So. When last we met, I had just finished my four-day web institute for my grad program. Basically, I sat in a room for four days and had way, way too much information shoved into my brain. The last couple of weeks have mostly been settling in to doing classwork, and continuing to look for work. Boring boring.
So! Today I bring you the first page of a current short story WIP. I don't usually write short stories anymore, I don't usually write science fiction, and I almost never write about adults. This story is all three, and has been massively tricky to write!
Working title for this is "Ghost", but that is subject to change.
*
When Andy Rollins started spouting to anyone who would listen that he was seeing ghosts, it got him more than a few funny looks.Folks on Rainmaker VII don't much hold with superstition. It didn't help that Andy was the chief compactor on hydrogen deck. The thought that he was crackin' up didn't go down too good.
I work in compression--two decks below hydro, where we do the actual assembly--fusing the H with oxygen to fill the vats with water. Vital work, but the noise and heat is enough to make anyone crazy. Been more than a few times I've heard things when I get off shift--getting out of comp leaves your ears ringing like nothin' else. Really, it's a wonder it was Andy and not me who went nuts.
He come down to compression deck two shifts after I'd first heard about him seeing things, to warn me that the latest H delivery had been short by nearly a million tons. Not news I wanted to hear--we were already behind on production, and it was planting season down on Homeworld. Had to rain in 8 days, and we were already behind, since the main compressor was down. Component issue was the last thing I needed.
"Goddamn, Andy," I said, screaming to be heard over the whomp-whomp of the compressors. "What am I supposed to do?"
He shrugged, looking unhappy. Andy always hated to disappoint anyone. His family had come from Base3, about two months out from Homeworld, and he had been supposed to get a good job and a spot for them on the surface. Closest he ever got was Rainmaker VII, hovering in the upper troposphere. Not that we could see the planet from here. Weather ships don't get windows. I don't think he ever got over the guilt from his mother dying on a Base.
"There's nothing I can do, Lisle." Andy said. "it was the ghosts."
*
Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuun.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Web insitute.
Four days of learning. Learned. Library learning. Informations? Many words. Much learnings. Searching good. Many informations. COFFEE TIME!!! More coffee. Sugars. Eat the sugars for brain learnings.
Sleep now.
Sleep now.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Running
I hate running. I hate it with the burning fire of a thousand suns. I once promised myself that, after surviving the hell that was high school gym class, I would never again run unless something large and clawed was chasing me.
Unfortunately, I hate being out of shape just a little bit more than I hate running.
I spent a lot of years being very, very out of shape. At the end of my sixth grade year I got really sick, and was homebound for six weeks. My asthma, formerly a fairly minor case that was only really triggered with smoke or heavy exercise, got really bad. I was on steroids for my lungs and I gained a significant amount of weight. Moving at all was very difficult. Being in middle school just made the problem worse--it's not a good time to be overweight, particularly if you also stand out for being tall and kind of nerdy.
It took a long time for me to get comfortable in my skin. I lost most of the weight, though it took years and I am by no means thin now. What I am, is capable. I am in good shape, I can climb a mountain or bike for miles or lift heavy things that need to be lifted. I have come a long way from having to rest between flights of stairs.
When I moved at the start of this summer, the two things, other than my family, that I knew I would miss the most were having a regular, reliable mechanic who I knew, and having a gym membership. Because without a gym with assorted exciting fitness classes, staying in shape gets a lot harder, and without a job--I am still looking--I couldn't justify the price. I would have to do the unthinkable. Go running.
Run. Regularly. Even though it still makes me want to die or throw up. I am in good overall shape, but running, I think, is sort of a specialized skill that my muscles still protest. I have actually improved a lot this summer. The percentage of my route that I walk has gone down, and I have gotten faster. But it still sucks, and I still hate it, and I am writing this blog post in part to delay having to put my shoes on and hit the street.
But I guess my time is up, and I have to go. Tomorrow is my first real day of school--I have four days of 8-5 in person classes before the online lessons start, and that doesn't leave me with lots of time to exercise. So I really have no excuse to not go today.
Damn it. I hate running.
Unfortunately, I hate being out of shape just a little bit more than I hate running.
