Writing like yoga

It’s very hard to restart, when it’s been so long since the last practice.

It’s not a perfection, it’s a practice.

If there was a perfection, there would be a mold, and it would all look the same. And everyone would be doing the same thing.

It will be messy, and learning from mistakes, and there is always that point of doubt…

is any of this any good? Or should it be thrown out? why should I try again?

Because, you remember how much fun it was, and even on the worst day writing…

it was a still a day that you practiced.

November Madness

Birthday in 3 days. Another lap around the sun complete! (You can help by sending bacon, promiscuous women, new set of tires, or what you can by sending a couple of bucks via Paypal, if I get enough, I will blog about it and write you in as a guest star.)

So far behind on my NaNoWriMo effort this year. This zero draft is interesting, but second acts are harder to write. As well, when I write my villains, they tend to completely and utterly devastate most of my heroes, This might turn into a very large template building exercise. But I am writing daily… most days of the week. 🙂

Business plans being written up. I’m trying to concentrate on 1 business plan. As per Mur Lafferty ( Murverse.com – the Afterlife series, Playing For Keeps, Marco and the Red Granny, I Should Be Writing), one of the best lessons (I’ve learned) from her resonating podcast, Fight Idea Addiction. The main principles are ‘It’s okay to have ideas, just don’t get addicted to only having them.’ I have to act on them. And then once I see if they succeed or fail, then move to the next one. It’s all part of continually expand horizons and doing things that scare me. Which I am trying to do everyday.

Local promotions are being done. The sense of larger community is fantastic! It  comes with taking that quick five minutes and promoting events that appeal to just about everyone. It’s just like Kevin Smith says, “It costs nothing to encourage an artist, and the potential benefits are staggering.” It also helps eliminate obscurity of what’s going on locally.

Note to self, and others. Drink more water. Stretch more. Embrace failing forward. Laugh.

(And finish King City : Boom …, you know who you are.)

I’m still here,

Pearce

P.S. Also, Dec.1st – not mentioning any names, but there will be a punk rock kilted Santa spotted in Midtown Mall, send email for more details.

Tales of King City : Boom – Part Five

“Master Hartlan, did not intentionally set off the bomb, but his own presence triggered it.” Boggart spoke as he drew on the whiteboard. “Travel through the shadow plane is quicker and removes quite a few of the perceptions of this world. It would be like putting on filters on your glasses, and having ten league boots. By this method of travelling, Rory would first ‘inquire’ or look ahead to where he needed to go.”

“This is how he managed to triangulate where the bomb was. Looking ahead and seeing what was extremely different. And in this case, what was extremely normal.”

The room of police, registered powers, officials, Magii watched the pair at the front of the room. Boggart held himself tall, all five feet, immaculate white suit. TC wore her standard t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans, but the exception of the red and blue mask of the Pendragon, her hair was tied back behind her head.

“One of the largest anomalies that occurred was that many of the Magii had a moment where they ‘were not themselves’.” TC held herself back from making finger quotes. “They all had one common theme, young boy at play. On the coastline, with beings that seemed benevolent and made of light.”

Many heads in the room nodded.

“This is not a time bomb we are looking for. We are looking for a bomb made of time itself.” TC noted out, as she pointed out to the board. “Memories and moments in time are the trip wire. Due to the chaotic nature of Rory’s energy, we were given some grace for him to contain the blast.”

One of the Magii held his hands up, “Between there and here, is only the now.”

“There has been growth though.” Another Magii interjected.

“Ahem, this is not the venue for that discussion. But it does give us insight as to who has been planting these bombs.” Boggart said in crisp fashion, and slid across the whiteboard. “Our current profile is such. Lady, in her late thirties to early sixties. Never married, quite set in her ways. Biologically unable to give birth, our departments have permission to search through fertility records. Telepathic and Chrono power enabled, but only subconsciously. Never registered, and is quite possibly still a citizen. On the Magii scale, she very well could be near deity level power with the ability to rewrite time. Or even worse, your own memories.”

Goodstone stepped forward, “So, the bomber may not know she is even doing it.”

“Indeed. I still maintain that this the act of a man, but I have been frequently wrong Detective.” Boggart smiled through the British accent.

“But there have been no new threats, correct?” Tom Silver walked into the briefing room, green slime dripped off his leather jacket, there appeared to be some bits of tentacles still clutched to his arm and leg. “No one else got the alert on the big nasty in the-”

Tom looked around, “Guess not. That one’s on me. Literally. So why no new threats? No letters? What stopped?”

