PGA, 13 (and pause)

A rare Saturday update, but for a reason. At the post title indicates, I’m taking a break from this manuscript. I mean, 31k words and the plot has barely shown up? I need to let them talk to me, possibly for a few months. In the meantime, as I have mentioned, an informal writers’ group, birthed at Imaginarium, has entrusted me with putting together an anthology that I plan to have out by the end of the year. That is a lot of reading and editing or others’ works, which is not something I have done before. However, I shan’t let them down. So, this potentially emerging religious war goes on the shelf for a bit.

Until then, as you see in the selection below, it occurred to me that nobody ever really has gotten sick in my books, barring Lem’s brief neurological disorder (which incidentally led to the modified angelic body of Ildi). Blown up, sure, but not even the sniffles, that I recall. I’ve been sick twice over the summer and thought, why not? Interesting in that it is entirely possible Pai has never been around a sick human before; a no-brainer for Aurie’s dad and brother, both doctors, but why would a Thinking Machine have cause to visit a sick ward? I know both Earth and Mars take strong precautions to prevent cross-contaminations and outbreaks, but this seems very new to her.

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PGA, 12

Well, now. This is not what I thought I would be seeing. Do I hope that this novel turns into some huge, interplanetary jihad/crusade? Sure, that would be kinda cool. Did I expect cute little Pai to do what happens here? Even given her family, no, I did not. This has me almost at a standstill; not written for two days, three if you count today. I really am at a loss.

I sort of see the simple representation of Ildi as a throwback to an ichthys image. A shorthand for one follower to signal to another.

Special thanks to Pink Floyd and Bob Geldof. Wish I knew how to format lines in WordPress.

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PGA, 11

Smaller segment for going into a weekend. Things get a little odd their next morning and I am still trying to work through the details. Beyond that, I also need to do some research about South America. For ten years and nineteen books, I do not think I mentioned the place once. Mexico gets a little mention in Cursed Hearts and Martian Wonderland, but points south of that? I really have no idea. With the US dead and gone for over a hunderd years, and trade with Western Europe a zero, I suppose I’ll have to extrapolate what places like Brazil, Argentina, and Chile have done to survive.

Saying all that is to imply that updates might be sparce awhile. Plus, I’ll need to focus on the initial editing of our Lemurverse anthology.

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PGA, 10

Pai gets mistaken for a boy. That’s freakin’ hilarious. But, we see that, yes, there is some kind of religious sentiment about Ildi in this unregulated northern town. Unregulated towns and new religions, well, names such as Medina and Mecca spring to mind. Not something that either the imperium or other spokes of the Polar Alliance would appreciate.

Mark XXs. Might be a story there.

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PGA, 9

After a few scenes from Pai’s POV, we’re back to Graf. I’m not entirely happy with the timing and pace of this segment and will likely revise the heck out of it prior to sending to my copyeditor. Still, raws are raws, to get something down “on paper” to keep the story moving.

I take this time to educate a potential reader about Ildi, for anyone who has not read about here in my two short story collections. She sure takes after her mother when it comes to fecundity. I suppose I’ll have to know more about her family before all of this is over; I cannot really imagine her kids liking the idea of their mom being worshiped as a goddess.

Graf has never heard of a strip club. That’s hilarious.

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PGA, 8

After pushing the kids just a little too far, Pai apologizes. Once that is behind them, the questions start, which allows her to tell a true story with some propaganda for seasoning. She comes from a dangerous and devious family, after all.

You can make the arguement that invading her husband’s dream is unethical, but this is a different time and she is not at all like us. As we will see, next week. Oh, I was gifted the word jinky before Mass last Sunday. Church is the best place to let stories come.

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PGA, 7

These segments will be a small chapter as I was taken to task years ago about “head hopping,” changing the internal monolog from one character to another with little or no warning, so the reader becomes confused. With one one deliberate exception that comes to mind right now, I do not do that anymore. So, since this little bit around the campfires is all Pai, I’ll separate it.

Having a cute gal from a country allied to yours for a century wander into your camp can be vaguely disturbing or, with accent, somewhat endearing. Pai uses that to push them and gets a surprise. Have I mentioned how seriously I, and they, take loyalty?

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