Quicksand - Part 17 (18+ not safe for kids)

Minty stepped over the stream, watching the reflection of the Japanese maples and cherry trees that danced across the surface. The maple leaves and cherry blossoms seemed to fall endlessly from the trees, but the branches were never left naked. Minty loved it there, though she'd always found the cranes a bit disconcerting.

Time had slowed down, as it sometimes did, and Minty was watching the world fall in slow-motion, each flower spinning slightly as it drifted toward the water.

“I thought I might find you here,” said a voice from beside her. Minty started, her ear twitched, but she managed to hold her ground. “What are you doing?”

Minty was annoyed at herself for not having smelled him, but she managed a polite smile as she stepped back to take in his half mask. “Hello, Voss.” She nodded curtly and began to walk across the damp, well-manicured grass of the park.

Voss easily matched her stride. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Minty sighed inwardly. “Walking,” she said simply.

“I'll join you.”

“I'll walk alone,” she said, a little bit more briskly than she intended.

It didn't seem to matter where Minty went or what she said, lately, Voss was showing up everywhere. And her polite refusal of his attentions only served to encourage him. 

She had been enjoying Japan; she didn't have the energy for him now. She stepped out of the way as he reached for her arm.

“No, wait—”

Minty stepped around a hedge, out of the lazy afternoon sunlight and into the early morning mist that hung about the river. She nodded in thanks to an otter who handed her a giant yellow umbrella then helped her steady it in the rushing water while she stepped on.

The river carried Minty away quickly, as the rain started to fall. As far as she could see, Voss was no longer behind her, and she almost felt certain that the otter would delay him as long as possible. Otters could always be trusted.

The umbrella whirled and danced on the water, threatening once or twice to buck Minty off as the raindrops made tiny pinging noises against her perfect porcelain skin. Eventually, the rain stopped. The water slowed, the river calmed and narrowed and Minty stepped off the umbrella and into a cornfield. She picked the umbrella up, righted it and blew it, like a dandelion seed, back to its owner.

She walked through among the tall, golden stalks of corn until she came to the edge of the forest. In the forest, it was morning, warm and sunshiny. Beautiful. Perfect. And blissfully emptier than Japan.

“So this is where you come—” His voice was slow and deliberate, only hinting at playful. “—When you want to get away.” Voss chuckled softly.

Minty ran. She didn't think about it, she didn't try to be polite. Her stomach lurched. All she could think about was getting away.

It didn't take long for Voss to catch her. He sprang on her from behind and only a cushion of sharp orange pine needles saved her from being shattered when she fell.

Voss was surprisingly heavy and he forced all of his weight against Minty, so that she could barely breathe, let alone struggle free.

When he entered her it was sharp and sudden, her underwear being pushed to one side. Nothing went through her mind. Everything did. Her brain was empty, exploding, bursting and caving in on itself – while he, his hands pinning her wrists to the ground, thrust faster and deeper. More than once, she tried to scream, but she couldn't. There was no reason not to, but she was physically incapable. No one was coming to help her.

The sound of footsteps on broken twigs was like music – a wonderful symphony or a single, perfect note. Her saviour. She looked into Craven Lorne's eyes and silently begged her to save him. Craven spun on his heel, ready to walk away.

Minty felt a sharp pain as Voss's weight forced her skin on her back to fracture.

Voss grunted, released her wrists and arched backwards and Minty... let go. She let go of everything that had been threatening to make her head explode, she let go of the hate she felt for Voss and of every silent scream. It burst through her skin, white hot, burning her, blinding her instantly. She could feel her eyes, but not use them. She felt them dry, turn to ash and blow away, one tiny flake at a time.

Voss was gone. Wherever he had landed, he was no longer on top of her and she did not waste time before crawling and groping her way to the edge of the forest.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 15

Minty stood as straight as she could and pushed her back against the thick bark of the tree. She knew fully well that if she made a sound, they'd catch her.

It had been a long chase. Not just the running, which by now seemed to have been going on an eternity, but the stalking and circling, the whole process of her becoming prey.

Minty's ears twitched slightly, waiting to hear some sound, some indication of where her pursuers were and how long it would take for them to reach her. She was tired, so tired, and somewhere in the back of her mind she started to think that if they caught her, at least she wouldn't have to run anymore. But she wasn't ready to give up – and every horror-filled, trying moment she'd suffered up to that point made her that much more determined to get away.

It was Frisco who finally caught her – and, somehow, Minty had always known it would be. She didn't hear him approach; he melted out of the shadows beside her and had grabbed onto her arm before she'd even felt his breath on her cheek. He did not let go. Darren, the possum, came from the other side, breathless, and together, the two of them dragged her away.

