out a monosyllable of disapproval to the question. “Could be.” Edith had the same lack of regard as Lake did in the matter, but at least she had the pull to not be worried about reprisals, “But for better or worse, we’ve got one. And now that I have a volunteer for walkabout duty, I don’t have to worry about it all that much.

“Volunteer?” Lake’s smirk gathered a hint of actual amusement. “What poor fool would be insane enough to volunteer for walkabout du…” It was about that time that he managed to piece it all together. The pleasantries, the general joy he seemed to be bringing part of the room, the fact that he hadn’t been docked yet… there had to be a payoff somewhere for Edith, and there it was. His entire demeanor shifted to one of annoyance. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not shackling me with one of those... things for the week. I did my time two years ago and I was done. Find some other sucker with a death wish to do your dirty work for you.”

Edith’s tone took an abrupt shift of its own, “Now you wait just a minute! You think fair play applies in all guild matters? The truth is this has been coming for a long time. Breaking rules, not following protocols, damage tallies way beyond your class level allowance… and every time I try to call you on it, you have some half-cocked excuse or some convenient break of fortune that keeps my hands tied. You’ve slipped through more loopholes and backdoors than I can count, but not today, bucko! I’ve been waiting to screw you over for a long time now, and now you're gonna get what’s coming to you!”

For a brief moment, Lake seemed genuinely taken aback by Edith’s diatribe. His left eyebrow arched upward as he perused his employer’s face. His lips parted calmly as he carefully sorted out his response.

“Say… are you coming on to me?”

The smattering of chuckles from the audience was more than enough to break the tension for most of them. Some of the guild had gotten a bit restless in the brief pause that preceded Lake’s comment. A few foolish souls actually dared to assume it possible that Lake was honestly repentant and on the verge of apologizing for his past actions. They were more than pleased to see that that was not the case.

Edith Fortunado, on the other hand, was anything but amused. Her face began to flare an almost trademark shade of red, and it was abundantly clear to any of the guild members who had seen it occur before that it was not a blush of embarrassment.

“Do you think…” Edith fought to maintain anything that resembled civility as her temper railed against her better judgment, “… for one second… that I would ever… within the confines of my mind… “ Edith pointed towards Barnard, who flinched at the motion despite the lack of flames shooting from her fingertip, “… his mind… or within the very depths of hell itself even remotely consider coming onto you? In what bizarre freakshow of a world does my utter contempt and rage for you possibly translate into anything that even resembles attraction? You… you… you’re lucky I don’t leap off of here and throttle the life out you with my bare hands!” Her body began slowly tremble, making some fear that she might actually leap from her podium in some kind of suicidal plunge at her contemptuous employee.

Lake, for his part, seemed unfazed by this newfound rage. In fact his own demeanor had improved a good deal, though an apt observer could clearly see that he was by no means happy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he mused aloud to no one in particular, “Well, I can’t say where it came from, exactly. It was just the wording there. ‘Half-cocked,’ ‘loophole,’ ‘backdoor.’ You know in some circles, even the word 'throttle'…”

Edith banged her fist on the top of her podium and pointed an aged finger at Lake. “All right! Not another word out of you! You’re taking the walkabout, and so help me if I hear anything other than rave reviews about your behavior, I'll bounce you out of here on your smug little backside!”

Lake clearly had something else to say on the matter, but he remained silent. Of his many social skills, the ability to know just how far he could push someone before he had crossed the point of no return was probably the most finely honed. It was clear he didn’t love this particular turn of events, but it was also clear that short of getting himself removed from the guild there wasn’t much else he could do to get out of this. With a certain sense of resignation, he turned and headed back towards the door he had so recently entered.

“And just where do you think you’re going, hot shot?” Edith queried to his back.

Lake didn’t bother to turn around, stopping as he reached the door. “In accordance with Article 4, Paragraph 8 of the Provisional Guild Agreement with the Free States, any member enacted into volunteer duty with a walkabout may, at their discretion, forgo standard guild protocols when interacting with said walkabout. Pursuant with this, I’m enacting a special preparatory meeting to prepare for said walkabout. This meeting, coincidentally enough, will force me to miss the rest of this one. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

As the door shut with Lake on the opposite side of it, Edith Fortunado quietly grinded her teeth together. “I am so docking him for cracking that ganger last week…”

(Lengthy, sure, but I really like the entire exchange between the two. Besides, I haven't posted anything else all week. Read it in parts if you have to. Until next time, when I think I'll spend a little time breaking down some of the who, what, and why of the story elements...)

