It’s All In Your Head

A headache, I get the kind of headache God would smote you with in the Old Testament.
― Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

“I don't want to die now!" he yelled. "I've still got a headache! I don't want to go to heaven with a headache, I'd be all cross and wouldn't enjoy it!”
― Douglas Adams

The word for the week is headache. It’s been so hot that we’ve had to have the air conditioner on upstairs at night and it’s loud enough that I’m not getting a good night’s sleep. I wake up super tired and headachy. Also, we’re coming into allergy season, and not only do I get sinus headaches, the pressure from my sinuses gives me earaches. *sigh*

Still . . . I feel like I’m moving closer to being able to use my old format here; you know, the one that included actual word counts and progress reports.

One of the reasons for this is that I moved my desk. Not a lot, but instead of it being angled with my back to a corner, I have it perpendicular to the window so my back is to the wall. Surprisingly, I have a lot more room with the desk this way. And the big thing is, it’s brighter. The way it was angled before, it didn’t matter how bright it was outside, the low hutch that contains the roll top threw a shadow on the desk top. I had to have a light on top of the bookcase beside me because the overhead light is kind of dim.

And one of the interesting things I discovered, originally I had the desk parallel to the window with my back to the wall so I was looking out the window. I couldn’t have had it that way for long because I don’t even remember that, but I have the pictures to prove it.

In any case, I like the desk perpendicular to the window. I can still access the bookcase right under the window, and the one against the opposite wall, as well as the filing cabinet the printer sits on. And I feel like I have more room – I don’t have to shimmy to get behind my desk. LOL

The other reason I got more writing done last week is because the Solitaire Garden website still isn’t working. *sigh* The other games just aren’t as much fun, not even the hidden object games. I am valiantly resisting the urge to look for new games.

After more endless back and forthing – filling my shopping cart, deleting my shopping cart – I finally settled on a Lenovo ThinkPad Gen 15. I’m trying not to dwell on why I didn’t just go for a different IdeaPad with its superior battery life. I’m sure I had my reasons – it was probably some bad reviews that scared me off. Anyway, the ThinkPad is on its way.

I finished my mandala poem. The amount of information I’d gathered about mandalas was so overwhelming I decided to put it to good use and do a black out poem. Friday being the first Friday of September, I figure I’ll post it then.

I finished The Bookseller’s Secret by Michelle Gable – I really enjoyed the way it went back and forth between the past and present. It was really two stories in one, and I can’t decide which one I enjoyed more. But unfortunately after that I started sliding back into the Nora Roberts black reading hole again. Blame the hot, yet overcast weather for that. But at least I’m down to her early stuff, which is much shorter. :-)

The Week Ahead . . .

I almost started a brand new series on Wednesday, but it was so late Tuesday night when I started it, I didn’t get very far. But be on the look-out for The Spice of Life, starting this Wednesday. As you may surmise, it’s about spices and their uses. I’m not going to put them in alphabetical order (boring!) and it’ll run until I get tired of it. LOL

Work is proceeding on the edits for Blood Ties. The beginning is totally changing and there will be at least a couple of parts of the rest of it that’ll have to change too. But I’m confident it’ll be a better book for it.

I picked out the novel I’m taking to the retreat in October. And the winner is . . . The Perfect Match, formerly known as The Eros Portal (NaNo 2016). It’s a science fiction romance about a scientist who creates a machine that’s meant to find a person’s perfect romantic match, but things go a little awry when the wrong DNA is used. Not only do I really like this story, it’s really close to being done. I only have one scene (I think) to add to complete it.

I think I’d like start working with some prompts again, just something quick and easy to start my writing day. Maybe even start doing a weekly flash story to post on Fridays . . .

So . . . what’s your week looking like?

The Seven Realms

Once upon a time I conceived an idea for a book. It was about three women, friends, who have a run-in with a fairy godmother who grants them a wish. Treating it as a joke, they decide to wish to meet their dream men and end up in the magickal world of the Seven Realms. Each of them land in a different realm where they have many adventures and, yes, end up with the men of their dreams.

While I did make a healthy start to each of the three stories, I realized that the story should span a trilogy, not just a three-in-one story, and if I was doing that I might as well go the whole hog and do a book for each of the Seven Realms.

