Tag: creative writing

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

The Need to Write and Upcoming Birthdays…

Posted on by jennrae

There are a lot of  May birthdays for writers. So, I am going to list who is coming up. And of course, there are always some authors whom I have not written down or miss because my brain is imperfect and fallible. But, the ones i have on my handy dandy list are Roger Zelazny May 13th, one of my all time favorite authors. He happens to share a birthday with Stephen R Donaldson who wrote epic fantasy. So, most likely will do a shared post there.

May 27th is the birthday of Harlan Ellison, science fiction writer who also could be quite humorous. May 18th is Fred Saberhagen, another great science fiction writer.

A big oversight for me was skipping Robert E. Howard, the author of Conan the Barbarian. His birthday was on January 22nd in 1906. Howard and Edgar Rice Burroughs both influenced science fiction and fantasy in their earlier days and would influence the authors that would follow them.

I might deal with him on Burroughs’s birthday because I equate them in style and time period to each other. So, that might be a good place to address Howard.  Much like Tolkien and Lewis, writers of a certain time affect each other and the future and sometimes it is better to comment on them in a joint post anyway.

Part 2–That Need to Write…

I got lucky with a day off in the middle of the week from my day job so I find myself with the desire and time to write. I need to write. If I stop for too long a period I feel like a part of me is missing.

It may be hard to understand to those that don’t write. Although people in the habit of journal-ling I would think could understand, or anyone with a routine that is part of their being. For some it might be running or exercising. For others maybe it is going to the same restaurant at the same time on a regular basis. Whatever is part of your routine, you just feel off sometimes when you aren’t participating in it.

For about a week I got the great feeling of doing what I love to do on a regular basis. Now I am back to work and trying to fit it in around the cracks. I have always had issues finding the balance between work and play, important and not important. But, now I have a sense of urgency in that I don’t want to lose this thread I am on.

I want to continue this writing streak even if it means scribbling on napkins in a spare moment or jotting down ideas in the middle of the night. It is part of who I am and how I see myself. Being a writer is more of a calling than a job. You don’t have to write to survive technically.  But I do get more irritable and agitated the longer I go without it.

It is like listening to the perfect song for the mood you are in. It is work you do for yourself like a good meditation. It is cathartic and soothing. It is like I am letting things out that I have kept trapped in a little cage.

I need to write. It is part of who I am. And, I know I will find a way to keep it going because it means a lot to me.

I appreciate all who come by this way or follow me on twitter or word press because it means so much to a writer to have an audience. It makes it all seem so much more important. It is like the difference between speaking in a mic to a roomful of people or singing in your shower all alone.

Both can be great. No one will judge you in the shower, but it is important if you want to improve to get actual feedback. And as  a writer I am constantly looking for ways to improve. Not just my writing but my health, my life, and how I deal with the realities of a complex world. So, thank you. Thank you so very much. Hugs to all.

JenRae.

 

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized

Have Laptop Will Travel…

Posted on by jennrae

So I am taking a week off from work to get my groove back, creatively and emotionally. Been working a lot of six day weeks and even though it isn’t labor intensive work, working with the public does after a while, unravel the mind. So, I decided I needed some R and R, and also some time to re organize and do some deep cleaning. Need to make my environment more conducive to productive living and help me channel more productive thoughts. Been just surviving when I want to do so much more.

I have a mental list of things to get done, among them, writing. So, I took the laptop out with me today and went to a local coffee shop. I think I will do this throughout the week, maybe going to different ones.

This time I chose Rainshadow Coffee, because honestly I have been here before and it just has a great vibe to it. I feel like I get a lot done and it is just perfect. There is food if you are hungry, fresh locally roasted coffee which is awesome, and plenty of electrical outlets which is invaluable when you are using a laptop from 2009. Which I am.

One thing about old laptops, it has had a ton of its parts upgraded so it isn’t that slow actually, but yeah, it lasts for maybe 15 seconds unplugged from the wall, so, yeah, need an outlet, battery will not take you far with this one.

But, in defense of using an ancient laptop, a lot of the newer models you cannot upgrade at all, they fuse the parts to the motherboard. Apple started this trend, so blame them, they have been doing this for years.

Shame on IBM/Lenovo  and others for joining them in their desire to force people to buy an entirely new machine every few years instead of replacing parts.

I mean, how wasteful! Think about it? Perfectly good computers that just don’t have the video cards to handle modern games or applications, go into the trash because they can’t run anything anymore, but most of the parts work just fine.

GRRRR.  My laptop has a fairly new hard drive, which I installed myself, along with a WiFi card, and new better dual channel ram. All for much less than a new laptop would have cost me. Much less. Plus, the monitor and casing isn’t in a landfill somewhere, or the toxic motherboard isn’t poisoning children in India tasked with getting the mercury or some such evil thing. Doing my part, no matter how small.

Anyway, yeah, good food, great coffee, and WiFi plus electricity equals the perfect equation for a happy writer. Thumbs way up to Rainshadow.

I hope the competition is half this good, although I know of at least two other places that are in range. Scooter’s coffee, has WiFi, and an abundance of outlets, food and coffee. They actually have Rainshadow  roasted beans, ironically. All locally produced deli items which is amazing.

Hurricane Coffee is another place I frequent. They have an advantage that when I am with my son they are the only one with ice cream.

So, if you have a child, immediately Hurricane has an edge.  This edge is also a minus however, as it is also a local hang out spot for teens, so after school hours, they kinda take over half the place and tend to be kinda noisy.

You need some good sound canceling head phones to work in there at those times. Rainshadow is the most spacious of the the three by far, all three are in proximity of down town and are convenient. They are all good, and the food is decent at all places, although I would give Rainshadow the top marks on food because they offer breakfast burritos and hot foods while the other two are more sandwiches and bagels and that kind of thing.

Price wise, I think Scooter’s is the most economical if you are sticking with drip coffee. If you are getting food or espresso, I would say they are all within range of each other. All are great places for inspiration and public writing spaces. There is something to be said for being in your own world while simultaneously surrounded by people. It is just a completely different feeling than being at home in your jammies with your computer. although that is good too.

There is also Starbucks, of course, but Starbucks is the same wherever you are pretty much. The McDonald’s of Coffeeshops, unless you count McDonalds which also has free Wifi and coffee, so, yeah, also an option. But I prefer to support the independents when I can. The little guys have the best atmosphere, the best vibe, and you can’t replicate or buy that, it just is.

And some places have it and some places don’t. I can’t explain it. It is an emotion not something quantifiable. I just know it isn’t something chain stores can cultivate. Starbucks culture is so snobbish and highbrow. It is kinda artificial and forced. It isn’t a natural culture. It is something marketed to itself by somebody in Seattle somewhere.

They try, just when you become big, something happens. You lose the dynamic culture of something crafted for a small audience, you start to cater to the masses, and the masses are a lot more blase and boring than a more specific audience ever is.

The smaller place will always have a more eclectic and interesting feel. I need to try Suzon’s as well. I remember it being cozy and having decent coffee but being more quiet and contemplative. Not a good option to take a kid, but those without children might prefer a quiet space. There is a place for everyone it seems even in a small town.

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Writing

Writing Prompt– One Man’s Story

Posted on by jennrae

Inspired by James Mascia’s Other Worlds:Writing Prompts for the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writer, kindle edition.

The man opened the door, slowly sliding in and taking a seat seeing the line in front of him. The phones were ringing and could not be answered fast enough. Policemen hurried about and left leaving staff frantically answering phones and taking messages on those little post it notes and stationary, whatever happened to be close to their hand at that moment.