Minty's instincts told her to run, but she couldn't. Everything about her leaned toward flight, so when struggling free proved impossible, her brain seemed to shut down – and despite her desperation to escape, she allowed herself to be led, wordlessly, back through the forest to the factory.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 14

Craven Lorne paced in the field. He had been walking for hours, it seemed, trying to clear his head and sort out the plethora of thoughts that pushed their way back in. He had, he had thought, resigned himself to the idea that Voss favoured Minty over him. He had even gone so far as to do everything in his power to help Voss win her and to assure his friend that she would, eventually, see sense.

But he couldn't do it anymore. The simple truth was that Craven Lorne was in love with Voss and it was no longer in his power to deny his feelings or do anything else that would jeopardize them.

And anyway, Craven reasoned, Voss deserved better than some stuck-up rabbit girl who barely gave either one of them the time of day.

Craven was, he had decided, going to tell Voss all of this, just as soon as he could find him. He felt dizzy, sick to his stomach, feverish, even, at the idea. But there was another emotion too, a feeling of calm and complacency, which came with the knowledge that he was about to lay himself bare. And a small part of him, a very small part of him, could almost smile and believe that Voss would return his feelings.

Voss, either fortunately or unfortunately, could not be found. Craven Lorne checked all of his usual haunts, the factories, the starlight club, Sunday afternoon, all to no avail. Every time Craven searched somewhere in vain, he was pure ambivalence: crushing disappointment and soaring relief. Eventually, he found himself in the field, staring at the large shade tree they had so often shared a bottle of wine under – and almost allowing himself to enjoy the breeze.

Craven stayed in the field for a long time, caught between thinking of how he would tell Voss about his feelings and wondering if he should. He looked around a the pale blue sky and green grass and the soft, dusty, tan path that ran over the field and asked himself, more than once, what he was hoping to achieve. After what seemed like an eternity and may have been a moment, Craven Lorne decided to return home. There was nothing, he realized, for him here.

Craven walked to the edge of the field, toward the forest. He told himself that it was a nice day for a stroll, that the fresh air would do him good. He told himself anything he could think of to bolster his spirits.

It was morning, warm and sunshiny. Soft yellow light filtered through the trees and glinted off the wallow gnats that were flying in lazy circles near to the ground. And there was something else, the feeling that nearby, somewhere, was a stream or a spring. Craven couldn't hear it, but he could feel it. If it had been any other day, if Craven had been there for any other reason, he might have actually enjoyed himself, or been impressed by the pleasantness of the day. As it was, the only reason he was able to force himself to keep walking, was that if he stood still, he would start to think too much.

Craven Lorne hadn't been walking in the forest very long when he found Voss. And Voss, as Craven suddenly realized he had been expecting all along, was not alone.

Craven's body had turned away before his brain could fully comprehend what he had seen. In the moment that he turned, he could see everything, imagine every sickening detail. Voss was on top of her, wearing nothing but his mask and she—She was still in her dress, lying on her front, motionless, making the most of each of Voss's thrusts and silent through his grunts and moans. 

Craven was sure she had looked right at him, taunting him with her big, blue 
eyes.

Craven was disgusted, horrified, mortified. He couldn't believe that he had even let himself hope that Voss might return his feelings and he was astounded by the fact that Minty had been playing games with Voss this whole time, toying with his delicate heart then using his tenderness to her advantage. And though Craven didn't realize it himself, he was infuriated with Voss for falling into Minty's trap – and for not seeing what had been right in front of him all along.

Craven Lorne decided to confront them both, to make them share the pain that they had caused him. He fought with himself to muster the courage, took a deep breath and tried to turn.

There was a light, bright white, that lit up the trees in front of Craven and nearly made him blind. It was just a flash and he was barely able to register it before he was knocked down from behind by a strong surge of air.

Craven Lorne pried his face out of the impression it had left in the earth and almost began to brush the evergreen needles from his face and clothes before he remembered everything that had happened to bring him to where he was. He scrambled to his feet, turned and hurried to where Voss lay.

Voss was lying on his back, completely still, in a circle of flattened grass, bathed in moonlight, exposed and bleeding dust. Minty, that horrible fiend of a rabbit, had run away and left him there. Craven wanted to weep when he saw the state that Voss was in. When he examined him more closely, Craven found that Voss had been severely burned in several places on his body, most especially over his once-perfect lips, which were now melted and malformed. 