Slinger, raised herself up as tall as she could, “At this time, we have no plausible theories.”

“Besides Hartlan becoming the bomb itself, and needs to explode, in order to get the next one going… right? It’s quite possible that it’s a chain reaction. That is what time is about.” Tom took a towel gratefully from someone and wiped his face off. “Send the janitors a box of doughnuts would you? Just as bad job cleaning up after the giant monsters as it is slaying them.”

Goodstone looked to the swordsman. “Thanks Tom. Slinger, Boggart. Thank you for the debriefing. We’ll keep you all posted on this as developments occur. Good hunting everyone.”

The majority of the room left, until Goodstone looked to the four faces. Slinger, emotionless behind the Pendragon mask. Boggart, staring off into space, his clawed finger tips stroking through the spines on his chin. Tom Silver, still wiping himself off as best as he could, an array of edged weaponry on the tables laid out.

“Explode or defuse?”

“Defuse.” Boggart spoke.

“Explode.” Tom said. “Seems quite a regular occurrence that you all die once or twice every four of five years. Or just wait till the human race ends, then wait for a way to defuse him properly. The cryogenics thing, you know?”

“Slinger?”

“I don’t know. We have to at least reach Rory, tell him what we are doing. The last thing we need is a vengeful undead magii not knowing why his life ended.”

Boggart lifted his head, “Dreamwalk. We should be able to reach him in the coma there. I am not allowed to such methods, being of my kind. We could also ask the fae folk for a favor.”

Silver laughed, “You go right ahead my spiney buddy. I’m not getting involved with those dandelion eaters. I’d rather go try my hand at working for city hall.”

Goodstone pulled out his comm pad, started typing in and figuring out the numbers. “Two teams, we pull Rory out to the Lagrange station, give the engineers one week to contain the explosion. Team one, goes dreamwalk or whatever, contact Rory. Team two, let’s see if we can’t duplicate the Hartlan bomb. Maybe there was another one there in town.”

“Team One, Silver, pick your team. I do recall the fairy folk do not like cold iron. Treat them with respect. Team Two, Slinger and Boggart, pick the rest of your team.” Goodstone pointed out to them. “I’m going to get the budget approved.”

Tales of King City : Boom – Part Four

T.C. Calhoun, teen hero, shopper extraordinaire, sometimes blonde, stood by the bedside of Rory Hartlan. She frowned, and removed the Pendragon Mask. She muttered an incantation, looked to the mask, sighed, then enunciated the incantation. The mask shrunk and she attached it to the lapel of her leather jacket.

“What did he say?” A deep grumbling voice spoke behind her. TC knew not to jump when her mentor had done this. He had a habit of moving very silently.

“To call his therapist.”

“How did he set the bomb off?”

“Dice. Like he was playing craps. Sensei, he took the bomb inside of himself.”

“Clever. To take the form of another, like water. It changes when you put it into another form.”

TC grinned, “With Rory, more like whiskey.”

“Ahem.”

TC waved a hand across her face, the small spell placed a glamour, replacing her elfin features to the red and blue face mask of the Pendragon.

“Detective Goodstone.” Sensei spoke in acknowledgement. Small hands stroked the wiry beard. “You come with bad news.”

“Mayor says we will have to move him out of the city. Some of the environmental groups say he should be sent out to the Wild Zone or the Dump. Effectively he is no longer a registered power. Legally, Hartlan is a bomb.”

“Not unless he explodes.” TC spoke quietly. “What is a bomb if it doesn’t explode? That’s what he said when one of the other Magii challenged him.”

Goodstone blinked, “Just parts.”

“And that is what is stopping you from finding them in time. You are looking for a bomb. That does not exist.” Sensei spoke, then grunted as he sat down in the bedside chair. “You must think larger Detective.”

“Parts. That makes sense.” Goodstone nodded, then walked over to the bed. “Slinger, you are up to finding the next one.”

“What? Totally me? I’m not a terrorist hunter.” She exclaimed in perfect teenage tone. “Gimme a giant monster or zombie kung-fu clan any day. I can’t do this!”

Goodstone looked at her deadpan, “I can talk to people, see how this will take off more than half of the ‘community service’ hours that you owe from destruction of property. The other registered Magii are spooked on this, they aren’t saying anything on this.”