The man knew why this was happening. And he knew it was time to tell his story. There is no point in telling a story without an audience to react to it, so time would be limited. He needed an audience. This was his masterpiece and he wanted to be recognized for it before it was too late. His worn shoes and tattered coat misled people into thinking he was powerless. They were all wrong, so very wrong.

He watched the people edge closer to the counter one at a time, being told to take a seat and as soon as someone was available they would be seen to. He waited. People continued to stream in, in a worried frantic way, only to wait. Hurry up and wait folks. Time’s almost up.

The man looked at his cracked beaten watch and smiled. So close now. He took a deep breath in through his nose, almost tasting the fear, the sense of impending doom in the air. He could almost feel the vibration like a massive bomb going off, of all the anxious energy of all the people around him. To be in a police station when the end was nigh. That was how to be in the center of the storm. To feel the nuclear blast at its core. Would he survive this? Did it matter?

He started tapping his foot. He almost jumped out of his chair. He had been carrying a sign for so long warning people of the end times. People laughed at him, spit in his face, shoved him, but it was the laughing that hurt most. Now who is laughing, he thought.

He was a part of this chaos. He knew he started this cyclone spiraling down with his powerful mind. He would watch the world burn and it go down the toilet bowl. Would he get sucked in with it? Maybe? But it was so worth it. Just to hear all those jeers and taunts, the pity change thrown at his feet like he was a common beggar.

How dare they! He meant it as a serious warning but no one took heed. He smiled smugly to himself. His ex wife and estranged kids cut him out of their life long ago. He lost his house and property to the evil empire. He all ready lost everything that mattered including his pride and dignity.

This was his calling, his duty to warn mankind of the angels of destruction and the end of the world. But it was a onerous task, one which cost him everything. A man with nothing to lose is the most dangerous. He believed this. He knew this. He was that man.

Finally the lobby was filled with people muttering and sitting and some still standing defiantly, all demanding answers. He stood up and walked up to the counter pushing some people aside, others looked at him perplexed but still moved aside. His purpose was now. This would be his audience, his big moment.

“All these storms, these disasters. All this natural destruction that y’all are experiencing right now. It is the will of God. But it is also my vengeance. I was tasked by the angels to warn you all of this time that was a coming. But you all laughed at me, pitied me, shook your head and kept on a walking. Well, now is the time to pay the piper. Now it is the end times.

“And, I hope you all suffer as I have suffered. I hope everyone you loved leaves you high and dry. I hope government types come and take your house, and your car, and tell you what to do. I hope when you get so down and you can’t buy yourself food and clothes that when people laugh and chuckle and throw a penny or a nickel at your face that you think it is actually funny. I hope that you get dirty looks when you scrape enough change together to buy a pack of cigs or a single beer.

“I hope people judge you by how you smell, and what you look like. I hope you fall apart and when the voices do come, cause they will, I hope you listen real hard. I hope you all go in one big group and throw yourselves off the cliff like lemmings. I won’t do it. But I will be watching. And, maybe I will have a beer while I do.” And he spat on the ground, people looking at him like he was crazy. Nothing new there. They will see. They would all see. No one made a move to grab him, or hurt him.

They just all stared at him blankly like they didn’t understand English. Maybe he was still a big joke to them. He breathed in deeply one more time, focusing his mind on the final destruction, seeing it, believing it. Making it happen, now. He spread his arms out, people backed away still muttering. But he could no longer hear them.

” Please God, make me an instrument of your will. Please, end my suffering, and all the suffering of those around me. I cannot stand this evil world anymore. I tried to do your bidding, but it was hard. People are cruel. I do not know if they are ready for your love, yet. They are still full of arrogance, pride, jealousy, envy. Revenge. Yes, I am also full of revenge. I am also not worthy. But let me be the undoing. My fate is sealed, I know that now. I made my choices, I am ready to pay. Let it be now.”

A large rumble shook the room. People gripped the counter, and ducked down. Windows shattered, the personnel behind the counter took cover, trying to call out to no avail. Lines went down lights flickered and went out. People started to panic running in all kinds of directions. He simply watched, un-moving, a slight smile on his dirty face. It was just like he pictured it. Exactly. His mind was ridiculously powerful. The fear, the fear, it was intoxicating. They were scared, and he was not.

And then suddenly his eyes opened, and he was in a hospital bed, surrounded by faces he didn’t know. “What happened? Is this heaven?”

“No, this isn’t heaven. You were in an accident. A hit and run driver. These people found you and called 911. Do you remember what happened at all?” The doctor had a notepad and a pencil and wore a concerned expression on his face like a costume. A pretend to care face, he knew that look too well.

“Do you want the truth? Or what you want to hear? I was living my dream. And what a beautiful dream it was. I wish I had not woken up. I hate this world.”

“When was the last time you saw a doctor? Who is your next of kin?”

“Does it matter? I am like an egg carton, like one of those oily burger wrapper things that doesn’t make it into the trash. No one takes care of me, yet I stick around. No one wants me, but I’m still here.”

He saw the doctor scribble something down. He would guess Depression with a capital D. No one knew the truth, no one wanted to know. He closed his eyes again. Still not worthy to fulfill his destiny. He had to go back to warning people again. Someday he would be worthy to fulfill his purpose. Then they would all see. They would all tremble before him. The laughing would finally stop.

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized

Writing Prompt –Parallel Universe

Posted on by jennrae

Inspired by James Mascia’s Other Worlds.

Your character or group of characters has walked through a dimensional rift and finds himself/herself in a parallel universe where almost everything is the same except for several minor details. However, these details have a huge impact on the way the world has formed.

“Okay team, you ready to go through? This is only the second time the rift has been opened. We tracked Mushroom the monkey for a week before his transmitter failed so we know the rift itself won’t kill you. What is on the other side, well, we got a hand full of images sent back before the signal died. And, the good news is the place is so much like here, except it appears the air and water quality are much better. This might be the future. You have been chosen to assess the risks and possibilities.

“The goal will be to explore, but make it back here in exactly a week’s time, at 0500 hours. That is when it will be open again, so it is imperative that you make it back to the rendezvous on time. Else, you will have to stay until we send another team. If one of you is compromised, make sure the equipment makes it back with somebody to the point so we get the data.

“We can plan a rescue mission if need be, but we need that information.” The old man took a moment to drink from a glass of water, handing the glass to an assistant who quietly walked away with it. “Any questions?” The five of them looked at the  blue and purple swirling mass a few feet away, scientists and robots zoomed about making adjustments.

This was it, another universe so like their own. The future lay in the hope that this may be the answer to their prayers. “One question, sir.” Lilly raised her voice looking directly at the old man, the leader of this mission. A mission that few knew about, but could affect millions. “Yes, Ms. Neil?”  He glanced at his watch, a timer for the rift set and ticking away.

“Do we know what happened to Mushroom?”

“No, he may have disconnected his collar walking around, we have no recordings or information of violence. It just stopped sending, so it is hard to say. If you happen to find Mushroom, it would be useful to bring his gear back so we can find out what happened. If not, your information should of course be enough. I will say again, this only works if someone makes it back. So, no unnecessary risks.”

Lilly and the rest of the team nodded, facing the rift before them. This was their duty to their country. It was an honor as well. Gershwin and Trombone were military and trained for survival, whereas Lilly and Severn were more scientific minded intellectuals. Nigel was sort of a cross between the two, a former military NASA astronaut. He would lead the mission as he understood both parts of it.

Should something befall Nigel, Lilly was supposed to take charge, although she hoped she wouldn’t have to. Gershwin and Trombone had largely been silent and uncommunicative with her. She couldn’t help but wonder if they had special orders that were kept from the rest. Again, she hoped she wouldn’t find out.