He was barely conscious and murmuring slightly, but not saying anything coherent.

There was no doubt in Craven Lorne's mind that the explosion was caused by Minty. She had too much Dust, more than was natural, and she clearly had no idea how to control it. She and Voss should never have gotten so near each other; that much Dust in one place could only lead to bad things. And she, the coward, had left Craven to deal with the consequences of her own inadequacies.

Craven helped Voss to his feet, and when Voss's clothes couldn't be found, offered him his own. Slowly, with Craven Lorne standing in for a crutch, they made it somewhere they could talk. But they didn't talk, not properly, not ever again.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 12

Craven Lorne sat with Voss on a low wooden bridge in a park where it was always Sunday afternoon. They sat with their feet in the cold, shallow water, watching it rush around their heels and observing the odd crustacean that scuttled underneath. Voss was miserable.

Craven was determined to make the most of any time he spent with Voss and had tried everything he could think of to make him feel better, but none of it was any good. Voss hadn't been himself for some time, now. He was distant, discontent and moody, in turns mournful and irate. Nothing could please him, nothing would improve his mood. He refused to be cheered up. It was all her fault, that stupid rabbit girl. And she was all Voss would talk about, the only subject that he thought was worth discussing, the only thing that could hold his interest.

Craven Lorne, despite hating the rabbit girl, despite the fact that he could feel the fur on the back of his neck stand up at the mere mention of her name, tried his best to encourage and support his friend. If Voss wasn't going to be his, at least Craven could help make him happy. That, he supposed, was some small comfort.

“It's infuriating,” Voss said, rubbing his big toe on the moss of a round stone that lay on the stream bed. “Ridiculous, really. I don't know why I even care.” He laughed hollowly. “I don't care, when it comes to it.”

Craven Lorne would never accuse Voss of lying, even in his mind, but he felt his friend was deceived by his emotions. “She must be a fool, not to want you.”

“She doesn't know what she wants,” Voss barked.

“She's not worth your time, Voss, honestly.”

“Of course she's not,” Voss agreed, though he didn't look convinced. He dropped his head and in a low voice repeated, “Of course she's not,” to himself.

“I heard someone say that she's Dust-heavy, too,” Craven said slowly. He suddenly felt guilty, selfish for mentioning any reason why she wouldn't be an ideal match for his friend – even though, he reminded himself, he was only concerned for Voss's welfare.

“So?”

“So you have more dust than anyone I know,” Craven Lorne said, conveying with his voice the awe he felt over the fact. “And they say,” he reasoned, “that too much Dust in a relationship is never a good thing; too volatile.”

Voss sneered under his mask. “Thanks for the advice, but I think I know what's best, and what's best for me is Minty.”

Craven Lorne sighed inwardly. For now, he was out of things to say, out of plans to suggest – but he resigned himself nonetheless to spending his foreseeable future securing his crush's happiness at the expense of his own.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 11

Minty stood in the field. It was the field now, the only one where Craven Lorne ever seemed to meet her. He found as he'd learned to expect to find her, staring mindlessly into space, unaware of just about everything around her.

She looked at him as he approached. “Hello, Craven Lorne,” she said.

Craven was surprised but not alarmed. He was getting used to Minty's airy voice. “Hello, Minty,” he answered. “I thought I'd find you here.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Craven couldn't decided if she was agreeing with his thought or its conclusion. She was so infuriatingly vague. “Quite,” he said stiffly.

“Do you kill me today, Craven Lorne?”

“As if I would tell you when.”

“Don't.” There was a change in her voice; she was almost pleading with him.

Craven wondered if she meant don't kill me or don't tell me when you're going to. With Minty, it was impossible to be sure.

He stared at her. She stared back.

“You do not wish to,” Minty said.

“Not really, no,” Craven admitted. “Well, not that. It's not that I don't want to kill you; I do. And I intend to. But—” He looked around the field, at the blue sky, at the big, shade tree in the distance and let out a long sigh. “But I shall be sorry to see you go.”

“You should kill me now,” she told him. “Fast, like a Band-aid.”

“What?”

Minty turned her head on its side. “It will hurt less,” she explained.

Craven Lorne sneered at her. “Why would I want to hurt you less?”

“Not me.”

Craven determined that the best thing he could do with that final piece of conversation was ignore it. “I will kill you,” he told her. “But not today. A little bird tells me you have some powerful friends.”

She didn't answer him.

“Rumour has it that Daisy Chain came to your rescue quite recently – and I imagine that Charm-Charm wasn't far away. The same bird tells me they're not far from here. The rumour is that the rabbits are launching a full-scale military campaign against raiders, that they're even getting humans involved.”