So I did a bit of back story on the fairy godmother and the prologue that will be included in each of the three books. Then I did some background on the men of the Seven Realms and a brief rundown of the realms themselves. Unfortunately, I had a lot of other stuff going on at the same time so I kind of abandoned them.

Today’s excerpt is from the prologue.

"Pull over!" Fiona ordered.

They'd been passing through the small town at a leisurely pace, looking for somewhere to pick up some supplies, when she made her demand.

"What? What is it?" Taylor asked, even as she pulled the battered Honda Civic alongside the curb.

"You expect to see this kind of thing in the city . . ." Fiona muttered, already opening the door.

"What's going on? Are we there?” The sleepy question came from the back seat.

"I don't know what's going on, Eva, Fiona just -- oh, I see what her problem is. C'mon, I think she's going to need some help."

The two young women exited the car to follow in their friend's wake as she confronted a group of teenagers who were hassling a little old lady.

"What's the matter with you kids?" Fiona was yelling. "Go white wash a fence or something."

They were stereotypical teens, shaggy hair ranging from dirty blond to dark brown, wearing long sleeved tee-shirts despite the summer heat, jeans sagging loosely from their hips. They'd surrounded the elderly woman and were taking turns plucking at her shawl, causing her to drop the bag of groceries she was carrying.

Coke bottle glasses sliding down her nose, Fiona waded into the thick of them, pulling them away from their victim.

"Oh, just chill, would you? We're just having a little fun."

"I think you've had enough fun for one day. Now get out of here before I call the cops. And pull up your pants!" she yelled after them as the threat of the police sent them running.

Taylor and Eva were already picking up the woman's groceries that had spilled. By a miracle the bag itself had survived.

"Are you all right ma'am?" Fiona asked gently.

"Hoodlums, the lot of them," the old woman said, shaking her head. "But no matter, what goes around comes around."

"I think we found everything," Taylor said, holding the bag of groceries. "Do you live nearby? Can I carry these for you?"

"Such nice young ladies," the woman said, beaming. "I live just over there." She pointed towards a side street and without another word, headed in that direction.

Taylor looked at her two friends, then shrugged and followed, Fiona and Eva trailing behind.

The woman stopped at a neatly kept, white frame house. Lush rose bushes grew on either side of the covered porch that was just wide enough for a pair of rocking chairs on one side and a porch swing on the other.

"Wait here," they were instructed. Taking the bag of groceries from Taylor, the woman disappeared inside the house.

"What should we do?" Eva asked in a quiet voice.

"I guess we should wait," Fiona said. "Maybe she wants our help filling out a police report."

They didn't wait long, the woman returned carrying a tray with three glasses and a pitcher of lemonade, so cold it was already beaded with moisture. "Sit," she ordered.

Exchanging somewhat amused glances, they sat - Taylor and Eva on the porch swing, Fiona in one of the rocking chairs. The old woman poured the lemonade and passed them each a glass before sitting down herself in the other rocking chair.

"It's not just anyone who'd help out a stranger," she said. "Such kindness in today's world deserves a reward."

Fiona was already shaking her head. "We didn't help for a reward, we did it because it was the right thing to do."

"Nonetheless, I'm bound to even the scales. It's one of my duties as a fairy godmother."

Taylor and Eva looked at each other, then back at the woman. "Fairy godmother?" Eva asked.

"That's right." She nodded vigorously, her grey curls bobbing wildly. "Esmeralda Wicks, fairy godmother. Though not many believe in such things any more, more's the pity."

Fiona cleared her throat. "Truly, Esmeralda, there's nothing to balance."

Esmeralda eyed her shrewdly. "You think I'm a dotty old woman, don't you?" When they made a half-hearted protest she waved her hand to stop them. "That's all right. You'll learn different soon enough. Now listen carefully." She leaned forward in her chair.

You don't believe in my magic now, but you will. Tonight, you will gather around a fire. And when you look up into the sky you will see a very special star, the wishing star. To reward your kindness I promise you this. Whatever wish you make tonight upon that star will come true. But mind it's a personal wish, something frivolous that will benefit only you. None of that world peace nonsense. You will be touched by magic.

Fiona blinked and looked at the empty glass in her hand.

"A glass of lemonade seems a poor repayment for your kindness, but if you're sure I can do nothing else . . ."

"No . . . I . . ." Giving her head a little shake, Fiona smiled and set her glass on the tray. "The lemonade really hit the spot. I wish we could stay, but we have a bit of a drive ahead of us and we still have to pick up a few groceries."