“Good luck ladies, and gentlemen, take your packs, there should be enough rations to survive a week. If you  befriend any locals, even if they seem just like us, be aware that they aren’t. We don’t know their motivations or even if they will react kindly to our arrival.”

They each picked up a heavy hiking style backpack with rations water, and an emergency kit.  They were a well oiled machine. They had been preparing for months for this moment. They lined up and slowly walked up to the portal and one by one passed through it.

Lilly felt a cold sensation and a pin prickling feeling all over and before she could think much more about it she was on the other side with the rest of the team. They backed away from the portal as it flickered and finally disappeared. They were alone.

It was a rocky area with shrubs. Reminiscent of Arizona, she thought. “I used to go running and hiking in Arizona.” She said aloud to no one in particular. The sky was a vivid blue with fluffy white clouds. She breathed in deeply. Fresh clean air. She let it out feeling the sensation in her lungs.

“Let’s set up camp, set our receiver here. We cannot afford to lose the rendezvous point. After we have a perimeter set up, we can explore a little in teams. Meet back here in ten. Everyone has a walkie on them right? We have to keep in touch, any sign of Mushroom let me know. So, first set up, then we explore a little, don’t go too far out.” Nigel looked at each one of them. Lilly set her pack down, started to get the tent out.  She saw the others do the same. Severn started to wander off.

“Severn? Where you going? Nigel wants us to set up first?”

“I am not going far, I thought I heard something.”

“I think we are supposed to go in pairs or not alone.”

“You see where I’m heading right? I am not going far, I promise.”

Lilly watched Severn go over the hill and walk down with rocks sliding about and he disappeared from view.

“Hey, Lilly, you need a hand setting up?”

“No, I’m okay, I just watched Severn head down there.”

“By himself?”

“Yeah, he claimed he heard something.”

Nigel frowned a little. “Hey, Gershwin, can you go after Severn? Just make sure he doesn’t get himself in trouble, he went that direction.” Gershwin nods, shouldering a rifle, and his pack setting off carefully in the direction Severn went.

“Don’t worry, Lilly. Gershwin is a great tracker, and I am sure they both will be fine. In the meantime, we gotta get the fire going, and all the tents up, plus our receiver and beacon so we can transmit. This looks like a pretty empty area, which is good, we won’t have to explain any of this to the natives. ”

Lilly smiled and tried to sound unconcerned. But, something about the way Severn acted seemed off. She hadn’t heard anything. Yet, he heard something. They were just told not to go alone and to keep in touch. “Nigel.”

Nigel turned around and looked at her and saw where she was pointing. Severn’s pack lay on the ground, his walkie peeking out of it. “Why would he not take water? Why leave everything?  Can you help me get some kindling, not much here, but some brush, maybe we can use that. Try not to worry.”

“He didn’t seem right, he didn’t seem like himself. Something seemed off.”

“You think going through the rift made him forgetful?” Nigel laughed as he went about breaking pieces off the sagebrush with a snap. Trombone was setting up a perimeter fence, a  serious frown on his face. “How much do you know about Trombone and Gershwin?”

“I know those aren’t there real names. I know they are military of some sort, and we need some people who know how to protect us. I trust them. They are all about the mission. And it succeeding.”

“What if their mission isn’t the same as ours?”

Nigel shook his head. “Are you sure the rift didn’t make you paranoid? We have only been here, maybe 30 minutes tops, and all ready you are worrying. I know as much as you do. It is just information gathering.”

Lilly nodded again, keeping him close. “Shouldn’t Severn have been back by now?”

“You know how he can be, if he is on the trail of something he can lose track of time. That is why it is so important to take your walkie. The only cell tower we got here is our receiver and it fires information into the portal at intervals where they open it briefly. So, we have to do it the old fashioned way, with radio frequencies, which is why I am mad at him for not taking his.”

Night was beginning to fall all ready, the air began to take on a chill air. Trombone and Nigel worked on the fire, while Lilly finished setting up the receiver. There was still no sign of Severn or Gershwin. The receiver had a green light come on as the generator kicked into life, generating a heater. She held her hands to it. “Who knew the desert could be so cold.”

“Do you want the actual answer to that, because you should know how that works, you know, once the sun sets.” She smiled at Nigel. He was the only likable one on the team since Severn had left.

She found herself increasingly nervous. The fire crackled and spit sparks. It was a safe distance from the machinery. It was mostly to keep any animals away. The heat from the generator plus the electricity it provided for their tools and materials and machines would ensure they stayed near. The fire also helped light up the edges of their perimeter, where Trombone was on duty pacing it with his rifle at the ready, watching and waiting.

“I hope he doesn’t accidentally shoot the others.”

“Gershwin and him have a signal, I am sure they won’t shoot each other.”

“What about Severn?”

“Do you always worry about him so?”

“Nigel. Severn is my brother. Half brother, actually. or Step brother. My father remarried, so, yeah, I have been worrying about him since he was like nine. I haven’t ever really stopped. He has always been a dare devil. But, he is normally more cautious. He isn’t stupid, nor is he usually careless.”

“You need to stop, Lilly. You are worrying way too much. As far as we know, there is nothing to be afraid of here. We have seen no evidence of any settlements. Nor even any animal sightings. Have you checked the soil readings yet? We know the air is pretty good, and we haven’t found any water yet, but there must be some around here, because Mushroom found some.”

“We also do not know what happened to Mushroom.”

Suddenly she heard a loud squeal, it sounded like a whistle or an animal call. “What was that?” Nigel laid a hand on her arm briefly, putting a finger to his lips gesturing for silence.

She saw him glance toward the fire, seeing Trombone’s silhouette, rifle out. He had stopped pacing, was listening as well. Suddenly an arrow whizzed by their heads. “Get behind the apparatus, hurry.” Nigel picked up the arrow and got to the ground, pulling Lilly along, and pushing her down into the reddish dirt. He handed her the arrow. “What do you make of that?”

“It’s. It’s an Indian arrowhead. Like the kind that was used in the nineteenth century against Custer.”

“Quiet. You got any kind of weapon on you?” Lilly flashes a small knife. Nigel looks at it, and kind of frowns. He slowly gets a small gun out, cocks it and makes sure it is loaded. They hear gunfire near the fire. “Trombone.”

Suddenly they hear horses. The hoof beats were loud and the warriors were making loud noises as well and more arrows and additional gunfire erupted around them.  Lilly got nearer to Nigel, her hand shaking gripping her knife. “We have to get them to open the portal now. Have to enter the emergency code.”

“Nigel, if you get up now, you will be killed.”

“Can you fire a gun? You can cover for me.”

“They have guns too, there’s more than just Trombone’s shots going off.”

“This explains why the air and the water are in such good shape. The British settlers, the Europeans in this place did not make it. They must have died off from diseases instead of the native populace. Or some other situation. These people continued to live as they always had, except with guns and horses of course. So, there had been an invasion, but it was unsuccessful here. But they must remember, because of this hostility. They know what invaders are now, they aren’t naive or trusting. Nor are they taking any chances.”

“I don’t want to die like this.” Lilly looked up at Nigel in fear, he handed her his gun. “Then don’t. Cover for me, let me get us out of here.”

“But my brother?”

“Lilly, we have to get out of here now. We will come back, I promise.”

“He’s dead isn’t he?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

They heard Trombone’s gun click, saw his silhouette go down to hatchets and shrieking. “It’s now or never.” Nigel jumped up and ran to the console. Lilly slowly got up pointing the gun at the natives who were surrounding the fence and knocking it down in places. She saw one warrior place a pike near the fire. He held up Trombone’s head and placed it on it, loudly. Lilly felt her stomach start to grumble uneasily, choking down her vomit tasting the acid bitter taste.

“Almost done, Lilly. They don’t seem to be paying us any mind anymore.”