Minty didn't answer and Craven took her silence as acquiescence.

“They're probably lurking in the bushes right now, waiting for me to make a move. Of course, I won't give them the satisfaction.”

Minty stared. The only sound in the stale air was the whirring of her eye. After a moment, she said, “No.”

Craven, again unsure what she meant, ignored her. “But rest assured, when they're not around, when your bodyguards have abandoned you, I will be there and I will catch you out.”

Craven was tired of being the one left standing in the field. He turned on his heel and marched into the forest, sure that Minty was watching him go and not daring to look back to confirm it.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 10

In a darkened purple forest, a possum in a bowler hat lit a paper cigarette and waited.

Darren didn't like this, not at all. He'd always known his boss was crazy, but this, pitting him against the monster, leaving him alone in the forest with Frisco—it meant Darren was a redshirt, disposable. There was no other explanation. He was completely exposed, on the edge of a big, treeless circle, clearly visible anyone who might come by. On nights like this, he wished he'd never become a raider.

“How does he even know she'll come this way?” Darren muttered to himself.

Frisco seeped out of the shadows and pushed his face next to Darren's. “Shut up,” he told Darren. “You just do what you're supposed to do.” Darren didn't even have time to shudder before Frisco had gone again.

What he was supposed to do was wait in plain sight and let the monster get close. Very close. Then he was supposed to pick up the bat that was leaning beside the tree behind him and crack her over the head with it – and hope that that was enough to keep her down. He'd heard rumours that she could burn people at a distance with her laser eye and he wholeheartedly believed them to be true. Craven Lorne had said she'd been beautiful, once. That, Darren had trouble believing.

At length, the monster came. Even with Darren's night vision, his first view of her was just a light, a floating green orb that seemed to dodge erratically among the trees. By the time she stepped into the circle and her face was fully visible, Darren had felt himself freeze. His hands were clenched so hard he didn't think he would be able to pick up the bat. Every part of him wanted to play dead.

Darren couldn't see Frisco, or hear him, but he could picture him, skulking around in the dark, getting ready to attack, taking meticulous mental notes about every movement, every sigh, every hesitation that Darren made.

The monster saw him. There was no escaping it now. Darren reached behind him and groped around for the bat. As his hand wrapped around the handle, he heard a woman's voice, tired and sarcastic, asking if she was there yet, then perking up slightly and saying, “Hey, see that light? I think that's Minty.”

Minty tilted her head, slightly, regarded Darren, then continued her jerky walk toward him and the voices behind him.

Darren relaxed. He couldn't attack her now. Clearly she had friends around and he had no idea how many. He couldn't risk it. There was nothing he could do, and no one could blame him for biding his time. For a second, relief poured over him.

Frisco poured out of the darkness, and rushed toward Minty. He grabbed her arm with his long, thin fingers and squeezed so heard that the porcelain seemed about to fracture. Minty turned her head and looked at him, her eye whirring continuously as it tried to focus.

“The things we'll do to you,” Frisco said, smilingly. “Oh, you can't even imagine.”

“Let her go.” That voice, Darren thought he could almost recognize. There was a rabbit – Darren had seen him a couple of times from a distance and heard him shout a word or two. He was obsessed with killing raiders. As if it was his personal mission.

Frisco wrenched on Minty's arm and Darren thought he heard something crack. Darren hoped, for a split second, that the rabbit would kill Frisco, that the monster would escape and he could go back to the boss and say that it hadn't been his fault – or better yet, he could just quietly disappear and everyone would think he'd been killed too. But, he realized, if Frisco was dead, there would be nothing to stop the rabbit from coming after him next.

“I said—” said the rabbit.

There was a twang and something rushed past Darren's head, passed through Frisco's arm and stuck in a tree.

Frisco screamed. Darren could just make out that the something had been an arrow. Frisco had had to melt his arm to avoid being hit and the monster had used the opportunity to run away.

Minty reached Daisy Chain and his human almost instantly and the three of them ran, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, they reached a cornfield with pale gold stalks taller than Daisy Chain and a royal blue sky.

“Come on,” Daisy Chain said, nodding toward the field.

His human sighed, and started to walk, but hesitated when she noticed that the others hadn't joined her.

Daisy Chain was waiting for Minty. “Come on,” he repeated. “You'll be safer with us.”

Minty stared.

“Come with us,” said the human, even though the invitation clearly caused her pain to give. “Really.”