I spent a lot of years being very, very out of shape. At the end of my sixth grade year I got really sick, and was homebound for six weeks. My asthma, formerly a fairly minor case that was only really triggered with smoke or heavy exercise, got really bad. I was on steroids for my lungs and I gained a significant amount of weight. Moving at all was very difficult. Being in middle school just made the problem worse--it's not a good time to be overweight, particularly if you also stand out for being tall and kind of nerdy.
It took a long time for me to get comfortable in my skin. I lost most of the weight, though it took years and I am by no means thin now. What I am, is capable. I am in good shape, I can climb a mountain or bike for miles or lift heavy things that need to be lifted. I have come a long way from having to rest between flights of stairs.
When I moved at the start of this summer, the two things, other than my family, that I knew I would miss the most were having a regular, reliable mechanic who I knew, and having a gym membership. Because without a gym with assorted exciting fitness classes, staying in shape gets a lot harder, and without a job--I am still looking--I couldn't justify the price. I would have to do the unthinkable. Go running.
Run. Regularly. Even though it still makes me want to die or throw up. I am in good overall shape, but running, I think, is sort of a specialized skill that my muscles still protest. I have actually improved a lot this summer. The percentage of my route that I walk has gone down, and I have gotten faster. But it still sucks, and I still hate it, and I am writing this blog post in part to delay having to put my shoes on and hit the street.
But I guess my time is up, and I have to go. Tomorrow is my first real day of school--I have four days of 8-5 in person classes before the online lessons start, and that doesn't leave me with lots of time to exercise. So I really have no excuse to not go today.
Damn it. I hate running.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Old Stories #1- Morgan and Fiona in the Deep Dark Woods
I'm lazy and bad at coming up with new content. So from time to time, I think I am going to post a random page or two of some of my old stories. I think the oldest ones I have are from high school, I have several from college creative writing classes, and I have some from the last year or so. They won't be in order, and probably won't make much sense, but I can feel good about myself for updating, so I think that makes it a win.
This first excerpt is from the first story I did in my intro creative writing class in college. This scene is from the first third of the story.
Morgan and Fiona in the Deep Dark Woods.
The morning promised another of the hot bright days that seemed to be the rule that June. There had been a thunderstorm the night before, and the air was oppressively humid. Morgan was eating breakfast when Fiona, sweat dripping down her freckled nose, burst into the kitchen and struck a dramatic pose. “There has been a rain of frogs,” she proclaimed, “and I need you to help me get rid of them. Are those pancakes?”
Morgan got her a plate, knowing that she would not tell him anything until she got fed. He suspected that she spent most of her free time coming up with outlandish statements to spring on him at breakfast. Fiona’s family were cold cereal people.
When she had carefully licked the last drops of syrup from her plate she sat back and folded her hands in front of her, waiting for Morgan’s attention. “Last night,” she began, “during the storm, I heard a sort of plopping on the roof. Not rain, more like splatting. I got out of bed and looked outside, but it was dark—“
“As night often is”
She glared, “and all I could see was that there were larger things mixed in with the rain. So this morning I got up early and went outside and right off I noticed guts! Guts everywhere!”
“That’s disgusting, Fi.”
“Well, once I got past the guts I saw that there were absolutely thousands of frogs lying about. Most of them were dead—splattered on the ground, their guts everywhere—“
“Still gross.”
“--but there were still a bunch of them hopping around. And so you have to help me save them, because it’s going to be very hot today, and I think they’ll dry out and die. So we have to move them to the creek.”
Morgan looked at Fiona—she certainly seemed serious at least. But her imagination was a touch overactive, and if she wasn’t sufficiently entertained she would start to entertain herself.
“Morgan! We have to go now, before they all dry out!”
Morgan was fairly sure that he would have noticed a rain of frogs, but he supposed it could have been a very localized storm. “Fine,” he said, “let me get my shoes.”
This first excerpt is from the first story I did in my intro creative writing class in college. This scene is from the first third of the story.
Morgan and Fiona in the Deep Dark Woods.