“Maybe it is because we aren’t shooting at them.”

“Well, I think they were distracted with Trombone, as soon as they realize we are here, I am not sure they will bother talking to us.”

Lilly watched a couple warriors setting fire to the tents. She grabbed up her satchel with her notes in it. “We didn’t have time to get many samples.”

“We can’t worry about that now. It’s okay.”

“You promise?”

The rift flared open, at the same time an arrow thudded loudly nearby. Lilly ran for it firing an occasional shot. “Nigel, come on, it’s open!”

He was slumped on the panel, an arrow in his back.”Go, go ahead. Run.” Lilly stopped and turned back toward Nigel, firing shots in the direction of the natives until the gun went click. She dropped her satchel, grabbed him by the arm and with her adrenaline running in her veins pulsing and  throbbing in her ears enabling her to find strength and speed unknown to her, not thinking merely doing, her legs poetry in motion she carried him like an oversized sack of potatoes. Arrows and bullets whizzing here and there, fire consuming the tents, the receiver began to spark wildly and the rift started to flicker and on she ran.

“Only a little farther, you should just drop me and go. The mission.It is more important.”

She didn’t reply because she couldn’t spare the breath or think of the words.  She sprinted carrying the man she knew in this moment she would love until she died. They both crashed into the rift into a pile on the other side, the metal floor crashing into their bruised bodies. Soldiers had guns pointing at the portal as it was shut down an arrow whizzed into the room. Lilly felt her brain go fuzzy, and things started to go blurry and dim for her.

“Get these two some medical attention, now.” The old man bellowed.  He picked up the arrow looking at it carefully. “So much like our world, but more pristine. Unplundered, unpolluted. Underpopulated. No sign of Mushroom, I take it?”

“Sir, both of these members of the team are unconscious. We are still receiving a signal from the other side, further away from the campsite. Are we to assemble a rescue team?”

“Wait until we have these two debriefed. They might give us more information on possible survivors or what exactly happened. Mushroom could still be out there since he isn’t a human, they might not have killed him. I still think his collar was removed or damaged. The signal is coming from Gershwin I suppose?”

“Yes. He was following the other scientist, I think that scientist was attempting to track Mushroom, actually.”

“Interesting. Well, we will try to get these two fixed up and see what they know, and go from there. This just got interesting, gentlemen.” The old man handed the arrow to his assistant who again took it quietly and walked away with it much like the water glass earlier.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Minor Update–plus writing prompt:The Resilience of Children

Posted on by jennrae

*Inspired by James Mascia’s Other Worlds Writing Prompts.

I like to give credit to him because it is a book of sci-fi/fantasy writing prompts, and I am working through them to get the rust off so to speak, and help spark my creativity for my new novel which has hit a wall.

So, in a sense, I am giving away his content for free if you can figure out the prompts which is pretty easy to do. So, the least I can do is give him the credit so that maybe someone else will buy his book and get inspired. Or at the very least he will get the recognition for the prompts as any writer should get recognized for their work.

As far as the new novel is concerned, I feel like I am reaching the big important event a bit too early. It is kinda like setting up a fireworks show; you have things go off at certain times to really make it work. Same with this novel, and if it hits its stride too soon, it may be a hard thing to organically fix.

I can add events and lengthen it, but my worry there is that it won’t flow properly. It will seem stretched out, which is bad pacing.  I am a bit stuck, trying to figure out the best path to fixing this, or altering it now, so hopefully, I won’t have to make a Frankenstein’s monster later. I all ready have one of those in my fantasy series. I’ve got six books sitting in binders, some need to be entirely rewritten. So yeah, trying to learn from my mistakes and not repeat them.

*Anyway, this prompt :

Candice lay still in the hospital bed, eyes closed, drifting out of a deep sleep to beeps and steps in the hall way and birds chirping out the window. A TV was blaring on the other side of the room and she could hear a fan going someplace nearby. She opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the artificial fluorescent lighting.

She looked at the side table, propping herself up with her arms, glancing at the pink carafe and a small plastic cup of water and a multi colored bouquet of flowers that seemed relatively fresh. She saw a bench along the wall, a coat left draped on it lazily, one of those thin grey jersey hoodies. Her brother was here recently, or maybe he would be back soon, she thought recognizing his coat.

How long have I been here? Which hospital was this? She craned her neck toward the window, concrete parking lot, street lamps, cars parked here and there. No remarkable landmarks from there. She looked around the room, no neighbor next to her, just an empty bed. She hit the call button and waited.

A nurse walked in and nearly stumbled from shock, taking a seat on the bench. Candice looked at her startled by the reaction. “Nurse? Where am I? What happened to me?”

“Oh you don’t know poor child? It was awful, so many children didn’t make it, so many people. Everyone thought it was the common cold, but then people would fall asleep, and just not wake up. And, then a few started to, but not many. But a few. Least that is what I heard, but, you are the first of the fallen ones I have seen with my own eyes. Your family will be so happy, especially considering…Well. I better let them know. Are you hungry?”

Candice nodded. The nurse left and Candice reached for the water, taking a sip slowly. She felt the water go down cooling her insides. She suddenly felt very thirsty, refilling the glass and taking another gulp. She grabbed the remote for the TV turning it down. She heard steps down the hall, hurried steps. She glanced toward the door just as her mother and father ran in. Their faces were wet with tears and they looked a little scared. They ran in and hugged her tightly, kissing her roughly. “Stop. I’m okay. Where’s Jeremy? I see his coat over there?”

They both took a seat on the bench slowly. Her father grabbed the coat into his arms, clenching it in his hands. “Jeremy fell ill right after you did, but, he didn’t make it. Seems mostly children were affected by this virus, and the elderly, and people who were all ready sick, but even some healthy people came down with it in the end, and most people that fell asleep, never came out of it again. You are lucky, Candy. We were losing hope, you seemed to be drifting away. They don’t know what changed, it is just all so sudden. We are just so glad we still have you, we never dared to hope, or dream. It was just too much to bear. To lose you both like this.”

“Jeremy’s gone? I can’t believe it. He was my older brother. I can’t imagine a world without him in it.”

“The city is also under quarantine still. They don’t want this spreading, so you will have to go to school when you are deemed fully recovered in a special place for other kids like you. They don’t want to take any chances, because they still don’t know what this is or how it happened here. Right now, you just have to get well, and eat, and get strong for us, okay?” Mom’s voice sounded worried and confused, and didn’t seem reassuring at all. A special school? Quarantine?

“What about my friends? Becky and Josie? Did they fall ill, are they okay?”

Her parents remained silent a moment, looking at each other before her dad spoke. “They did fall ill. They didn’t make it, Candy. You are the only one at this hospital. The children’s hospital has a few others. There might be a few more who are being treated at their homes because for a while there was no room. The sick lined the floors, it was terrible. Then, people started to die. Now there is room again, but, the whole city seems empty, and food is starting to run low. The government sends some in, of course, but just the staples. No luxury items, basic stuff like blankets and food. Things are looking up now though. They halted the disease here, so it could have been worse.”

“New victims are down, and have been falling every week, so, pretty soon the city will be declared safe, and things will go back to normal,” her mom adds forcing a smile, her eyes still appearing kinda vacant.

A doctor came in saying, “Sorry, for interrupting, but we would like to watch her for 24 hours, just to make sure, and then we can see about discharging her to home care. Watch for signs of a new onset, if she gets the all clear, as I expect she will, we can release her into your care. But, we want to make sure, before we send her out. So, we’ll give you as long a visit as you need, but I would like her to get plenty of rest.”