Minty turned and ran, along the edge of the forest, then veered sharply and disappeared into the tall stalks of corn.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 9

Voss was perfect. Not in a schoolgirl fantasy kind of way; he didn't seem perfect despite manifold imperfections. He was, objectively – mathematically, even – perfect. He was slender, svelte but not skinny; tall, taller than average but not a giant; his features were exactly symmetrical and the mask he wore to protect his sublime, even-toned skin, he had beautifully crafted himself. His voice was melodic, his words lyrical and intelligent. He was self-aware and he didn't suffer from false modesty.

... and in a moment, when his palms had stopped sweating and his mouth was less dry, Craven Lorne was going to tell him all of this. That day, Craven had decided, would be the day.

“It's a beautiful day,” Craven began tentatively. “Don't you agree?” It was a way to test the waters, as it were. One of the side effects of a highly sensitive and intelligent mind like Voss's was that his moods weren't always predictable to the layman – and Craven Lorne wanted to make sure he was in a perfect state of mind to receive his attentions.

Voss never spoke without thinking, and he surveyed the area slowly, examining the hot, sunny field from the safety of their spot beneath the tree. “Yes, beautiful,” he said. He chuckled sweetly. “I'm glad you suggested this, Craven.”

Craven Lorne swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “I'm glad you agreed to join me.”

Voss chuckled again. “Why wouldn't I? What could be better than spending the day here?”

 
Nothing, Craven thought. He meant to think it. He had the sudden and horrible realization that he'd said it out loud at the precise moment that Voss asked him to repeat himself.

 
Now. It had to be now. Craven knew that if he didn't take the chance, didn't say right then what had been on his mind for so long, the opportunity would pass him by. “Voss,” he said, finding his voice, “I've something I need to tell you.”

Voss sat up a little straighter. “So tell me,” he said. He looked interested, ready to listen and accept. Focused. He smiled. “Hold that thought.”

Craven Lorne was holding it – and he could almost see it slipping through his fingers as he followed Voss's gaze to the rabbit girl absentmindedly flouncing through the field.

“Beautiful, isn't she?” Voss said, leaning a little further forward. “Spectacular.” He leaned back against the tree and sighed contentedly.

 
Spectacular was pushing it a bit far. She was certainly a feat of engineering, but that was about it – though Craven did have to admit, if only to himself, that beautiful was a fairly accurate description. She was pleasantly shaped, which from that far across the field, had to be the first thing he noticed. She was wearing a flowing white dress which was, considerately, slightly too large to stay up properly on its own. In one alabaster hand, she twirled a small purple flower by its stem.

But, beautiful or not, she was intruding on something pure, something precious that he had been trying to achieve for a long, long time. He wished she would go back to wherever she'd come from and stay there.

She came to a slow stop and turned her head, almost as if she'd could hear them – but there was no way that she could, not from so far away. She smiled shyly, looked at her feet and back at them, then looked back to her feet and continued on her walk.

“Don't you think so?” Voss asked, snapping Craven Lorne back to the conversation.

“She's certainly passable,” Craven said impatiently. “If that's the type of thing you enjoy.”

“Not yet, but it will be,” Voss said, with a sharp laugh.

Craven tried to laugh with him, but nothing came out.

“I think I'll be enjoying it very soon, in fact. You mark my words, Craven Lorne, I will have that rabbit girl.”

Craven had no doubt that Voss was right. He couldn't imagine that, given the chance, the rabbit girl would hesitate for even a second before jumping into Voss's bed; he couldn't dream of anyone who would.

Craven Lorne watched the rabbit girl as she skipped through the field and disappeared behind a large green hedge, oblivious to the world around her and the pain that she caused.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicker Quicksand

So.

I'm nearly 29,000 words into Quicksand, 7/800 of those written today while I was home from my day job with a bad case of having no voice (this being the result of having almost no voice yesterday and still having to talk on the phone for 9 hours).  I finished the second-to-last scene in the first story (of which there are three) - the one you've been reading with Craven Lorne, Minty and the gang - and now have only five planned scenes left to write for the whole of the book.

Then of course, I need to edit.  That's a whole other kettle of fish.

I'm toying with the idea of starting a Kickstarter campaign to publish it once it's finished.  That is, to get it professionally copy-edited, host a small launch party and send out a few review copies, since I'll likely do the cover design and internal layout myself. 

I'm a bit surprised that this one has taken me longer than it took me to finish Aigaion Girl, especially because I don't foresee it totalling much more than 35,000 words, which means it will be a novella, even with three separate story lines.  But there you go.  I suppose your priorities change as you get older, and sleep has definitely crept up on my list a bit in the last year or so.