The morning promised another of the hot bright days that seemed to be the rule that June. There had been a thunderstorm the night before, and the air was oppressively humid. Morgan was eating breakfast when Fiona, sweat dripping down her freckled nose, burst into the kitchen and struck a dramatic pose. “There has been a rain of frogs,” she proclaimed, “and I need you to help me get rid of them. Are those pancakes?”
Morgan got her a plate, knowing that she would not tell him anything until she got fed. He suspected that she spent most of her free time coming up with outlandish statements to spring on him at breakfast. Fiona’s family were cold cereal people.
When she had carefully licked the last drops of syrup from her plate she sat back and folded her hands in front of her, waiting for Morgan’s attention. “Last night,” she began, “during the storm, I heard a sort of plopping on the roof. Not rain, more like splatting. I got out of bed and looked outside, but it was dark—“
“As night often is”
She glared, “and all I could see was that there were larger things mixed in with the rain. So this morning I got up early and went outside and right off I noticed guts! Guts everywhere!”
“That’s disgusting, Fi.”
“Well, once I got past the guts I saw that there were absolutely thousands of frogs lying about. Most of them were dead—splattered on the ground, their guts everywhere—“
“Still gross.”
“--but there were still a bunch of them hopping around. And so you have to help me save them, because it’s going to be very hot today, and I think they’ll dry out and die. So we have to move them to the creek.”
Morgan looked at Fiona—she certainly seemed serious at least. But her imagination was a touch overactive, and if she wasn’t sufficiently entertained she would start to entertain herself.
“Morgan! We have to go now, before they all dry out!”
Morgan was fairly sure that he would have noticed a rain of frogs, but he supposed it could have been a very localized storm. “Fine,” he said, “let me get my shoes.”
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wedding
The biggest drama at my wedding was the issue of The Suit.
My husband and I both got our wedding clothes on Etsy, we posted alchemy requests and found people to custom make us outfits. Mine went perfectly, and I had a great dress a month before I needed it.
His process was more complicated. Suits are harder to make than dresses, and it took longer to find a tailor who was willing to custom make a three piece suit for an affordable amount. The one he eventually found lives in France. She had a great portfolio, and was willing to do the whole thing, shipping included, for $300.
We knew the timing would be pretty tight. The deal was finalized five weeks before the wedding, and the tailor promised to get the suit in the mail a week before, with the fastest transatlantic shipping available.
It's easy to make that sort of call five weeks out, but a week before the wedding we were starting to get nervous. The suit was finished and in the mail 8 days before the wedding. Unfortunately, it looked like it wouldn't be fast enough. We got married in my hometown, which is three hours away from where we live now. We had to be there two days before the Friday wedding, and it was pretty obvious on Monday when the suit was still stuck in French customs that we weren't going to get it before we had to go.
After a bit of quietly freaking out, we called his uncle, who lives in the same town we do and was coming to the wedding. We learned that the uncle was planning to drive down Friday morning. He agreed to check our mailbox for the next two days and see if the package was there.
All of this was complicated by the fact that our mail is delivered on a very erratic schedule. Sometimes it is there before noon, sometimes we don't get it until six or six-thirty. There's no way to tell when it might get there. The suit required a signature for pickup, so in order to get the package our mail would have to get there in time for the uncle to check it, get the pickup slip, and go to the post office.
Thursday afternoon we got a call--the slip had been delivered, but when the uncle had gone to the post office to pick up the package he was told that the carrier was still out. The post office branch closed at six, and with the erratic mail pattern, there was no guarantee that the carrier would be back in time. Since the wedding was at 11 AM, if the package wasn't delivered in time that night there would be no way to get it to us. We looked at local rental places, just in case.
The carrier got back to the post office at 5:55. The uncle got the suit. He would be getting to us at 10. The wedding, as I said, was at 11. It was tight.
The wedding was in my grandmother's back yard. I called her and asked if she could have an iron ready so the Boy could press the suit before he wore it. We crossed both fingers and toes that his uncle wouldn't have car trouble. There was also the question of whether the suit would fit. It was made to order, but he had never tried it on, and that close to the ceremony there wouldn't be time to get a rental.
I didn't actually see the suit arrive. When I got to the house just after ten though, the Boy was standing in the living room, ironing his pants. They even fit.