The doctor  gave her parents some paperwork and nodded at Candice,  leaving abruptly again. She can hear his shoes as he walked down the hall. She can hear the nurse at the nurse’s station tapping at the keyboard, and the birds chirping loudly. She can hear her mom fidgeting with her hands, rotating her wedding band, and her dad cleaning his glasses for the tenth time, the slight sound of microfiber cloth on glass.

“Honey, why do you have the TV so quiet? You can’t hear it.”

“Oh, I can, please, leave it.” Her mom looked at her, and puts the remote down. “Okay, dear. Maybe we should let you rest, I am just so glad you are okay.”

They got up and reluctantly leave, her dad turned to her and says, “We are just going to take a nap downstairs, we’ll be here if you need us. Okay?”

“Okay.” She watched them leave, and shut the door quietly behind them. She looked back to the window and saw a boy’s face in the glass. She got up and opened the window to let him in. “Thanks, the name is Charlie. I came as quickly as I could. I am a survivor too. I came from the other hospital, we are going to break out. Are you in?”

Candy looked out the window, and saw that it was a long way down. “How did you get up here, by my window? I’m on the third floor, at least.”

“Same way you could hear me coming, and Abbie knew you’d be here. We are special. When we awaken, we awaken different. Thing is, the adults won’t understand it. They will try to study us, they will hurt us. I know, my sister Mirabelle, she was the first. She had a special gift, and it was discovered pretty quick. So, now they have her in some special facility. I know they are doing bad things to her. Abbie can feel it. She can feel things, and sense feelings. I can fly.”

“Like Peter Pan?”

“Sort of, see.” The boy lifts himself a foot into the air, hovering. “It gets tiring though. So, I cannot do it all the time, and I can’t keep myself up for too long. Besides, we can’t let them know.”

“Them?”

“The doctors, the nurses. They are in on it. They did this to our city on purpose. They wanted to test something, they had this planned. That is what Abbie says. Abbie is our leader. She is fourteen. The oldest survivor so far, and so very wise. You will like her. She is a red-head, very tall and thin. Kinda freckly. But she knows the adults, she knows what they are about.”

“My parents are downstairs, and they would be worried sick about me. I can’t leave them. They all ready lost my brother.”

“They will lose you anyway, as soon as they figure out you can hear things so well, and who knows what else, they will take you away, like Mirabelle. Mirabelle can move things, like that water, she can move it all around without touching it. Or she could, I don’t know what has happened to her.”

“I will help you find your sister, but can I leave a note for my parents? I don’t want them to worry.”

“Sure, but don’t mention me or where you are going. Just say you are helping a friend and stuff.”

Candy takes the hospital stationary and writes a letter carefully, making sure it was legible, stating her love and how she hopes she can explain and they understand she loves them.

“I don’t know if I am making a mistake by leaving, or if I should stay.” She looks at Charlie’s eyes. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time, the Doctor will be back, and who knows what he will do. He will be looking for something special, he will know about this, and if he discovers you, I don’t know if we can break you out again.”

Candy hears the door make a clicking sound, Charlie dives under the bed, Candy forces out a loud cough to cover the noise, a nurse comes in with a tray of apple sauce and crackers and some apple juice. “We want to start you off slow, since it has been a while since you had a real meal.” The lady smiled at her, smoothed her bedding and left closing the door again. Charlie scooted out from under the bed as soon as the steps receded.

“She seems nice, are you sure they are all in on it?”

“They are probably watching us, we better go, now.” He looks around the room suspiciously looking for cameras. Candy shrugged. “That seems a little crazy.”

“Come with me, if you change your mind, I promise I will help you come back myself.”

“Okay.” Candy got out of the bed slowly, and her legs wobbled on the floor. “I can’t seem to walk.”

“It’s because you have been in bed a long time. Here, let me help you.” He put his arm around her and walked over to the window. She opened it again, looking back at Charlie with concern, gulping and breathing in deeply. “Here goes nothing.”

“Just hang onto me, we will drift down.”

He helps her scramble onto the sill, “I’m scared.”

“Think of Peter Pan, okay? Or Superman, that’s okay too.” And he pulls her out into the air with him drifting like clumsy birds. “How is this even possible?”

“I don’t know, I’m only ten.”

“I can’t look anymore.” She felt some of her crackers coming back up and her head feeling strangely light.

“We’re almost there, just stay with me a little longer.”  When their feet touch the ground her knees buckle, and he attempts to break her fall and they both fall in a heap. “You’re heavier than me, sorry.”

She elbowed him. “Hey now.”

“It’s the truth. Sorry.” He got up brushed the grass off his clothes. “Can you get up, I’ll help you walk, the others’ aren’t far.”

“I’ll try, but I feel like all rubber.”  The boy  again put his arm around her and gently walked her in a direction away from the hospital.

“Trust me, I know where I’m going. If they were watching, they will be after us, but they won’t know how far I drifted, so, we may have a little time, plus, I know this town pretty well. I’ve got a map in my head from riding my bike tons.”

“What am I doing? My parents are going to be so worried.”

“Look, you would be disappeared one way or another. That special school, yeah, no one goes there and hears about the people again. We are trying to locate it through Abbie’s power. But, there are still a lot of people around, and she can’t  choose what to tune in or out of very well, she is still working on it.  She found you because you just woke up and she says it is like a beacon, a flare goes up when one of us wakes up. It is like, we are part of something, a plan, something bigger than everything else.  And when one of us wakes up it is like it sends a message to the others.”

“What about those that didn’t make it?”

“Well, whatever experiment this was, we were phase one, the kinks weren’t worked out yet. I guess that is what they call collateral damage. Cost of doing business, sort of thing?”

“How far do we have to walk, I’m not used to it?”

“Hey,I’m doing most of the work here, don’t worry, it isn’t far now.”

A car pulled up beside them, slowing down to a crawl, a door opened. “Come on, get in.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it is Abbie’s mom, she is with us, they tried to take Abbie away, so, she is on our team. We can’t waste time.”

“For someone that is suspicious of things, you are asking me to trust a lot of strangers.” Candy got in the car reluctantly after Charlie. The woman driving seemed anxious, eyes darting; hair a mess, with a crumpled blouse. Another girl was in the car. A tall girl with red hair and freckles.

“You must be Candy. I am Abbie. You have met Charlie. My mom is driving, she can be trusted. She saw Mirabelle taken. She knows what is happening with us, or at least that much. There is still a lot we don’t know. Please, don’t be frightened. None of us chose this, this was thrust upon us, and we must come together. We are each others’ family now.”

“Easy for you to say, you still have your mom.”

“My dad died from the virus. He was sick all ready, and he got it from me. So, I do understand. I know about Jeremy. I feel your pain, and your loss. And the loss of so many here. I feel it every minute, every hour, all the time. I am tired of the pain, but I know, I have a purpose. This was no accident, and until I fulfill that purpose, I must live with this pain, and this knowledge of everyone’s pain and frustration and fear, and hatred. I must bear it all,  do you understand what that can be like?”

Candy said nothing after this, Abbie’s mom locked all the doors from her driver’s panel and sped away taking a circuitous route to wherever they were going. Eventually they end up out of the city proper and in a quiet suburb area. “Who lives here?”

“This is the property of a friend. They gave us permission to use it, me and Abbie. Abbie and I cannot go home, they will take us for sure, we cannot stay here long, because they will find us, but we have a temporary headquarters in the barn over there. We use the house sparingly, just in case. Mostly at night, but can’t get used to routine too much. That’s how you get found out.”

“Has someone been found out, before?”

“Yes, we lost a couple kids, that way. Mirabelle didn’t get to leave the hospital, but there have been others. The special school isn’t a school. It is a laboratory. The government is behind all this. For military purposes I am sure. We aren’t people to them, we can be stated as dead from this illness at any time. That’s how they cover this up.”