I think that's all for my updates for the moment.  I should have more to follow soon.

Dirty Filthy Sex Rabbits

I've decided I'm going to start posting Quicksand up here as I write (You all remember Quicksand, right?  My unfinished NaNoWriMo 2011 entry?), and I would love any and all feedback anyone might have to offer.

In an effort not to clog DevCo with too much shameless self-plugging, though, I'm going to limit myself to one scene/chapter-thing per week.  I should mention, too, that when in book-form, these scene-chapters will appear in a different order and heavily edited.   Please enjoy.

 

Darren hunkered down deeper into the grass. “I don't like this,” he whispered. “I feel like she's watching me.”

 

“She's only got one eye,” Craven said. He laughed. “And she's not watching anything, unless she's spotted another butterfly.” He laughed again, a sarcastic, humourless chuckle.

 

“What's wrong with her?”

 

Craven was mildly amused. “It isn't obvious? You know, she used to be beautiful, once.”

 

“Honestly?” Darren was almost afraid to look away. He didn't want to see what would be there when he looked back. “What happened to her?”

 

Craven Lorne glanced at the creature. She walked through the grass, regardless of the long, wet blades that slapped against her bare legs and brushed the seam of her torn dress – regardless of just about everything. “I don't know,” he said. “No one does.” He paused for a second too long. “Whatever it was, she undoubtedly deserved it.”

 

Darren watched her hold a hand out to a leaf and let a copiously-legged insect crawl onto her pale arm, her glowing, green cyborg eye trained on it.  “You sure, boss? I'm not saying you're wrong, but...” He watched as the insect scuttled up her arm and over her cracked, porcelain face. “It's just...” He crouched lower. He couldn't imagine anyone deserving to end up like that.

 

Craven put a firm hand on his back. “Trust me, Darren.”

 

Darren had no choice.

 

The wind blew through purple landscape and the grass sparkled gold in response.

Darren found his voice. “So, do we...?” he left his question there, hoping that Craven hadn't heard him.

 

“No,” Craven said, to his attendant's audible relief. “Not today. We will catch her, make no mistake. And when we do, every bit, every last spec of her Dust will be drained. But it's not enough, not nearly.”

 

Darren still couldn't pull his eyes away from the creature and he was growing uneasy as a result. He had been led to believe that she had more Dust than ten normal figments, more than enough for any purpose he could conceive of—but he wasn't about to question Craven Lorne.

 

Craven waved his hand dismissively, low enough not to draw attention. “I don't mean that,” he said. “She has plenty of Dust. The rumours go that it's white Dust, too, though we can't be sure.” He put his hand up to stop Darren from getting too excited about the colour. “I meant that it's not enough to kill her. We need to chase her first, wear her down. Confuse her, worry her, taunt her, torture her—” Craven stopped and Darren could almost believe he saw a smile play on his boss's black lips, before he recalled himself. “It's getting dark. We'll see her again, Darren, don't you worry.”

 

Darren watched her dance, lurchingly into the darkness. He worried. He worried a lot.

 If you enjoyed reading this, you may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

So, So (So-So?)

So.
I didn't finish my NaNovel this year.  I'm still working on it, in between my day job and trying to learn Slovak, but I'm more than a little disappointed in myself.  I think I was padding my word count too much and it was leading to bad writing, which was leading to me not really feeling like putting the effort in.  Plus, suddenly working 9 hours a day after long periods of lazing around the house made me super tired.  Excuses, excuses.  Point is, I didn't finish.

And my real point is, rather than focusing on my unfinished story, to ask you how you found NaNo this year, if you finished, if you got anything out of it, if you'll be doing it next year, etc., etc.

Also, I'd like to take the opportunity to wish you a Merry Holiday of Your Choosing and a Happy New Year.

In keeping with last year's tradition, some random, creepy holiday art.

50,000!

I thought you might like to know that, between all of the DevCo-writing NaNoWriMo participants, we've passed the 50,000 word mark.  Most of this, I must confess, is down to E.

I'm under par, but pretty much back to where I want to be, IE, needing to write 2,000 words per day to finish on time.  I wrote 7,400 words this weekend to catch up, so I'm feeling pretty good about myself, if a little exhausted.

I have an early morning meeting at my day job tomorrow, so it's off to bed for me, but for those of you back in Canadaland, enjoy the rest of your writing day!

Rain

It started raining last week.  Not heavy but endless.  Cold, constant, November rain. 