Unfiltered: The NaNo That Might Have Been

(You'll see plenty of the actual project before it's over, but here's part that you'll only see this much of. The reason? It's literally the majority of what I did the first few days of mu Nanowrimo project. This is the work I abandoned after the first few days, in part because I really wasnt sure where it was going to go. Anyway, enjoy...)

Chapter One

"Riley! Take out the trash, honey!"

Riley Waters grumbled to himself as he heard his mother's voice. He dragged himself form the sanity of his bed covers and wandered himself downstairs to the kitchen. He cursed himself for being angry at his mother the second he saw her strained face over the kitchen sink.

"What in the world could be stuck down there?" she quietly mused as she stared into the drain. "My god, is it some type of animal or something?" Her dark ponytail drifted out of the back of the cloth she had wrapped around her head. Her face, showing much more age than it should for a woman of her years, stressed itself into a series of premature wrinkles.

Riley sighed as he tried to force himself to look towards the trash can. Two firmly packed bags of trash waited for him at the end of his vision's journey, with another bag all but spilling out of the can. Riley grumbled quietly again before being startled by his mother's yell.

"Riley! Ri...!" his mother had started before realizing that he was already in the room. "Oh, dear. Dear? Can you take that out, please?"

"Where's Dudley?" Riley half mumbled the question from his lips. "It's his turn..."

"What?" His mother pursued. "Dudley? Oh, dear, I don't know. I'm sure he's around somewhere."

Riley pointed towards the trash bin with a finger. "It's Dudley's week to take out the trash. What's the point of having a chore wheel if he's not even going to .."

"Oh, Riley..." his mother interrupted him. "I know it's not fair, but I just..." She fought very hard to try and sound like she was being the reasonable person that she knew she wasn't. "I need the trash out of here, and this drain is acting up and... Could you just please do this for me right now?"

Riley wasn't a completely insensitive kid. He knew that life hadn't been entirely kind to his mother over the years. Having to take care of two children, boys no less, on her own wouldn't have been a picnic for anyone. Even though he knew her life was tough, even though he knew that he should be madder at his brother than at her, even though he knew that it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as he was making it out to be to take out the trash... he couldn't help but be aggravated.

Still, he could hear the strain in his mother's voice. He could see the stress in her face and the near defeat in her eyes. And while he wasn't sure exactly what the feeling was inside he got when he heard and saw it, he knew that it was a feeling he had learned he couldn't stand.

"Sure, Mom," Riley offered, trying his best to sound optimistic, "I can do it." Riley wandered over to the trash bin and grimaced. He really hadn't managed to appreciate just how terrible a mess it was. The odor was all but palpable once you managed to reach the can. No wonder she wanted this out, Riley thought. How did my brother manage to avoid this for two days straight? Riley decided to tackle the open bag first, partly because he believed that it might help alleviate part of the odor issue and partly because he figured that by doing that he could stop his mother's almost incessant need to throw items into the bag at the last possible moment.

Sealing the bag, Riley looked up and was surprised to see that his mother was nowhere in sight with a bowl or pot that needed scraping. Her attention remained drawn into the bottom of the drain she was trying with little success to open. He grabbed the first bag, most notably because it appeared it could burst open at any minute, and carefully made his way out the back door.

Riley cautiously carried the bag to the large, green cans in the back of the house, taking an extra moment or two to establish leverage before clomping the bag into the can. He dusted off his hands by brushing them together, even though he realized that there wasn’t much to come from it. His hands weren’t really dirty, but he had picked up the habit from his father, who had always done the same thing after finishing any task of great (or not so great) difficulty.

Riley stopped to look at the small brick house that he called his home. To say it wasn't much would be a bit of an understatement, but they had come to find a way to settle into it. Home. It wasn't really a concept he had even wrapped his head around in the past few years.

The first part of his task complete, Riley returned to the back door and made his way back inside. The two remaining bags sat waiting for him, and his mother was still perched over the kitchen sink drain. She was now taking a plunger to the pesky problem, seemingly oblivious to her son's return. No wonder she hadn't tried to cram anything else in, he thought. Riley glanced into the den, where the television was still on. The news program showed the local weather caster pulling one of his infamous gags. The middle-aged man was currently wearing a bathrobe and shower cap while standing in front of a green screen. The man was ducking and dodging as someone, presumably offscreen, threw what looked like balls of aluminum foil at him.