“Does that mean, that when they say someone is dead, they  may not be?”

Everyone looked at each other and looked back at Candy.

“Could Jeremy be alive? His coat was in my room, if he had died, how would his coat have gotten there?”

“Child, there could be a lot of explanations, your parents could have kept it as a memento and left it there, perhaps he visited you before falling ill himself and left it there. I would assume him to be dead, if he isn’t then he is being experimented on some place, and I am not sure I would wish that on anyone.”

“Abbie, can you search for him?”

“Hope is a dangerous thing. It can make you do crazy stuff. He fell ill after you, so, it is possible they could be declaring him dead to move him someplace else, early. But, if he woke up, surely I would have felt that.”

“Well, even if it is a slim possibility, I’m in, if finding Mirabelle means possibly finding my brother. I need to know for certain. I feel like I would know if he were dead.”

She unfastened her seat belt with a click as did the others and quietly got out of the car heading toward a large barn with one light burning brightly.

The light beckoned and called to her, flickering as the sky started to darken a little and she could hear the crinkle of the grass beneath their feet and the hooting of owls in the trees, and the animals scurrying in the brush. She could hear the others’ breathing and hear other cars in the distance crunching gravel.

She knew in her heart that her brother was alive. He had left his coat to let her know this. Her brother would never leave her unless he had to. Maybe it was crazy, but she could not believe he was dead, the coat was there for a reason, just like she woke up for a reason. Candy smiled, someday her family would be reunited.

In her heart she knew this and it felt real, almost like she would find them all happily waiting for her in the barn before her right in this moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Excerpt from my fantasy novel Part 2–On War and Difference

Posted on by jennrae

Minottir had gotten to know Oshbury Beldurkit of the Rabbit People the best during their journey because he had been the most open and friendly.

“Oshbury, what do you think awaits us in Caeter? I wonder what the land will be like? I’ve been to the Great Forest, and the North, and now Smethille. This is a beautiful land, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is. I had not been to Anthella before this. We live near your land, just further east. We war with our cousins, the Hare People. They are arrogant, and presumptuous. They hold nothing but contempt for us. But I have heard tales of your people’s fury.”

“Oh, indeed. Us and the Dragon Folk are always at each others’ throats. It does seem that way all about us, doesn’t it? For every people, there is another to fight them. Peace is a foreign concept on this world of Babalae.”

“It is the dream of the hopeless idealist, nothing more.”

“What if one day, it is more than a dream, Oshbury?”

“On that day, there will be only one race on this world. That is the only way I see.”

“That would be truly monstrous. All this beauty, and variety? This difference no more? I hope not.”

“Then do not wish for an end to war, my friend. Differences are the stuff of war. My brothers and I used to fight, and it was war on a different scale, but the same. There would be times of peace, but these would be stopped by a fight of some sort eventually. The only way we stopped fighting is when we went our separate ways. They left the household. It was the only way. And that is the way of the world, Minottir. Are you a dreamer, my friend?”

“I suppose, I am what they call an optimist. Because if this world cannot be redeemed, then what are we doing this for? Why don’t we just shut our eyes, and wait for the Andred to come? If it’s so terrible, then why is it worth saving?”

“I am not sure. But I feel it is my duty, all the same. War may be cruel, but non existence is surely worse.”

They were silent the rest of the ride to Caeter, and even Minottir’s optimism was shaken by this idea of non existence. He couldn’t truly conceive of the great void consuming everything and leaving nothing in its wake. He shivered, and his thin rubber-like arms felt like bones for a moment. Beyond mere death. Non existence. Yes, that was worth war, he thought to himself in a desperate mood.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

A Writer’s Prompt– Future Earth

Posted on by jennrae

*This is inspired by James Mascia’s writing prompt book Other Worlds

 

The sun glinted off the cracked lens on the top of a knitted basket. She went to pick it up, the seller grabbed her wrist harshly. “What do you got to trade for that, kid? No touchy til I see it.” The man’s voice sounded hoarse and threatening, his grip on her wrist tightened slightly.

“You expect me to buy without a closer look? What kinda fool do you take me for?”

“Not everything that glitters is gold, miss. Let’s see it.”

She sighs. She pulls out her pockets, counts the little coin she has, and other odds and ends that she has found on her travels. A spool of yellow thread, a needle, a couple plastic things, including a plastic soldier with a menacing expression and a helmet.

“You got nothing. Just as I thought.” The man spits at her feet, an ugly wad of brownish gunk.

“Let me go, then. You got me, I just wanted a look see, no harm. Honest.”

“Hmm. No harm indeed.” She saw his eyes cloud over briefly, mulling something over or in reverie perhaps. “Well?” She said giving her arm a jerk. He finally lets go, she rubs her sore wrist giving him a dirty look.

“How old are ya girl?”

“Old enough.”

“To remember what? Clean air, clean water? A time before the return of the great diseases? The ones we thought we had licked. Boy, were we wrong. They are sneaky things, super bugs. They find a way to beat the vaccines, boom, all our technology and fancy dew-dads, they don’t do us no good. All for nothing.”

“So we are done here?” Her green eyes flashed defiance. She was young, how young hard to say. Mal-nourishment had a way of making someone tinier than they ought to be. Plus, looking younger than one was could be an advantage. She was used to being underestimated and had to grow up fast in this cold world.

“You got any kin left? Where are you from?”

“Why do you care, mister?”

“I had a daughter once, and a wife, and even a brother. Brother died in the war with China. Daughter and wife, well, TB got em. So, here we are. Alone, selling what we find on the road. I got an old cart and a mule. and I just venture looking for treasure and to trade stories with other survivors. Hoping to find some information. You see, I had another daughter, that was taken away, years ago, when we were all confined, in the TB ward, she was taken from me. All I have left of that one is this.” He holds up between his thumb and forefinger a tiny blue button.

“How old was she? When you last saw her?”

“She was about three, almost three years old. She would be somewhere around 13 I reckon, now.”

“Well, she ain’t me, Mister. I am older than that. Besides, I know where my family is. They are all under the dirt someplace or other. Some died here, others over there. I have been traveling for a ways now. And, I lost a lot along the way. Been alone a couple years. But, now I am out of anything to trade, except of course my labor. I can trade that well enough, if someone needs something fixed, or a rabbit caught. I have gotten good at rabbit and rat catching.”

“Are you offering your services? Whatcha want the glasses for?”

“Makes it easier to make a fire, I broke my last lens.”

“You aren’t near sighted then. Can you see that sign over yonder?”

She squints in the direction the man points. It is a hand painted sign an old woman is holding. “Looks like, maybe, I’m not sure. Have you seen…so and so, or something.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Here. A gesture of good will. I will accept your services, by the way, because, my last traveling companion took ill and died. I think I may be a carrier of the TB. But, then, if you have lasted this long, you may be as well. Besides, I can see no fear in your eyes. You are ready to die, aren’t you?” The man’s eyes glint in the sunshine, a smile crosses his face as though being ready to die is a novel concept.

“Been fighting to live for so long. Maybe  I have had it all wrong this whole time. Maybe accepting the final destination. Maybe that is the point. Maybe there is some wisdom you can teach me yet.”

She catches the glasses, shoving them on her face, still squinting.”You talk a lot of nonsense, stranger. If you got some food, I would appreciate another good will gesture. Been a while since I caught a rat. And well, I could use the strength to catch another.”

The man motions behind his cart where he has a little fire going and a cast iron pot boiling some kind of vegetable soup. He grabs a hunk of bread breaks it in half, handing her one piece, offering her a metal bowl and spoon. A small rickety table with a couple of beat up travel chairs with a faded green fabric material sat nearby. “Normally I charge for a seat at my table, but considering you are going to be my companion here, I will offer you a seat for free.”