“The Hartlan has scared them again. He appears to be a drunk. He appears to be a scoundrel. A base Magii with nothing more than a bag full of tricks. But all along. They only know that his influence and clerverness, not his power, is greater than anyone can realize.” Sensei looked to the bed. “When the Magii withdraw, they know that greater trials lay ahead, some that cannot handle that burden.”

“Okay, like totally Fate did not have to do with it. I didn’t get my wonky sense. I can help, like when you need someone to punch the bitch in the face.” TC said, nodding emphatically. Her pixie cut hair flopping around.

Sensei and Goodstone looked at her, “Bitch?”

“Yeah, as in female dog. You think a guy would be blowing up a fertility clinic? A-Kay-A as a sperm bank? That’s the closest and largest department to where the bomb was. Odds are in favor it’s a woman.”

Goodstone brought up his communicator, “Vegas, the bomber is female. What are we looking at?”

“That improves the odds for us. But expands out the territory.” Goodstone’s communicator replied back.

“Slinger, you shall travel to the sanctum of the Goddess. Three labours you will perform, there you will converse and gain insight.” Sensei nodded in agreement to his own words. “After you finish cleaning the shop, make soup and finish your lessons.”

“Sensei…I can’t-”

“You will.” Sensei barked. “There is much more to your potential than punching and kicking. You have yet to master that which will control you.”

“And the KCPD would appreciate the help on this too.” Goodstone put the hat back onto his head. “Sir, Slinger. We’ll have him transferred out within the hour. Any information, pass it back.”

The Detective left the room, and TC let the glamour slip from her face.

“Really Sensei? You are volunteering me to do this?”

“Those who run from challenges are not warriors. The city has brought us this peril. And you were the closest to Hartlan when he fell. So tell me Student, shall you take the cowardly way out? Forsake your bloodline and the weapons you have won by not only combat, but birthright?” Sensei stood up. “I want a juice box.”

“We’ll stop by the eatery before we head back to the shop.” TC steadied the old man, he took her elbow to settle himself. “You can buy me a muffin.”

“Tell me Student, what was it like near the bomb?”

TC placed the Pendragon mask onto her face. “It was, in flux. Parts of different worlds were there. I tasted something, it was meaty and bloody. With ketchup. I liked it, even though it wasn’t my mouth. It was so familiar, yet-”

“Yes, yes, you do not eat meat.”

“Not for like a dozen years now. I think it was a hamburger.” TC turned to look to Sensei. “And just for a moment, I was a small boy.”

Sensei stopped the pair of them, looked to Slinger, then back to the hallway. “You experienced something that was not you. But as you did have it, it became you. So who was it that time and experince originally belong?”

“Your grammar is falling apart.”

“You are one to talk Student. Let us get the monorail, I must feel the city from above.”

“Sh-yeah, you are just hoping some of the gangs’ll be there. So you can put them in their place. Which is a phrase I’ve never understood, isn’t their place where they are currently standing?”

“Shh! Less talking, more walking. Juice box is essential for my chi.”

*******

TC stood on the beachline, drawing in the sand with the end of her pike. She clutched and fumbled at the toga, then sighing, tied it tighter. She was grateful that it was a calm evening patrol and the Captain would not be as judgemental at the state of her dress. She being supplicant to the labours of the Goddess, had it’s few advantages.

Time being the most important. Actual time passing back in King City, about 20 minutes.

On the island? One week. It gave her time to go through the labours, time to think things over.

She kept drawing out the structure and shape of the city, the locations that she memorized. Seeing if there was a common pattern, a picture, a route or direction from the explosions.

But there wasn’t.

“Okay TC, you really need to get it together here. Outside view, what would Rory do?” She muttered to herself. “Get drunk, say something witty and insightful, save the day, drink whiskey, dance with fairies, and repeat.”

“Supplicant.” Another patrol approached and TC sighed, she obviously took too long and was behind in her area coverage. Looking back down the beach at the drawings in the sand, some where already being erased from the incoming tide.

“Captains.” TC nodded then looked guiltily to the drawing.

“There are things on your mind. Which distract you from your duties. The green one that fell. This man, of the Heartland protectors-”

The idea snapped in TC’s mind. Protectors. Containing the blast.

“Fairies.” She planted the pike into the sand. “I’m not a little boy.”

