This is a freebee to all my readers. It is from my short story collection entitled “Empire’s Agent.” The reason I’m tossing it out there is that a fellow Gabber, and a good man, is dying and expressed concern what to tell his grandkids. Thought I could lend a hand.Continue reading ““No better friend; no worse enemy””
I wrote much of this last night on bottle #2. After Mass this morning and a few household chores I returned to it. It stank. Deleted and re-wrote the second half of the dream sequence then was surprised that it was Dorina on the phone and not Thaad. These machines are like kudzu: cropping up everywhere you least expect them.
The next day Sylvia has her first full day at her office job. I know you guys CANNOT WAIT for that dramatic installment… And for the person who sent me the question: no, she and Jones do not have a relationship. I think.
Had today off. Saw a little of the political dynamic of Sylvia and the OKC politician. The fact that Ninon, one of the three machines that has never spoken to humans just spoke up made my fingers twitch so much I could barely type.
PS My use of “Look homeward, angel” is from Milton’s Lycidas. I’d no idea that Tom Wolfe, whom I admire, used it for a book title. Another moment when the intarwebs steer you to a place you do not want to be; and, if you don’t prepossess the knowledge, you are led to something wrong.
And going out with not one bangs but two! First, in Straight from the Library we’ve a kind of character interview. I wrote it as a machine recording from their future… an exchange between Nichole 5 and a human questioner. It’s a little… odd. But then machine memories will be.
The other stop is Hope, Dreams, Life… Love. Things my stories are made of! The handful of usual unimportant questions about me, but then I get to share! A link to the somewhat rough short story I now call “Factory Girl” but is linked to under “Nike 1”. I play in someone else’s sandbox to try to give two of my more tortured characters a chance at redemption.
It’s been a fun month, everyone! My wife starts a new job on the 18th! I also on the 25th! Being Lent, I’m writing at least 1,000 words per day! Knocking out the rest of “Worlds Without End” is in my grasp! I hope everyone has enjoyed finding out more about my stories… please look forward to more!
I really need to find a doctor or NP. My drinking has lead to liver disease or cirrhosis. Not that I’ll stop drinking until N5 v2 is complete, but I’d like to know exactly what’s wrong with me: even with Metoprolol, my BP is up, I get tired easily, lose my balance in the mornings, and my right under my ribs hurts.
In the mean time, Nichole starts her tour. This segment touches on her school fellows and puts Nancy in a can. We’ll be back to Zom’s for dinner – have to fit Joe in somewhere as he’s a part of the second to last scene of Part 3… a fighting retreat. Honestly, I don’t actually see him die… Tomorrow should be a good day for writing. If you’re inclined, pray for me*. I’d appreciate it.
*For the stories, not my health. I’m gonna die regardless… need to get these out!
Probably sounds better in Latin. Which makes an appearance in the last few lines of this update.
Saturday I had two mixed drinks: gin and Monster. Wrote about 1600 words. Sunday, as I was making then eating my chili con queso con carne, I’d beer. Wrote Nichole and Tuchman into a room, about 150 words… then, nothing. Late Monday AM, back to wine and 1100 words were there at my fingertips. I’ve seen the snippets of their ride back and her reunion with Gil and Mackenzie, but I’ve RealLife matters to attend to.
So much for beer. Sad. I homebrewed for over fifteen years, but gave it up because of the carbs. “All things change; all things die.”
From Chapter 13, page 207 of Cursed Hearts:
They walked quickly, generally to the southeast. Emma had told her new acquaintance that the Geisel Library was at the center of campus, so it was easy to find local food vendors set up around it all through the day. As Miss Barrett’s stomach continued to growl – embarrassing her for some reason – the sooner they got there, the better.
“…came here after getting my BS at Portland State.” Emma sighed. “The Breakup began just afterward. Most people left, but there was nowhere for me to go… so, like some friends of mine, we stuck it out here.”
“I do not understand how the world’s superpower could have been so stupid as to walk into that trap.”
“T… trap?” Taller, Emma worked to keep pace with the young woman. “But I thought just a coin-”
“Idiot.” Emma was learning quickly that her new acquaintance lacked manners. “Your President removed via extra-Constitutional means just as Russia, China, India roll out a new currency?” She stopped and turned so quickly, Emma almost ran into her.
“Look at you.” The scowl was there, but Emma hoped it was a spark of mirth she saw in those odd eyes. “You’re a walking cliché: blue jeans and blue eyes; blonde hair and an unnecessarily large chest! All the while knowing nothing about how this world really works! Bismarck was right!”
“Bi… Bismarck?” Maya shook her head and turned back around, looking at the Library.
“They should crucify this architect, too.”
What do you get when you take CS Lewis’s ‘That Hideous Strength’ and cross it with… well… me?
You get Shadowlands. Where quasi-human janissaries serve those dithering-fallen angels who could not make up their damned minds.
What happens if one of your overpowered agents wakes up… and turns on you?
Again, this is all here and there… take the walk to the pharmacy door of OTChi Kocchi.
This is a little longer, but I wanted it shut down this weekend. That, of course, is not the same as “over.” Few stories are ever over.
The construction of this is a bit different as I’ve made a change to my storytelling.
This was fun; perhaps too much fun, though. What next?
Took a mental heath day and not because it was 70F in central Ohio. There were two times, yesterday at work, when I had to stop and sit on the floor in the pharmacy to rest; I didn’t trust myself to sit on a chair. I’d had that wonderful writing jag all weekend but as a result I was having a hard time distinguishing this world from RealLife(TM). If you think that sounds hackneyed or stupid, you’re not a writer.
So what do I do with time away from work? Go back to the ‘Factory, of course. At 51, it’s not called ‘being self-destructive,’ it’s called ‘being aware of what little time is left.’