My husband and I both got our wedding clothes on Etsy, we posted alchemy requests and found people to custom make us outfits. Mine went perfectly, and I had a great dress a month before I needed it.
His process was more complicated. Suits are harder to make than dresses, and it took longer to find a tailor who was willing to custom make a three piece suit for an affordable amount. The one he eventually found lives in France. She had a great portfolio, and was willing to do the whole thing, shipping included, for $300.
We knew the timing would be pretty tight. The deal was finalized five weeks before the wedding, and the tailor promised to get the suit in the mail a week before, with the fastest transatlantic shipping available.
It's easy to make that sort of call five weeks out, but a week before the wedding we were starting to get nervous. The suit was finished and in the mail 8 days before the wedding. Unfortunately, it looked like it wouldn't be fast enough. We got married in my hometown, which is three hours away from where we live now. We had to be there two days before the Friday wedding, and it was pretty obvious on Monday when the suit was still stuck in French customs that we weren't going to get it before we had to go.
After a bit of quietly freaking out, we called his uncle, who lives in the same town we do and was coming to the wedding. We learned that the uncle was planning to drive down Friday morning. He agreed to check our mailbox for the next two days and see if the package was there.
All of this was complicated by the fact that our mail is delivered on a very erratic schedule. Sometimes it is there before noon, sometimes we don't get it until six or six-thirty. There's no way to tell when it might get there. The suit required a signature for pickup, so in order to get the package our mail would have to get there in time for the uncle to check it, get the pickup slip, and go to the post office.
Thursday afternoon we got a call--the slip had been delivered, but when the uncle had gone to the post office to pick up the package he was told that the carrier was still out. The post office branch closed at six, and with the erratic mail pattern, there was no guarantee that the carrier would be back in time. Since the wedding was at 11 AM, if the package wasn't delivered in time that night there would be no way to get it to us. We looked at local rental places, just in case.
The carrier got back to the post office at 5:55. The uncle got the suit. He would be getting to us at 10. The wedding, as I said, was at 11. It was tight.
The wedding was in my grandmother's back yard. I called her and asked if she could have an iron ready so the Boy could press the suit before he wore it. We crossed both fingers and toes that his uncle wouldn't have car trouble. There was also the question of whether the suit would fit. It was made to order, but he had never tried it on, and that close to the ceremony there wouldn't be time to get a rental.
I didn't actually see the suit arrive. When I got to the house just after ten though, the Boy was standing in the living room, ironing his pants. They even fit.
Friday, August 6, 2010
The Sandbox Saga, Part 4
So, returning to a story that I have been neglecting. When last we saw our heroes--the Princess of the Downstairs Bathroom (now deposed) and her Bodyguardin' Friend, immortal due to a freak military accident, and slaves of a tribe of feral children due to really terrible luck--they had just been introduced to another slave in the desert, the former queen of a nearby country who had been captured by the feral children several years previously.
The Feral Children were many things--excellent fighters, wielders of enormous power gathered through the ritual sacrifice of giant ants, and remarkably good architects. However, they were still children. Lizzie, the leader was somewhere between eight and ten. She was the oldest by a year or so. Most of the others were a bit younger, and the two plastic babies were...babies. Afternoon naps were common in the halls of Summercastle, and even those who felt they were too old for naps often dozed off over their books of ancient ant-lore.
The Queen--like all the non-feral players, she didn't get a name--did not look like much of a ruler. Like the girls, her head was shaved and she was dressed in sand-stained rags. She was also batshit insane, due to living in a hole for years while subject to the whims of feral children. Still, the Queen was cunning, and had managed to build up a bit of power through covert sacrifices--the ant-gods didn't care who did the sacrificing, after all. She thought that within another month or so she would be able to break the bindings that the children had placed around their part of the desert.
The great thing about being an eight year old in a sandbox is that the stories you make up for yourself don't have to follow story rules. The story I am telling here is such a small part of all that went on, with none of the side plots or random adventures, or any of the hours and hours of tedious plant gathering and mashing that was for some reason fascinating to me at the time.