The Captains looked to each other, concerned. They knew that some of the Outer Worlds had peculiar ways.

“That was Rory. As a child. Right before he arrived, I was … him. As a boy, playing on the coastline. That smell of sea…” TC looked to them. “Permission to complete the challenge at a later date, I must return to the City. I figured out what the parts of the bomb are. And I can save the Heartland protector.”

The Captains nodded. TC ran off sprinting. Then stopped, ran back to the Captains, saluted, grabbed the pike and then headed to the columned house atop the cliff.

Tales of King City : Boom – Part 2

There was a lump at the end of the bar.

A flash of red and blonde hair, black leather jacket, and impossible black and swirled green neon designs on jeans that could only come from Japan. Next to the lump was an empty pint glass and a fedora that held various small bills of money, trinkets, and the remains of a broken magical hockey stick.

The lump twitched, stirred, slid off the barstool, rummaged through his pants pockets and brought out an iridescent pearl shell. He placed it into his ear.

“Hartlan, this better be good.”

“It’s Vegas, I have a job for you.”

“I dinna need the business lass. Besides I got yer game figured out. Tis na interesting.” The mishmash of Newfoundland, Scottish and Irish accents blended together.

“I’m in a bit of a bind here.”

“You dinna realize tha meanin’ lass.” Rory sat back down on the bar stool, looked to his upturned hat, found a crumpled twenty and placed it on the bar. A pint and a sandwich appeared.

“I need your help Hartlan.”

“Work alongside ye? Wit whose dice? Got me own. Loaded them meself. Nay thanks Vegas. But ye get points fer contactin’ me like this. Nice effort, ah’ll be in touch if’n Manchester takes on-”

“I- I- for a favor.”

Hartlan stopped the pint from reaching his mouth. The bar turned and looked at this event.

“From yer hesitation lass, ye do know the meanin’ o’ that word in my world. An’ ye kinna even begin ta calculate tha’ odds on how things will change fer ye once I call in tha’ favor. Tha’ serious?”

“Lives are on the line Hartlan. And I do have the grimoire on the numbers to calculate the odds.” Vegas stated plainly. “As a bonus, I’ll give you unlimited access to my library. Just because it’s Tuesday.”

Hartlan put a finger to the shell and mouthed the word, ‘Tuesday?’

The bartender chuckled and nodded.

“Right then, I’ll be right o’er. Put tha’ kettle on.”

“You’ve got 4 hours till it happens again.”

Rory plucked the shell out of his ear, placed it into his pocket. Then sorted the contents of his hat into various pockets. He began incanting, readying the travelling charms, then heard from the bartender.

“Take that outside Canuck.”

“Sorry. Force o’ habit.”

Tales of King City : Boom

“Would you look at that. There is a code for spontaneous entropic mass evaporation and/or intropic mass implosion.” Detective Goodstone blinked then marked the code down on a sticky note.

Detective Ferrero chuckled as he looked up from his underwood typewriter. “Seriously, you didn’t know that one?”

“The code for ‘It just blew up’? Or ‘It just disappeared’?” Goodstone pulled a flat mass of etched brass from the inside of his coat pocket. “Thankfully I did not. In this town, you’d think that would be one of them.”

“It just blew up?” A cute elfin smile leaned over into the aisle. Goodstone recognized the tone of her voice. This week, her hair was aquamarine.

“Vegas. Yeah, It just blew up. This time, the previous times it disappeared. A whole warehouse back on Tuesday.”

She blinked twice, “Wait, then there were two other places late last week. Had info trickle down my network. One was a sub-division that was new outside of town…”

“That’s the one. What do you know?”

She held up her hands, and the shiny handcuffs. “I know that this is an injust-”

“Three hundred and fourty four separate traffic violations, six ignored court summons and I believe one bail violated.” Detective Fererro recalled back. “Hence why I’ve got another 3 hours of paperwork before you can actually sign something.”

“My lawyer will clear this up. Judge Castle is back-”

“In Nantucket.” Goodstone interrupted her. “He’s kicking off a speaking tour for the Judicial system. What it’s like to Judge in a city with Gods/Aliens/Super Villains and still maintain an active sex life in your sixties.”

Vegas blinked at the new information, holding up the handcuffs. “Well, I didn’t know that. I’m a little cut off from my network.”

Ferrerro leaned over and looked to Goodstone. “It’s not going to help her.”