"And this is a reminder to all of our viewers out there..." The forecaster spoke through his bobbing and weaving. "A reminder that tonight is the last night of the meteor shower we've been having the past two nights... so make sure..." It was at this point that it became apparent that there were at least a few people throwing objects, as the number of foil balls had increased. "So make sure that you check it out if you get a chance..."

There were now a good many other objects being tossed around in the man's direction. Some balled up wads of paper, some tennis balls, and even a stapler passed narrowly by his head. Just at the moment when the poor man's distress seemed to reach its peak, the screen quickly flipped to an image of the news anchor trying his best to act like everything was normal. The hearty older man simply smiled and offered in his favorably relaxed tone, "Thanks, Stu. Good old Stu."

From somewhere offscreen, Stu could be heard screaming, "Ow! That's my spleen!"

(So that's it. There was some funky stuff at the beginning as a prologue, but it was truly babbling. Eventually, it was supposed to turn into a story about two brothers trapped on a strange planet and I think it might have gotten Lord of the Flies at one point... I never really have read that book, come to think of it. Anywho, I think there are a few all right moments in here, and I might at least re-use the weatherman scene in some future project. No part of the animal goes to waste...)

Not Quite an Obama-bration

It’s time for a holiday mash-up. All the joy and goodwill of a Thanksgiving post. All the fun of Friday Fun Day. All the old school of Thursday Retro Day. And a little bit of funk.

Okay, maybe not so much of the last one.

First the big update. As any who have stopped by know, I have been on a noble quest this past month. I took on the challenge of National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo, for short), which asks you to write a 50,000 word novel in the 30 days of November. Well today, it is my fond and sincere pleasure to inform you that I have hit the benchmark. 50K, 30 days. A winner is me. Let us celebrate the greatness with some old school music. You know the song, so sing along. (And yes, I did have to go with the Disco Inferno version. Roll with it.)


I have much more to say on the subject, but I think that for now I'll just bask in the partying. And possibly pass out.

NaNo: Day 24 Update

Okay, so long time no hear. I was busy with writing and putting off writing. Leave me be.

The good news is that I am just breaking over the 40K mark. The bad news is that somehow, through an accounting error, I am just breaking the 40K mark. As best as I can figure it, somewhere between switching from a manual word count management and an elctronic one, I must have screwed myself.

See, what I decided was that since I was bouncing around to various points in the story, it made more sense to break things up into multiple "chapter" files. So when I went to do word totals, I had to manually write down each chapters count and add them up (using a calculator, of course).

Then two days ago, it occurred to me that if I did a makeshift Excel spreadsheet, I could update each section I added words to ten times more efficiently than if I did it by hand. Genius really, and a wonderful thing to come up with with just ten days left in the project.

But somehow, one of the chapters ended up getting a word count inthe 4000's when it only should have been int he 2000's. And this was after I had put more work into it after the fact. That meant that insted of padding the 40K I thought I had, I ended up pushing just up to that point last night.

But the good news (and this is good news) is that I have hit the 40K mark. I have just enough or more than enough story left to tell to slam right past that, and if my recent dental related adventures leave me as able as they have so far, I should have plenty of time in the next few days to work on it. I want to tell you that it won't mean anything to me to pull this off, but if I can... there will be a party going on. Even if it's just in my mind.

Nano: Day 18 Update

First the good news. I'm currently at about 26,700 words. That's back on pace for finishing things, and if I can keep surging like I have been it shouldn't be a problem. The bad news? I've gone and scheduled to have my wisdom teeth removed next Monday. Which means that I will no doubt lose any chance to work on Monday, and probably not feel all that much like working the next few days, either. That means I'm going to have to work my tail off to get this done. But hey, I'm already 24,000 more words into this than I thought I would be, so more power to me.

Speaking of which, I believe I did say that I'd show you a little something of my work. Be warned: it only gets wordier from here...
(Click 'Read More!' to read the excerpt)




Prologue: Shadow in the Fog

"Farley!"