The Queen's plan didn't quite work out. The Princess and her Friend agreed to the escape attempt, but it was delayed by storms and the problem of supplies. Treetown was at least a month away from the desert, and the grassland that separated them was an empty waste, with no food and very little water. The Queen probably would never have offered to take the girls with her, except that the grassland was populated by strange and savage beasts, and three people would have a greater chance of survival than one. It would just take time to gather supplies.
The one thing that no one saw coming was the Princess deciding to stay behind.
In the months it took to gather power and stash supplies, the Princess was working in the halls of Summercastle. The Princess had been raised to care deeply about her people. She was always expected to go out and meet her subjects, work in their villages, monitor conditions in the country, and ensure that her people had the best lives possible. When the war started and the Princess lost her power she also lost much of her identity. Her Friend knew it and had done the best she could to help, but it hadn't done much good.
The Feral Children changed all that. The Princess found peace in caring for them, and Lizzy realize early on that she had the capacity for real loyalty. It didn't take long before the Princess was moved out of the slave barracks and into her own room in the castle, where she worked as Lizzie's personal adviser, as a sort of big sister. By the time her Friend and the Queen were ready to run, the Princess informed them that she would be staying behind.
The Feral Children were many things--excellent fighters, wielders of enormous power gathered through the ritual sacrifice of giant ants, and remarkably good architects. However, they were still children. Lizzie, the leader was somewhere between eight and ten. She was the oldest by a year or so. Most of the others were a bit younger, and the two plastic babies were...babies. Afternoon naps were common in the halls of Summercastle, and even those who felt they were too old for naps often dozed off over their books of ancient ant-lore.
The Queen--like all the non-feral players, she didn't get a name--did not look like much of a ruler. Like the girls, her head was shaved and she was dressed in sand-stained rags. She was also batshit insane, due to living in a hole for years while subject to the whims of feral children. Still, the Queen was cunning, and had managed to build up a bit of power through covert sacrifices--the ant-gods didn't care who did the sacrificing, after all. She thought that within another month or so she would be able to break the bindings that the children had placed around their part of the desert.
The great thing about being an eight year old in a sandbox is that the stories you make up for yourself don't have to follow story rules. The story I am telling here is such a small part of all that went on, with none of the side plots or random adventures, or any of the hours and hours of tedious plant gathering and mashing that was for some reason fascinating to me at the time.
The Queen's plan didn't quite work out. The Princess and her Friend agreed to the escape attempt, but it was delayed by storms and the problem of supplies. Treetown was at least a month away from the desert, and the grassland that separated them was an empty waste, with no food and very little water. The Queen probably would never have offered to take the girls with her, except that the grassland was populated by strange and savage beasts, and three people would have a greater chance of survival than one. It would just take time to gather supplies.
The one thing that no one saw coming was the Princess deciding to stay behind.
In the months it took to gather power and stash supplies, the Princess was working in the halls of Summercastle. The Princess had been raised to care deeply about her people. She was always expected to go out and meet her subjects, work in their villages, monitor conditions in the country, and ensure that her people had the best lives possible. When the war started and the Princess lost her power she also lost much of her identity. Her Friend knew it and had done the best she could to help, but it hadn't done much good.
The Feral Children changed all that. The Princess found peace in caring for them, and Lizzy realize early on that she had the capacity for real loyalty. It didn't take long before the Princess was moved out of the slave barracks and into her own room in the castle, where she worked as Lizzie's personal adviser, as a sort of big sister. By the time her Friend and the Queen were ready to run, the Princess informed them that she would be staying behind.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Why are you interested in this position
Why are you interested in this position? Why do you think? Because I am fascinated by the fast paced world of shirt folding? Because filing fulfills some gaping emptiness in my soul? Maybe because I just really love dealing with irrationally angry people.
I don't actually like lying to people. Most of the time, anyway. I mean sure, it can be fun to see how ridiculous your story can get before someone calls you on it, but these little institutional application lies aren't nearly as interesting.
I am interested in this position because I like to eat. I like to live in a house and have internet and TV, even if the TV (now with an antenna!) only has five versions of PBS and the religion channel. I like to buy books, and occasionally wear clothes that aren't left over from when I was in high school, and having this position would allow me to continue to do these things.