“Not this time.”

“Come on guys. Cut me a break.”

Ferrero looked to her, slid his fedora back a little, and then steepled his hands, pursing his lips. “I can’t do a thing. As the arresting officer.”

“Goodstone, buddy. Help me out here.”

“Well, right now an additional charge of withholding information on an active investigation is pending. But I can give Judge Rogers a good word on how cooperative you were at your hearing. Say Fererro, doesn’t he volunteer time to the Orphans of Another World?”

“I heard that.”

“Yeah, it would be really good if a benefactor would just drop a big donation into their lap. Hypothetically the money could come from… I don’t know. Maybe from proceeds of quasi-legal gambling on sports events. I’m quite sure that I could mention it to Judge Rogers.” Goodstone leaned back in his own chair, put his feet up on his desk, placing his hands across his chest. “Oh well, nice thought. All hypothetical too. I’ve got blowing up buildings with no trace, and you’ve got two hundred and ninety seven forms to get through.”

Vegas looked between the two detectives, in disgust, in amazement, and finally in resignation. “Haven’t you heard of photocopiers?”

“Sorry Vegas, technology barrier. It fritzes out when I come close to it. It’s as close as I’ve ever got to being an actual registered Power.” Ferrero pulled out another sheet of carbon paper. “But you know what that’s like.”

“Killing me here.” Vegas muttered under her breath. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Get me two solid leads in the next 24 hours, make that donation, and I’ll see what Judge Rogers can do for reducing the number of traffic violations.” Goodstone ticked off the items on his fingers.

“This is discrimination. My insights are Registerable.”

“And denied every time Vegas. You are a citizen.” Fererro continued to type on the typewriter. “With a lot of parking tickets. It would just be cheaper for you to buy a pass. Or take the monorail.”

“Goodstone…”

“Twenty four hours, you are deputized and report to me. No betting network, you work on this. Work on it. Call in favors, make new offers, get witness reports I don’t have. The second I see action on the Vegas network concerning even a prediction on what the kiddy’s soccer game is doing, and I swear…” Goodstone stood up, pulled out his keys and walked over to Fererro’s desk. “You won’t be able to make a bet, play a game of odds, on this planet again.”

“So serious?”

“Letter arrived just before you plopped into that chair. Next time, the city will have casualties. City block in size.”

Vegas blinked and then held her hands up, “Hurry.”

Goodstone scanned her ident card, signed the pad, then unlocked the cuffs. She got up and ran from the desk.

Fererro watched her run away. “Thanks, that was going to kill me if she didn’t take that bait. You’ve been taking bastard lessons, haven’t you?”

“Yep. Can’t believe she bought into that.”

“Judge Castle? Or the letter?”

“Both.”

“One of them I lied to her.” Goodstone looked to Ferrero. “Keep processing those forms. And if you’ve heard anything from the Golden network, let me know.”

“Wait. Castle goes on his tour next month-”

Goodstone held up an envelope. “Yeah.”

“Expletive.” Ferrerro picked up the rotary phone. “Exchange Four Fourty Three, get me the Golden network. Any of the crew missing or received new challenges, let us know. We’ve got buildings blowing up and lives are on the line.”

Goodstone looked to the bundle of brass that unfolded, seemingly random chopstick form over chopstick form until gears emerged. The small humanoid robot shuddered into form, then crawled up the Detectives arm. The warm brass form tapped twice on the man’s shoulder.

There, there.

“Yeah, wish both were lies. Okay Gears, let’s hit the street.”

Flash Fiction : Tales of King City – Graveyards

“So what happens when you visit the graveyard of forgotten heroes?” John Elden asked to the sunshine, the chasing monarch butterflies, the quiet river nearby, and his travelling companion.

Edwina, turned her head, one green eye and one yellow backlight cybernetic implant studied him. “What do you mean forgotten? And heroes? We come here so I can get some rest from that noise that’s out there.”

“You’ve been more cynical since Cincinnati.”

The pair strolled amongst the gravestones and markers.

“No, just more up front.” She placed a hand on a chest high marker. “Fletcher? Wasn’t that an occupation name?”

“Yes, and the husband was much older than the wife.” John rubbed down the marker. “Thirteen years, wait how old…”

“He was seventy, she was fifty-seven. He died 3 months after she did. Born… in that century and that old? That’s really defying the odds.”