In the woods outside of the city, drifting just past the safety of the gates and the within earshot of the walls, Larry's voice echoed softly in the small wooded patch he was in. He stopped along the path and turned to one side to shout again. "Farley! Where the heck are you?" Larry wiped the sweat from his brow with his hankerchief and adjusted the balance of the basket he was carrying. He had performed his early morning foraging outside of the walls like clockwork three times a week for as long as he could remember. It was a gently brisk morning, thick with the humidity of the morning fog. His proximity to the security gate had more or less made him complacent in the endeavor. That, and the security his dog Farley brought him.

"Farley!"

He'd provide much more security, Larry thought, if the dumb mutt would actually stay near him.

"Farley, I swear I'm going to leave you out here if you don't..." A shuffle from ahead drew Larry's attention. He looked forward into the shifting mists and strained to see what it was.

The dim light of the early morning conspired with the lowly clouds to prevent visibility beyond 20 feet, but still Larry strained to see anything. He heard another shuffle from the same area, then looked again to see nothing. But slowly, ever so slowly, something began to appear. At first, Larry thought that maybe he was imagining things. A glimmer of the early morning lights combined with the opaque of the mists to create some sort of optical illusion. But then, as more seconds went by, he could make out a form. Not enough of a form to see exactly what it was, but a shadow. A shadow in the fog.

"Farley?"

Larry thought that it could be his pet. The shadow, after all, was relatively low to the ground. And it stood in place as he watched it. Farley wasn't the kind of pet to be overly disobedient, but he might stand in place if he had found something.

"What is it, boy?" Larry asked jokingly, "You find some nice 'shrooms over there?" The shadowed form remained still but still somehow shifted, almost as if moving on its own. Larry found the entire situation odd. He wanted to think that it was his dog ahead of him in the path, but at the same time he had a feeling that something just wasn't right. Almost without realizing it, he began to reach down towards the utility knife tucked into his belt. Normally it was only there for cutting loose a pesky root or clipping a mushroom, but Larry was slowly beginning to fear that he might need if for something else.

A sharp growl from behind nearly caused Larry to leap out of his shoes. He turned his head without turning his body, not willing to give up his position to whatevere was in front of him, but desperately needing to see what was behind him. There, another shadowy form had appeared almost an equal distance away as the one ahead. But unlike the one in front of Larry, this one slowly began to move closer. Larry was just moments away from truning in earnest to defend himself when his sense of recognition kicked in.

"Farley!" Larry cried out as his mutt of a dog stalked its way up behind him. The dog had an uncharacteristic snarl on his face. Larry had seen Farley worked up over things before but never like this. The animal's growl was guttural, the kind of noise that immediately reminded one, be they man or beast, that the animal still remembered its primal roots.

Slowly Farley treaded up to and just past his master, his gaze locked on the uncertain shadow in front of them. The shadow endured with no actual movement, its image still seeming to flicker in the morning haze.

"Come on, Farley..." Larry spoke softly as he still fingered the hilt of the blade in his belt. "Let's get out of here before..."

But it was too late. The shadow in the foggy path lunged forward with a sudden bolt. Almost as quickly, Farley leapt forward in defense of his master. Before Larry could try to stop him, Farley was on top of the mystery creature. Larry struggled to make out what was going on, but all he could see was that there was a struggle. Farley's vicious snarling growls could be heard, but they were met by an equally vicious set of growls from his opponent.

Larry chanced to move a few steps closer. The shapes in front of him began to take more recognizable forms. There was of course, Farley, bounding and grappling tooth and claw with another creature. As best as Larry could make out, it appeared to be a wolf or something similar. Larry thought about running for help, but he was much too far from the main gates to reach them in time. Not to mention the fact that there was no guarantee that he could even lead anyone back to this one spot, and on top of that it was unlikely that anyone would even help him save his dog from a wild animal.

Worst still was the other thought that Larry had, mainly that he should just run away and leave Farley to his own fate. He could never face his wife Gertie once he got home if he left Farley like that. The dog meant too much to him and to her to not at least try to help. Larry drew his knife and attempted to steel himself enough to approach the fighting animals.

The situation was close to being taken out of his hands. Before Larry could think to approach closer, the two beasts carrie dtheir fight further into the mists away from him. Larry stood frozen for a few more moments before finally chancing a few steps forward. The growling and snapping continued on, the sound drifting further away until finally it died down with a single sharp yelp.

Larry stood frozen in concern and fear. He waiting silently for what seemed like an eternity, afraid to move for fear of discovering what may or may not have become of his canine companion. Slowly he found his voice again, and called, his voice barely a whisper, "... Farley?"