I am additionally interested in this position because it offers health insurance, and I am getting married soon and won't be covered by my oh-so-patient parents any more. This position would get me out of the house and make me actually be productive with my free time, because I can't deal with a lack of structure and I am bad at imposing it on myself. This position would let me spend the summer somewhere with air conditioning, and maybe someday allow me to have air conditioning of my very own.
Just kidding. I am interested in this position because the fast paced world of sales has always appealed to me. I'm a real people person.
I don't actually like lying to people. Most of the time, anyway. I mean sure, it can be fun to see how ridiculous your story can get before someone calls you on it, but these little institutional application lies aren't nearly as interesting.
I am interested in this position because I like to eat. I like to live in a house and have internet and TV, even if the TV (now with an antenna!) only has five versions of PBS and the religion channel. I like to buy books, and occasionally wear clothes that aren't left over from when I was in high school, and having this position would allow me to continue to do these things.
I am additionally interested in this position because it offers health insurance, and I am getting married soon and won't be covered by my oh-so-patient parents any more. This position would get me out of the house and make me actually be productive with my free time, because I can't deal with a lack of structure and I am bad at imposing it on myself. This position would let me spend the summer somewhere with air conditioning, and maybe someday allow me to have air conditioning of my very own.
Just kidding. I am interested in this position because the fast paced world of sales has always appealed to me. I'm a real people person.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Up, Over and Around
This week has been all about the travel. I got an email on Monday from the woman who is officiating at my wedding in August, saying that she could meet with us on Wednesday in Great Falls to talk about the ceremony. As neither I nor my husband-elect is currently employed, it wasn't a huge deal to schedule a last minute trip to Great Falls, and we had to do other wedding/reception planning stuff there anyway. So we loaded up on Tuesday and headed out.
Wednesday was an exciting day of wading around town--it was pouring--confirming our spot at the KOA for the reception, choosing a spot in my grandma's back yard for the actual wedding, finding absolutely the shortest marriage service possible, and scoping out potential places to register. We also managed to hit a class at the gym.
Even before the trip to Great Falls we had planned to travel this week. My (non-yard having) grandmother died in March, and today there was a memorial in Bozeman. So Thursday morning we got back in the car and drove through more rain. My mother and I took the opportunity to go dress shopping--I'm not doing a traditional wedding dress, but I do want to get something nice. Unfortunately, I have been able to find dresses that fit, are the right color, the right shape, or the right fabric, but never all at the right time. Bozeman, like Great Falls and Missoula, didn't have anything quite right. I am starting to get concerned.
Today was the memorial, which involved a larger gathering of my dad's side of the family than there has been in quite some time. It even stopped raining, though it never quite got warm.
Then there was more driving. And now I am home, and I think I am going to eat a bowl of cereal and go to bed, and not drive my car again for a while. We are going to have to go back to Great Falls sometime soon because we still need a marriage license, but right now? I am glad to be home.
Wednesday was an exciting day of wading around town--it was pouring--confirming our spot at the KOA for the reception, choosing a spot in my grandma's back yard for the actual wedding, finding absolutely the shortest marriage service possible, and scoping out potential places to register. We also managed to hit a class at the gym.
Even before the trip to Great Falls we had planned to travel this week. My (non-yard having) grandmother died in March, and today there was a memorial in Bozeman. So Thursday morning we got back in the car and drove through more rain. My mother and I took the opportunity to go dress shopping--I'm not doing a traditional wedding dress, but I do want to get something nice. Unfortunately, I have been able to find dresses that fit, are the right color, the right shape, or the right fabric, but never all at the right time. Bozeman, like Great Falls and Missoula, didn't have anything quite right. I am starting to get concerned.
Today was the memorial, which involved a larger gathering of my dad's side of the family than there has been in quite some time. It even stopped raining, though it never quite got warm.
Then there was more driving. And now I am home, and I think I am going to eat a bowl of cereal and go to bed, and not drive my car again for a while. We are going to have to go back to Great Falls sometime soon because we still need a marriage license, but right now? I am glad to be home.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
SO SAD
We have a TV, but it is not hooked up to anything but a DVD player. I reallyreally want to watch the World Cup. These things do not go well together. My life is SO HARD.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)