There aren't any animals.  If there are any left, they're in hiding, curled up under a tree somewhere, waiting for the rain to stop.  You can see faces, too, in the windows of other houses, staring out at you, watching the rain and wondering the same thing you've been wondering all along: is this it?

Of course it's not it.  You tell yourself that over and over again.  Of course it's not.  But you don't know, not for sure.

The world will end on a Tuesday, there isn't any question.  The only uncertain thing is which Tuesday it will choose - and where all the calenders have gone.

That's my flashy thing for the writing prompt I put up on Monday.  I had the idea for it during heavy rain yesterday, and wrote it just now - the sky is a crisp blue and cloudless, the sun is shining - we definitely are not having apocalyptic type rains here.

So I'm gearing up for NaNo, and working like a nut to finish my All Hallow's Read poster.  I only found out about the contest last week, so creating something worthy of AHR in that time is not going to be easy - that being said, I am at the finishing touches stage, so I should have it in by the end of the weekend, and I'll definitely post a link to it when I have.

I also finally got myself another day job, which is good (yay!) but is also a minimum of 45 hours per week (also yay!) - which means NaNoWriMo is going to be CRAZY this year, especially since I'm also going to Prague for four days at the end of next week (super yay!) - I'm going to have to write at least 2,000 words per day at the end of a 9 hour shift - but I was reading through my (now 16 page) outline a couple of days ago, and I really do think this story is going to be good.

Halloween!

I love Halloween.  I always have.  I think it's the combination of creepy and candy - and, of course, getting to be someone else for a night. 

I think the disguise aspect of Halloween appeals to my writer sensibilities.  I feel like each of our characters are costumes we put on, extensions of ourselves.  Obviously the degree to which this is true varies for each character (I don't believe all fiction writers are creating Mary-Sue MCs* and implanting them willy nilly into stories) but I think it's a little bit true for all of them.

You may be wonder why I am posting my Halloween post now, rather than, say, a week from now. Two reasons:

One, Neil Gaiman has come up with the concept of All Hallow's Read (If you haven't heard of it, the idea is that you give someone the gift of a scary book on Halloween), and I wanted to mention it early enough to give everyone a chance to choose and buy a scary book, if they are so inclined.

Two, it's been a while since we had a writing prompt, and I thought that since November is likely going to be a slow month in terms of DevCo posts, now would be a great time for one.

It's going to be a relatively easy one, because we all have NaNoWriMo and other things (if I remember correctly, midterms) on the brain, but here it goes:

Write something about fall.  Anything.  Up to 1000 words, fiction or non-fiction, poetry, whatever.  The only real rule is that it has to be about this wonderful season we find ourselves in (unless you live somewhere where it's spring right now.  If that is the case, please write about that).  To be posted anytime between now and October 31st.  Fallish/Halloween pictures would be great, too.

*If there isn't already, there needs to be a male equivalent to Mary-Sue.  My vote would be for Billy-Dean.

So...um...yeah.

Greetings!

I know I've fallen off the internet for a while...there's an explanation for that. It mostly involves living, but...yeah.

Anyway, everyone knows NaNo's staring in a a week or two, which is exciting...and I have no idea what I'm going to be writing for it. Maybe I'm out of practice, or maybe it's writer's block, but...I really haven't got a clue what to write, and every idea I come up with...doesn't work.

Now, I'm not whining...much. One of the biggest reasons I haven't come up with anything is time. You see, I've gone and acquired myself a husbandboyfriend and a stepson who's 8 now, and this month I've been embroiled in helping him to construct a Halo Spartan costume out of old shin guards, knee pads, etc, spraypaint, duct tape and cardboard. I got promoted in August to HR Manager at the hotel I work for, which is a much more hectic position for not too much more money than I was getting before, and I'm often there later than I would like to be...but the upside (no more night audit for me!) is also something of a downside, because it means I can't write at work.

I've barely even crocheted anything.

Now, I'm not whining because I'm being all growed up and doing my job and being step-mum when one has no real experience being a mum is...different (and not something I'll ever give up), but...I miss writing. NaNoWriMo would be the best time to get back into writing, except for the one, pesky detail that I can't escape:

What The Hell Am I Going To Write?

I Know, I Know

I get that this is pretty much the opposite of shutting up about NaNoWriMo, but being as the site officially re-launched yesterday and I finally got to update my author info and post my synopsis today (without cover art, sadly), I thought I would share with you the completed* synopsis.  I'm pretty happy with the cover, though there are one or two minor adjustments I'll make before publishing (I know I'm putting the cart seven or eight months ahead of the horse here).  Now all that's really left is to write the damn book.