“Yes, and that quote, old biblical hymn. Till the day break and the shadows flee away. I’ve heard that someplace else.”

Edwina laughed, “It’s surprising how much you automatically filter out the ambient fiction that is on the wide-cast. You should be going in for a sub-conscious cleaning every month with the amount of travelling we do.”

“Yeah, and when was the last time you went in for a tune-up? Hence why our visits to these places are becoming more frequent. Why aren’t we moving from this spot?” John asked, looking at the trees around them. The smells were foreign. Were these endangered plants the same two centuries ago?

“It’s literally a dead zone. Something with the harmonics and the lack of electrical fields. Doesn’t interfere with my implants. I can feel where I end, and the tech begins.” Edwina patted the grave marker. “Wait, what about heroes?”

“Somewhere, in my fleshy memory bank. The Fletchers, came from some money, not too much though. Back in the day where they had to keep their Talents hidden-”

“Why is that?”

“They burned the ones even with a little bit of access to the global sub-consciousness. Made impossible trials of death by water, by fire, even bludgeoning of stones. So there was a time when these Talents weren’t even recognized as such. The aberrant, the ones who wouldn’t fit into society. Witches, mutants, non-conformists.” John studied the marker. “And this is King City. One of the most widely accepted locations on the planet for such. Most of the world tries to forget that there are Gods and Giants and Aliens and Living Poetry that walk amongst us. Send it all here in one spot.”

“There are no Heroes anymore John. Just Talents that have been mass marketed. The average housewife can now get her own heat resistance factor just by paying three easy payments. No more burning hands when cooking.” Edwina moved off to another marker, her left leg dragging a little. She thumped her thigh with a clenched fist. “Hurts so good.”

“Well there were Heroes back then. Fought the good fight, made this city their home, and found ways to protect it. All under the cover of darkness and secrecy.” John felt a wave of dizziness flow over him. He gripped the marker for a moment, feeling warmth flow down his spine. “Whoa, okay, so I guess the ambient wide-casts have been a little too much lately.”

“Why do you think I’m going to get the Faraday cage woven into my cranial space?”

“To stop those pesky bug-eyed monsters from space? Because they are reading your thoughts?”

“To stop the magnetic and electrical marketing fields from having effect on me.” She sighed and then tapped three times on her cybernetic eye. “Stupid thing is, I’m putting more technology into me to make me more human. To stop the Corporations that be. I make my own decisions. I am my own person without sponsorship. And then I have to come to places like this, to remind my own flesh. To give that razors edge of tech a chance to settle down and not connect with the biological.”

The two of them turned, a man in a black suit carrying a briefcase walked up to them.

“The estate of Fletcher recognizes John Elden and Ed-”

“Don’t say it, professional handle please.”

“Also known as Ruby RUR Security. The estate would like to thank you for accepting the gifted heritage-”

“What?” John looked to Edwina, then to the stranger. “Oh you bitches. You did this on purpose. That’s another reason why we-”

“It had to happen John. You have no worries and no spot on the horizon to shoot for. You didn’t seek out any destiny, so it chose you. I’m immune to these things. My own mono-filament myth has been discovered. It was about time you did. ” Edwina smiled and then walked up to the man, “Papers? I’d like to scan for my friend here.”

John looked back to the marker, remembering the foreign smell. Activation pheromones from the local fauna, triggering response back through the body. The grave marker itself probably had a genetic compatibility matrix involved. And that quote… Till the day break. They were fighting the forces of darkness.

It was a hell of a way to lose your Talent cherry.

“What am I going to do with this Talent?”

“I apologize Sir, but in this case, the Talent does require training. We have taken steps to protect those within your genetic heritage and social relationships. They will not be used as leverage they could possibly impose or threaten you with.”

“This is stupid. I have a date tonight.”

“And afterwards, the transport will take you to India, the transit to Shambala is ready. There you are to begin your training.” The man in black spoke and stood with his hands behind his back.

“Don’t blame me for this John. We can actually blame the western civilization for putting up the barriers between good and evil. Light and dark. The original nomadic tribes of this place didn’t have words to do this. They had love and fear. That’s it. Only until the mass religions starting imposing their mental patterns into the lands, then all of this good and evil business reared it’s black and white dual faced head. What’s immoral… oooh, therefore it’s bad. Who’s morals again?” Edwina finished scanning the last page. “It’s legit.”