The ground crackled ahead of him. Again a scant twenty feet ahead of Larry, a shadowy form appeared. Larry gripped his knife tighter, his hand trembling as an indication of just how woefully equipped he was to do any sort of real fighting.

The shadowy form began a slow approach. Larry's arm poked forward as if he expected to cause damage to something by having it run into his knife by accident. But alas, that would not be the case.

From amidst the fog, the familiar form of Larry's dog Farley came into focus. The dog, its spirit as worn as its body, limped ahead weakly. Its body had several scratches and bite marks, most notably a large gash along its left side.

"Oh, Farley!" Larry practically dropped his knife as he ran to be at his friend's side. "What were you thinkin', fella? You didn't have to do that. Are you, okay, boy? What did that thing do to you?"

Farley whimpered quietly, struggling to move closer to his master but not able to make it due to his wounds. His body collapsed into a furry matted pile on the cold wet earth.

Larry fell to his knees, his eyes starting to mist from the emotion. His body began to tremble as he tried to tend to his fallen pet. His knife fell from his hands as he sought to stop the animal's bleeding. His hands moved forward, gently lifting the dog into his arms and bringing it close to his body.

"Don't you worry, boy..." Larry whispered. "I'm not going to let you... You're gonna be okay, boy. You're gonna be just fine." The animal whimpered in his arms. Larry felt the trembling of its furry body and the warmth of the blood flowing from its open wounds. And then, much to Larry's horror, he felt its teeth.

The attack was as viciousas it was sudden. The animal that he'd raised since it was a puppy had inexplicably rebelled. He tried to calm it with soothing words dripped in panic, but to no avail. The animal was beyond reconcile. Larry felt the claws of the beast gripping into his chest , its teeth driving themselves into his neck again. His flailing arms reached for the knife that he had just discarded, but it was too late. With a greusome snarl and brutal tearing at the man's neck, forceful attack was over. The man was mortally wounded.

Larry's body collapsed into a limp pile on the cold soil. His mind was adrift, spiralling through its final confused thoughts as the warm fluid of his life drained from his form. He thought of Gertie, the wife he would never see again and prayed for her happiness. He idly thought of the basket of roots and mushrooms that wouldn't go on sale today and prayed for the peddlers who would come up short. He found that thought in particular oddly comical and out of place given the one that had come prior to it. He prayed for the sick, the young, and even his enemies. And then finally, he prayed for his longtime companion Farley, and silently forgave him for losing control as he did. He was after all, just a foolish animal, and even if anyone found him he would surely be put down for having attcked his master as he did.

He could feel his last gasps coming. His body registered no pain, and he found himself at peace among nature. The gentle morning breeze gave him comfort. The cooling mist of the morning drifted away as the new day, his last day, began to start in earnest. Larry, through the haze of his mind, saw another shadow in the fog above him. A familiar shape that was followed by the familiar feeling of a furred paw upon his bloody chest. Gone was the bestial ferocity that had occurred just a few moments ago. All that seemed to remain was the last traces of loyalty between owner and master. The last pages of a tragedy of small scale, but a tradgedy noentheles.

Larry's mind swirled peacefully downward. The thought of reaching out and giving his pal a final pet. The random guess of which pie his wife would fix for Sunday dinner. His first kiss. His last confession. That little blinky gadget he could never get to work properly. Awake.

The dying man's senses were stunned by the sudden interjection. While he knew full well that his mind was practically dreaming itself to death, his heart pulsed one final sharp tone as he realized something far more disturbing. The last thoughts... the final thoughts of his life... were not his own. The paw on his chest began to press onto his heart with an awful, immeasurable weight as his thoughts once again began to speak on their own.

Finally... finally awake...

But for Larry, the burden of this terror would be fleeting. His body wounded, pressed and failing, Larry finally surrendered to what could have been a far more merciful death. In the woods outside of the city, drifting just past the safety of the gates and the within earshot of the walls, a shadow in the fog howled omninously, its scream drifting into the early morning light and changing... changing into something far more ominous.


(Ooo-oooooh! But the rest of it isn't nearly as creepy as all that. Note this is just a draft. It's all just a draft. But this part felt like it was put together well enough to show the curious public. With any luck, I'll feel up to showing more of it later.)