Someone wants Minty dead. She can't remember why. Actually, she can't remember anything. The mysterious event that caused her amnesia has left her horribly disfigured and she finds herself lost and alone during a tumultuous time.

The dreamworld is in chaos. Social media has started people dreaming about places they've never been and with nearly seven billion people sleeping through the night, there's barely enough space to contain their misconceptions. Nod is at full capacity.

Unrest and instability have left the way open for Raiders, power-hungry maniacs bent on taking control of everything and everyone in their paths. And now underground rings of big game hunters are inducing comas to get into Nod – and turn its inhabitants into their prey.

Behind everything is the Dust, the life-force of the soul, a source of great power and the most potent drug in existence. Everyone has some but many want more - and will stop of nothing to get it.

Of course, nothing's set in stone, so if you notice anything that could use a bit of tweaking, I won't be offended if you mention it.

*current, likely temporary

A Happier NaNo Post

The new NaNoWriMo site launches tomorrow and I will be officially signing up for NaNoWriMo 2011. Oooh, so excited!

I'd love to know when everyone's put up their synopsis and cover art, too, so I can check it out.

So much for shutting up about NaNoWriMo.  

NaNoWriMo, You Hurt Me

I was going to try really hard to shut up about NaNoWriMo for October.  I was, because we all know that anything I find time to post on here in November is likely going to be NaNo-related graphs or complaints that I have writer's block.

But.

I was reading Chuck Wendig's 25 Things You Should Know About NaNoWriMo (which you should check out) and came across some text off the NaNo website.  I honestly thought Mr. Wendig was using hyperbole, but I went and looked and it turns out that, in fact, the following is a direct quote from the NaNo in a Nutshell page of the site.

What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.
Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.
Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from our novels at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.

This hurts me. I mean, I get that it's supposed to be glib, but really.

... laughably awful yet lengthy... Yes, I agree that NaNoWriMo does not inspire the best writing an author can produce, yes, it forces one to rush things a bit  - but even rushed prose should at least attempt to be decent - otherwise what's the point?  If you're planning to write something awful, your time could probably be better spent.  And no, 50,000 words is not lengthy, not when you're talking about novels.

To be able to make obscure references to passages from our novels at parties. Translation: To give us an excuse to act like pompous douchebags.

...mock real novelists... My issues with this one are twofold.  One, why would you mock anyone who is making a career out of something they love? - and two, who the f--k told you I'm not a real novelist? NaNoWriMo isn't just a waste of a month for me; I actually plan on doing something with what I write during November.  A lot of us do.*

I really do like NaNoWriMo.  I like the basic idea and I'm in awe of the amount of time and effort that the administrative staff put in every year.  The philanthropic aspects of NaNoWriMo are wonderful and so is the sense of community you get from joining hundreds of thousands of writers, all working toward the same goal.

NaNoWriMo's own description of itself really got to me.  I guess I don't like the idea that the same people who make it possible are encouraging people not to care what kind of writing it produces.

Of course I still plan to participate this year, but I'd be lying if I said that a little of the magic hasn't been lost.

*I don't think there's anything wrong with doing NaNo just for fun, but I don't like the assumption that that's the only reason anyone would want to participate.

Unknown ♥

There are so many people out there who will tell you that you can't. What you've got to do is turn around and say "watch me." --Unknown

It's a little corny, I know, but I like it.  Having just read Chuck Wendig's post about self doubt, the idea of losing confidence has been on my mind lately.

Last night, I got into a... not an argument, exactly.  More of a discussion... about self-publishing and why I should have sought out an agent and not self-published Aigaion Girl.  And for a second, I thought, Shit.  What if I went the wrong route? Maybe I shouldn't have done what I did.  Maybe-- and then I realized that despite his good intentions, the person I was talking to is not a writer, has not spent the last eight or nine years researching this and knows a lot less about the way the publishing industry works than I do*.  In short, I realized that I actually know what I'm talking about.

So this morning, I woke up early and started to plan my writing for the next few months.  Not a day-to-day plan, but something fairly rigid which includes reminders about important marketing-type stuff, like posting something on Twitter and my Facebook fan page at least four times throughout each month.  It, of course, also includes bigger writing projects like writing and editing fiction (for example, November is blocked off for NaNoWriMo).

I'm hoping I can stick to it and actually get some decent writing done this fall. I'm going to write some amazing things this fall and I am going to seriously boost my readership.  Watch me.

*He had some very nice things to say about the story, though. 
P.S. If you're wondering why I captioned the image with the same quote, it's because I hot linked the picture.