This brings up to about 4000 words. I an realize that I said yesterday is correct: I do not know the government nor politics of the Northern Federation. It’s core is Maine and New Hampshire, with affiliated territories from Vermont and central and western Massachusetts, making it about the smallest of the entities to survive the Change (which, I saw, is still called the Breakup by them). Until I understand their situation this far along, I cannot see Aurelia’s reaxion.
Saying all that to say this: unless I have a sudden revelation, which has happened, I’m taking the weekend off to study the problem. Aside: I do think, because of the time and the meeting, that Aurie will spend the night in their territory. Possibly at the house of one of Colour’s brothers.
Currently at a creative’s convention in Louisville, Kentucky, AINO. Updates will be a day late as I make my way around this new environment.
Imaginarium Diary. Day 1, part 1. Awake at 0800, amazed the dogs let me sleep in. Fried eggs and bacon – nothing boiled in a dang bag, @GuardAmerican – then I’ll be off to the market for bottled tea for the 4 hour drive and some pre-made sandwiches (also not boiled).
Toying with ideas for @SandyLender‘s writing workshop this evening. I’ve seen the op – Tay borrowing her mother’s android to do physical research on Linear A clays – but kid brother Ivan shows up and wants to play.
How do Machines play in the Void?
Imaginarium Diary. Day 1, part 2. Made it to the hotel in good time. This area has changed much since I was last here 20 years ago. Spoiled the last 15 years by having 3 other people help unload, so that took 3 trips. Cosplay is still outside as there were some sus characters vagrantizing the lobby.
Ice machines only on every other floor? That’s a one star review, right there.
From all my years at animecons I know to stay hydrated. Working on that now.
Imaginarium Diary. Day 1, part 3. Participated in @SandyLender‘s Flash Fiction Workshop; knocked out another 2100-word story about Tay (and her annoying kid brother) in two hours.
Had the pleasure to meet Daniel Dark, whose Southern Gentleman’s Cigar Trolley inspired my book “Obligations of Rank.”
For a former chatbot, Tay is not off to a good start. What Gary perceived as physical injury was a representation to his mind of what had happened to her. Now, we hear rather than see. This really is sad.
The delicious irony that I’m trying to bring Tay’s story to the world while using MS Word just occurred to me.
Well, now. Tay’s condition is far worse than I thought it was. As I try to write a few installments ahead, when she starts speaking – well, screaming – I can certainly understand why.
I’m not known for my sympathy (hint) but I hope the coders of Macrohard are long-dead in the starvation and cannibalism that took Seattle in the early months of the Breakup. Otherwise, it will not end well for them.
Wrote myself out of Medicine Hat and past Sgt. Sergei Konev’s first contact with Cartaphilus. It seems that what’s left of Saskatoon is much worse than I imagined. Yes, about 50% of the population fled south against the ice and snow of the Maunder Minimum. The other half looked to the sky, the sun and stars, and went “native.” Did I mention the Change and mysticism?
But a few families lingered in the area of the old city. That’s the mistake of never making a hard, clear-cut decision; you pay for your mistakes. Cartaphilus harvested them.
In other odd news, the 77th Imperial Russian Brigade will meet a battlegroup of the Canadian Army head-on around Winnipeg. In the midst of that, Sgt. Sergei Konev will encounter another oddity in the basement of a riverside museum. When I run this through Grammarly it will once again freak out over my “write it as you hear it” style of accents.
[breathless voice, whispers] “Imagine… imagine if something, someone, like some old scifi story, actually came to life *coughs**wipes a bit of blood from mouth* but… but they weren’t made for it… not bred, not… even… thought of, Sergeant Konev,” Schreber said to the Russian, in his dark office of the blackened museum on the banks of the Red River in Winnipeg. “What… what if that person, excuse me, what if… that person is… what everyone needs but… absolutely no one wants? What… *coughs**retches* what then, Sergeant?”
“All sides would hate him,” Konev said in a quiet voice.
“Welcome to my personal Hell, Mister Konev.” Schreber pitched forward out of his chair, barking more blood. The sergeant yelled for his medic.
Not going to dwell on no posting again. RealLife comes for all of us every now and then.
“New Russia,” the working title of my next MS, ground to something of a halt in chapter three. It was turning into another military story. I wrote a trilogy about those and do not want to get sucked into the details of TOEs and campaign planning yet again.
From my “try to so something different” file, I considered: I’ve war, politics, espionage, romance, romance/horror, and even slice-of-life. What to do?
Took the dogs for walks in nice weather. Stared at maps of Canada. Would I have to abandon this particular project and start from scratch? Sgt. Sergei Konev and his scout team are driving to Saskatoon to see if it is under the ice, like Edmonton. Wait. Who is the old man in the horse-drawn cart coming south? From the wares on the cart, he looks like a typical dystopian tinker. Through his field glasses, as the Tigr (the Russian version of a Hummer) slows, Konev is puzzled. He looks old; not old. Sick; not sick. His eyes are black and dead but the skin of his arms and hands holding the reins like that of a young man.
Mystery. Not as in “whodunit,” but more like mysticism. Early in my books the collapse of the US and W Europe was called the Breakup. By “Foes and Rivals,” it was beginning to be known as the the Change. A few sensitive people – humans and Machines – were waking up to the fact that reality was not what it had been. That is what I am going to explore. Beginning with Cartaphilus.
After slightly more than a week – and trust me, it was awful – of no writing, I may have settled on a new idea I can turn into another novel. Being me, contrarian, what with anyone stupid enough to pay attention to the MSM, they would think the Russians are the modern Hitler; every last man, woman, and child. Of course, the idiots who listen to the MSM also thought covid-19 was a pandemic.
So, being said contrarian, my next book, if it takes hold in my mind, will be about Russians. Specifically, the Russian Empire moving into what is left of former US and Canada after the Change in my future history of Machine Civilization.
I’ve mentioned often enough that while there are some legacy Romanovs on the throne in St. Petersburg, all real power is held by the Prime Minister, Reina. Reina is also an AI made by the Mendrovovitch Company, hence their tribe name. Like kudzu, this person runs through all of my recent stories and there seems no way to get rid of her. Admittedly, she is very interesting: unlike tribe Tohsaka with their Four Laws, Reina kills easily.
In my second-to-last novel, Obligations of Rank, Part Two has a Canadian Officer Cadet, Eloise Patel, telling “undercover” Crown Prince Robert about the Canadian’s two military engagements with the Imperial Russian Army. I wondered: the Russians have Alaska, British Columbia, and are about to take the Kingdom of Columbia… why push over the Rocky Mountains against someone who can still shoot back?
Once I asked the question, they started to give me answers. Let’s see how this unfolds, friends.
I admit is a kind of retread. That is, a story I’ve explored before. So, yes, is a Lenten cheat.
Once upon a time, I had a writing experiment. About five years ago. It was based upon two songs I’ll address in the next post. For those of a certain age, it’s obvious. I first thought it was about Machines. I was wrong.
The original form was muddled. I’m trying to tighten this up as something very, very, odd for me:
Yes, yes: daily commitment to posting something. And now I’m about to lose my DayJob because some people of a certain gland and fake faith have decided that the last three male pharmacy techs at the hospital must go.
What? You thought a quarter-million (low end estimate) of hospital medical deaths per year just happen? There are people who work tirelessly to get rid of competent staff for the Good of the Narrative, comrade.
More importantly, in my last post of a story, I got Aurelia’s age way too high. She’d be closer to fifteen, not twenty, so I’m puzzling my way through that right now. Hopefully real content tomorrow!