“How kind of you.” She eats the bread with one hand, sloppily dishing out the soup with the other hurriedly. She sits down with a thud, and proceeds to devour the bowl.

“Don’t rush. You gotta make it last. Savor it. Otherwise you will get a tummy ache.”

The girl glares at him. “Don’t tell me how to eat. I know how to eat.”

The man smiles sadly. “Of course. You know everything. This is your world. This is what you know. All of this, its your castle, your home.”

“I am going to stop talking to you. You are crazy.” The man chuckles. “Perhaps. I very well may be crazy. I am caught between worlds. Remembering what was, and existing here. I feel like I was in heaven, but now I am in purgatory, waiting, to finally go to hell.” His eyes go all distant and  the girl refocuses on the soup.

She didn’t care what was actually in it at this point, she just had to eat something to stop the growling gnawing inside of her. The constant need to satiate her hunger was the driving force behind her day to day life. It was the reason to keep going, the reason she found to keep going in order to not think or remember the faces of the others.

The others that hadn’t kept going, the ones that fell before the sickness or the bombs or both. She had to survive for those that couldn’t. Someday, she could tell their stories to others, if there was a day where one could tell stories again and live to see a brighter day. Where one could safely sit and dream and not worry about hunger, and death, and destruction. It was her turn to go distant.

She could hear the man’s snores, as he fell asleep in his chair. She could hear foot steps and animals rustling in the grass. This was life now. Tiny moments among tiny moments, not knowing when the end might come, only that it would one day.

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt–Virtual Currency

Posted on by jennrae

*This is inspired from James Mascia’s Other Worlds Writing prompts.

 

Tap, tap,tap went the keys on the keyboard as a ring of screen monitors surrounded him with multiple windows up and running on each one. All the major banks and credit bureaus were accounted for, now for the final crash to the system. Bitcoin was inspirational for sure, he thought to himself, but they didn’t quite go far enough. In order for a virtual currency to become the dominant currency, the faith in paper money had to be shown for the stack of card houses it truly was.

You have to knock that first domino over to cause the rest to fall. After many hours of research and hard labor from not only him, but a myriad of sources and fellow hackers and economically disenfranchised people with an especially sharp axe to grind, the moment was at hand. Revolution never tasted so sweet.

The government of course, was one step behind, but he knew even a tiny delay could cause everything to fall apart. Everything was in place, the currency was thriving in pirate bays and other underground places in the dark side of the internet. This last punch of a string of fatal code should be the push to cause the rest of the unknowing sheep to follow suit as they will not know where else to go, and hopefully, his contacts in the media will follow through and educate them on the true path.

He sipped noisily on his Dr. Pepper, pushing the stale uneaten remains of the Doritos onto the floor. He would clean it up later, for now, click, the last key stroke. He smiled as the light of the screen reflected off his glasses, gleaming a bluish color as several streams of words and numbers lit up all the screens and other hackers across the world typed along with him at the same moment, each doing their part in a bigger puzzle. Viva La Revolution. Time for a new world order, controlled by the hackers, gamers, slackers, and under represented geniuses of the internet.

He smiled smugly, nodding to himself as if at some unspoken joke. So, this is what power feels like. He leaned back in his chair, watching the chaos, a TV was in the far corner, he took the remote turning it on waiting for the news. The weather man droned on and on about the chance of showers motioning and aiming his hands on a virtual background behind him. Jerry sighed impatiently. Come on, how long until his friends come through? Of course, he knew it wouldn’t be instantaneous.

News can be, and often was, but when it came to messages that could be controlled, and directed for mass effect, sometimes timing was everything. And, he expected the establishment boogeymen to attempt to spin and control this. The last gasping struggle of a dying behemoth who would crush many when it fell. Reasonable casualties to be expected, he thought coldly to himself. Every revolution had them, and losses were to be expected. Change was painful, and the greater the change the more painful it could be.

Suddenly, there was a  loud ringing knock at the door, he jumped up from his chair turning toward the door, not saying a word. “Hey, Jerry, is that you in there? Are you hungry? I can order a pizza?”

Jerry got up reluctantly hitting the monitor button on his computer not wanting his mother to see what he was working on. “Just a minute. I’ll be right there.” He walked over to the door unlocked the  dead bolt, opened the door slightly. The door banged open hitting him in the face hard, he fell down to the floor knocking the breath out of him. “Freeze. Police.”

“I’m sorry,” his mom said, with tears in her eyes. “They said if you cooperated, you might get immunity. They said you might be a terrorist, and that all these deaths would be on my head. I got scared. I’m so sorry, Jerry.”

He just looked up at her; blue eyes hating her with every fiber of his being. “You have no idea what you’ve done. None of you has any idea.” He watched her wring her hands nervously as they handcuffed him, shoving him up forcefully, his face bruised and swelling from hitting the floor a moment before.

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Part 2– Dealing with Fantasy and Moorcock

Posted on by jennrae

Okay, so part 1 dealt mostly with Science Fiction, robots, reality and Philip K Dick. This part deals with Fantasy, and Moorcock.

This one will be shorter, as I have bought books by Moorcock, but never got around to reading them. In my research of the man though, I am thinking about starting to read them now. He had a lot of good quotes about writing, and the nature of fantasy, and his current view of where it is at. And, I found myself agreeing with him on several points.

One, he sees current fantasy writing as largely stale and derivative of Tolkien. Note, he probably was quoted as feeling this way in the 90s. Whether he thinks this of the current crop of books, I have no idea. But, when his books were the end all be all, the heydays of Terry Brooks, Jordan, Kurtz, and many many others, this was definitely the case. They were all mostly different writing levels of Tolkien some lighter, some darker, some deeper, some more silly, here’s looking at you, Piers Anthony.

Then, George RR Martin came along, as well as some others of a similar bent. Sci-fi authors trying their hand at epic fantasy. Cj Cherryh also wrote a good series about this time which took some ancient lore and spun it in an interesting way. Raymond E Feist I would put here too,  because he managed to incorporate a Japanese type culture into fantasy in a seamless way that was definitely refreshing and different.

The people who had been writing it all along must have felt annoyed at these very experienced writers coming along into their genre and knocking all the tropes and pieces onto the floor, disregarding all the old formulas that had been working since the sixties. You re-wrote Tolkien, or you re-wrote King Arthur, but pretty much stick to the basic hero’s journey, Star Wars but with magic and not in space. Now, you got not just heroes and villains but everything in between. Beloved characters die in horrible ways, the apprentice doesn’t always succeed the teacher, the farm boy isn’t necessarily the chosen one. The good guys don’t always win.

The board and pieces were so changed that the game could not be called checkers anymore, but was more like chess. Fantasy was exciting again. Moorcock was ahead of his time, his novels were written before all this, he was writing Arthurian type fantasy, but with a gritty edge and some politics thrown in. Sure, there were elves, but these elves weren’t supernatural perfect beings but had conundrums and issues and politics. They weren’t the all wise angelic elves of Tolkien.

Although, Tolkien didn’t always portray all elves this way. The forest elves seem more human than the others in that they seem to have jealousy, and pettiness as traits. Still, I give him credit. I bought his books because, I loved the cover art. Guy Gavriel Kay might have the same artist, it is a similar style to his cover art, very stylized, and I liked it. So, I did the cardinal sin of judging a book by its cover and I would buy them on sight at the thrift stores.

I had several of his Elric of Melnibone books, but never got around to reading them. The cover art was stunning. I am not sure if I still have them, they may have been lost in one of the book purges that happened in my life. If not, I may try to find an omnibus volume and devour it. Because I think I would have enjoyed them immensely. Sometimes when you buy more than you can read, true gems fall by the wayside, and I am afraid that is what happened here.