“And the madam, is also invited for clearance with her association to the newly selected Guardian.”

“Guardian?” John winced, rubbed his tanned hands into the corners of his eyes. “Sounds so generic.”

“Trust me Sir, the role is bigger than the title.”

John glared at Edwina. “Why couldn’t we have done this in Las Vegas?”

“Werewolves.”

“Right. Forgot about that.”

“Sir, the airship awaits.”

“Airship?” Edwina smiled.

“How much is the role and the estate and the-”

“Sir, the legacy has been waiting for two hundred years and faithfully maintained for over twelve generations, prior to the world bank system, and individual bank system. The Guardian is as how you say these days, monetarily endowed. Or stinking rich.”

“I will have enough time to recover and enjoy the good life?”

“Indeed Sir.”

John looked to the marker, pulled out his wallet, looked to the tattered identification cards. “I like the sound of John Fletcher. Ed, let’s go India, get training, and get you that Faraday implant. And some new shoes.”

As promised

It’s late. I know I should have been writing all night, instead I had a great evening with a couple of friends at a local book store. They finally had to boot us out. And yes, I should have been writing, but I did pick up Ray Bradbury’s essays Zen and Writing. As well, as Stephen King’s On Writing. So that counts…. right?

Regardless, the story I submitted off for contest, did not make the short list. Hooray! As I referred earlier, it’s different, as well as trying to get a love story done in under 1500 words was a challenge enough. Started playing around with the idea of ‘All is fair in love and war’. Which if you’ve ever been in or out of love, or war, you know it’s not. The characters grew immediately. They may come back again, in an idea that my mother gave me for a storyline years and years ago. Then again, this might just be enough for them.

In the meantime, just remember, Love Isn’t Fair.

I’m still writing,

Pearce

In Darkness

In darkness, she stirs
5am exclaims
Dream awake dreams, awaking dreams
In darkness, she cries
what is that, real
or just something
in darkness, she stirs

The NaNoWriMo Oath

I will get at least 6 hours of sleep per night. (I will not join the raid/storming castle, or fire up the console. I won’t go to the midnight show. I will take sufficient rest so my brain is well tuned to write and create worlds. I will combat my own insomnia in my own way and not use it for an excuse to keep writing.)

I will enjoy the work. (Whether it takes an hour, two hours, three, per day to get my word count, I will enjoy it. I will embrace the stress, and LAUGH!)

I will only write down what is pertinent to my novel. (If I absolutely must get that brilliant idea down, I will put it in a small text file and not look at it until December. December. December, December, December. Not anytime sooner than December. See my point? I will not incorporate into current work. Go back to it in December. Unless it’s really cool and I can work it in. Plausibly work it in.)

I will eat food. (Also, I will take regular breaks away from the keyboard to stretch and tend to those who are in my life. Some of you may know that children and spouses who cannot fend for themselves are still important to have in your lives. It’s better to have them happy in your life, than cranky and starving. As well, getting blood clots in my legs causing massive brain hemmoraging strokes because I haven’t moved in 6 hours is a terribly embarrasing way to die. I’ve heard this ‘excercise’ thing is good for promoting blood circulation and clearing the fog from the brain.)

I won’t panic. (Well, only if there is blood or fire. And even then, if I do, it won’t help. It really doesn’t. If you are too busy panicing, you aren’t writing.)

I will get my daily word count. (Barring that, I will make plans on when I will get caught up and stick to those plans. If I must take weekends off, I will make my word count of 2500 per day. And it’s really easy to take one day off, it’s harder to write more when you are already tired with a larger word count to make up for.)

I will keep the suck in my writing and not edit it out. (I will also keep the good, the bad, the ugly, the mundane, the plotholes. This is not a publishable work, and if it is, you should be writing as full time employment. Even so, you’ll have time to do a decent first draft. I however, shall make this my ZERO draft, a very large story bible/universe to draw upon. Operation : Torture characters for drama underway. If they don’t make it, then I know my characters strengths and weaknesses.)

I will learn from my mistakes and not become discouraged. There is life before and after NaNoWriMo. (Even if I don’t make my 50k, I will gain perspective and keep writing, I will not let this challenge stop me from sharing my stories with others. Shorter stories probably.)

I will not blog/edit other stories/brainstorm new stories. (Um, okay, maybe just this once, but my word count is up to Saturday!)

I’m still here,
Pearce

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