I found a blog post about the cover art, which was by Michael Whelan, I should have known, as he did a lot of the DAW covers back in the day. A great artist. The link is below: http://fantasticflipout.blogspot.com/2009/11/michael-whelan-does-elric-of-melnibone.html

 

Posted in Fiction, Life, Writing

Merry Christmas, Happy belated birthday to Philip K Dick and Michael Moorcock, and of course, Humphrey Bogart and any others I may have forgotten —Part 1

Posted on by jennrae

Okay, with the title out of the way, this is my belated post that I mentioned I would write. The one where I go on and on about Dick, and mention Moorcock, but mostly talk about Mr. Dick.  I assure you this post is about writing, and ideas, and fantasy and science fiction.

The reason for the Bogart mention, is besides the fact I am a huge fan of his movies, he was also a huge fan of writers and writing. So, I think a happy birthday is definitely in order, besides the old detective genre of movies has definitely affected how Hollywood portrays some of Philip K Dick’s stories. Blade Runner and Total Recall both have a taste of them, Blade Runner especially, has almost a feel of a Maltese Falcon type of feel with the detective/policeman voice over. My brain which is full of associations paused and just thought, ‘Harrison Ford, Blade Runner, Millennium Falcon, Star Wars, Maltese Falcon, Bogart.’ It can be truly wondrous how the brain works as I have recently seen Rogue One, and binged West World, my mind is just full of interesting connections right now.

In fact, Rogue One resurrected Peter Cushing much like an episode of TV did Bogart, to reprise a role. West World owes much in ideas and even its existence to Blade Runner, more than the original West World, which heavily influenced The Terminator which starred Schwarzenegger who starred in Total Recall, which was based on We Can Remember it For You Wholesale by Dick.

My brain is spinning from the universal connections some of these ideas have. To write something that permeates society so deeply and shows up so unexpectedly in so many different ways is I think many writer’s dream. I would say all writers but that begs an arrogance that I don’t possess.

I can’t know what all writer’s want, but I know what I would like. I don’t need fame, money is nice, but being rich has never been a goal of mine except as a child perhaps, but what I do crave is having a sense of permanence. Leaving something behind when I am gone, a deep carving in the rock saying ‘I was here. I lived, and I mattered, and this is what I stood for, this is what was important to me, this is my contribution to society. to my family, to myself, to the world.’

I think from what I have read of Philip K Dick, that he felt similarly. I can’t say the same because I will never know, but from the quotes I found, from the stories I read, he had a deep philosophical bent, which I also like to think I have in my writing, and meaning and legacy seem to have been a big deal. He had an existential streak that I also have, where the meaning of being alive, what it means to be human, what it means to exist was in the background of many of his stories sharing a strong strand of what does it mean to be real, what is reality, another question that I love to deal with. He was so effective at these two questions that I have found them, along with what is true, or the truth,  are the back bone of every story he wrote.

I received as a present a few years back a great book called the Philip K Dick Reader, it has all the short stories in one place. I know I have mentioned this in other posts, but I am a big fan of omnibus volumes.  I had seen the movies, I think Minority Report had come out sometime before I got the book and I expressed a desire to read the story. It always interests me in where adaptations decide to diverge and what they leave out, and add in. I have read Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and complained throughout the Depp movie  that was based on it because it just shared the name pretty much but not much else, so it is a double edged sword, knowing the actual stories, sometimes it ruins the suspension of disbelief that is required to make it real.

But, with Dick, even when it diverges, it is like the essence, the reason behind the story creeps in. Hollywood cannot get rid of the message, it is in too deep. Total Recall is a good example. It has a lot of 80’s action movie and heavy cussing in it, it is a Verhoeven film more than a Dick story, by far. But the thing is, the actual story is so short and I can honestly say they needed to add more to the plot to make it work. It couldn’t be faithfully adapted into a two hour movie, and that is largely the case with Dick’s work.

In the end, the story has an ambiguous ending, you can’t definitively say whether he actually was a secret agent that went to Mars, or whether he was a vegetable at the vacation place, you can interpret it either way, and the movie stayed true to that. Both interpretations work which makes you question what is real, which is the question behind the story, and the movie itself, despite all the explosions and distractions that were added to make it flashy.

Minority Report I felt was mostly true to the story, I expected it to be further removed honestly because that is the trend with Dick’s work, and in general. The movie Adaptation deals with this quite well, actually. Basically it is a writer’s job and purpose to create, to recreate another person’s dream and be totally faithful to it is hard, because in the end we all want to create something new. It is a struggle because is any idea new, then becomes a question in of itself.

I also binge watched season two of The Man In the High Castle. This is an amazon show, so if you have prime it is easy to watch because you have all ready paid for it in a sense by being a member. You don’t have to buy it again, or pay for it and it is all out there to watch, no waiting each week for an episode to air. I didn’t quite enjoy season 1, so I wasn’t eagerly awaiting season 2. In fact, I only watched it because it came out around Mr Dick’s birthday, so I felt like maybe I should at least see it. And, you know what, season 2 was actually very very good.

It even had some Dick-ish themes going along in the background. What is reality? What is the truth? What is good what is evil? Can doing a horrible deed end up being the right thing to do? I haven’t read The Man in the High Castle, unfortunately, I have heard that the series diverges a great deal, and that isn’t surprising. But, I can say, that I felt the message behind it, the feeling, the questions in the background, are true to his work. So, the writers kept that in. I am starting to wonder if it is possible to remove this quality from his stories, as even the most crazy adaptation has it insidiously there, somewhere in the background, you just can’t remove it.

Back to Blade Runner, because it also isn’t a particular faithful adaptation. I have read Do Androids Dream of Electronic Sheep?, it is a great story. Much like We Can Remember it For You Wholesale, it is short, and I can see the need to add much to the plot to make it a full length film. Dick loved Blade Runner, and saw it as an improvement on his story. The fact that it didn’t replicate his story didn’t seem to bother him, he in fact was honored that the creative team managed to spin this story out of his own. Ultimately, the question behind both stories remain, what does it mean to  be human? What does it mean to be alive? West World the TV show deals with the same questions as well as the movie AI, which was based on a Brian Aldiss story, which I have also read.

Yes, the movie again departs heavily from the source, but it is also a series of short vignettes. So, of course it would diverge by necessity.Aldiss was annoyed by the merging of his story with the story of Pinocchio, but again, Pinocchio deals with what it means to be human, to be real, what makes him a puppet and how he eventually becomes a real boy. When there are no more real boys, will the close approximation of one be a real one as it is the most real one in existence?

The same questions are asked and the story of the other, and how we treat who we regard as the other is dealt with similarly. Whoever is considered less than is seen as a threat, and ultimately considered disposable. The African slaves are an example of this in real life, the American Indians, the Australian aborigines, anytime someone is considered the ‘Less Than’ by others they are treated horribly and sometimes eradicated as a perceived threat. We are threatened by things we cannot understand, and robots, computers, androids are good representations of this fear, of this irrational destructiveness we have toward the unknown or the misunderstood of the perceived ‘Less Than.’

We can use science fiction to look at these problems in a way that gets around any programming we may have received in our lives. You can have false beliefs toward a whole group of people than watch someone mistreat a robot on a TV show or in a book, and just maybe it can open your mind, and cause you to question the very belief that you think of as reality even though what you witnessed on TV or in a book is outlandish and far from real.

By taking it out of reality, it allows us as people to question reality. By being supremely unreal and untrue, we can learn real truth.I feel that Dick knew that, and played on that in his works. A Scanner Darkly deals directly with what is real, perceived reality versus a definitive reality. I think what is real is one of fiction’s greatest questions and it can be asked in so many interesting ways.