Taylor and Eva both also smiled and thanked the woman for the lemonade and then the trio walked back to the car.

"I have the strangest feeling I'm forgetting something," Eva said, once they were underway again.

"That's so weird," Taylor said. "I was just going to say the exact same thing."

"Well hopefully it's not anything that should be on our list," Fiona said, waving a piece of paper in the air. "We're only going to be at the cottage for three days, and I'm not wasting any of it making runs back into town."

The others made noises of agreement. They'd been planning this girls' weekend for months and finally their schedules aligned to make it a reality. With their busy schedules they were finding it harder and harder to connect and they were determined to make the most of their long weekend.

Stand Firm

Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.
― Franz Kafka

I’m up to level 500 and something in Solitaire Garden, I don’t know for sure because they’re experiencing technical difficulties and the game won’t open for me. At least I’m hoping it’s temporary. I’ve been finding solace on a hidden objects website, but ever since Microsoft stopped supporting flash, they’re not as much fun.

After a lot of back and forthing on the laptop issue, I finally decided to go for it. And after spending several days (it seemed) looking at various models, I finally decided on the Lenovo IdeaPad Flex 5. Only it’s temporarily unavailable. Rumour has it they’re not even making it any more. *sigh*

Maybe this is a sign from above that this whole lap top thing needs some more thinking. I made a short list of what I want in a lap top – finger print security, backlit keyboard, extra long battery life, lightweight – so maybe I should check out the option on the Lenovo site to build my own.

There was a link on Facebook last week from Writer’s Digest for a series by Robert Brewer giving plot twist prompts. It looked really interesting so I started following the back links to see how long the series was and it was pretty lengthy. Then I was delighted to find that the prompts were gathered into book form. I ordered three copies – one for me and two to give away to friends. Imagine my surprise when I received my receipt and it had a link for an electronic copy. There was no shipping charge, and I can only surmise that I paid three times for one download. I’ve emailed them to cancel the order of two of them, but I haven’t heard anything back yet. I have not accessed the download and I can only hope I won’t end up in a buyer beware situation.

I’m still plugging away at my mandala poem, but it’s slow going. I’m not sure if my idea for how to present it is going to fly or not, but I’m going to keep trying.

I have officially started the next round of edits on Blood Ties. I saved a second copy of it just as a backup in case I mess it up because I’ve changed the whole beginning. Originally I had a prologue dealing with Anakaron, the bad guy, and opened chapter one with Jessica’s friend Howard.

Now I’ve removed the Anakaron scene (saving it for possible later use) and made the Howard scene the prologue, opening chapter one with a Jessica scene, which is as it should be. There are a couple more scenes in the beginning that’ll need to be removed or reworked, but seeing as the book is running long I can afford to lose them.

Still managing to stay out of the Nora Roberts black hole reading-wise. I picked up a copy of the Bookseller’s Secret by Michelle Gable and I’m about halfway through it. It’s very different, but in a good way.

The Week Ahead . . .

I made a little headway in the cleaning of my office last week. I reorganized the bookcase and got a bunch of stuff off the floor. I also got a pile of shredding done, which wasn’t as big a job as I thought it would be. It would be nice to finish the job this week.

Now that I’ve started, I don’t want to lose my momentum on the edits for Blood Ties. Maybe there’ll be a chance to have it out by Christmas after all.

The mandala poem has been dragging on for too long. It’s just a poem, for crying out loud. I wrote a completely different poem in one sitting on the back of one of the pages of research I’d printed out. I also need to get off the fence about picking out a book to take with me to the retreat.

So . . . what will you be up to this week?

Firestorm

Oh, no! We’re at the end of my NaNo experience. Whatever am I going to post after this week? LOL

Ha! Do you really think the NaNo novels are the only unfinished novels in my repertoire? I may have to go digging for some of them, but trust me, I’ve got several more up my sleeve. ;-)

But in any case, today brings us up to NaNo 2020 where I chose one of my older story ideas, a straight fantasy adventure called Firestorm. This actually started out as a rather long short story called The Unmasking of Brand, more swords and sorcery than anything else. I had hoped to incorporate or expand on this original story, reworking it for NaNo, but I never got that far. I got bogged down in backstory, so much so that I’d say a good 80% of the book is back story.

Anyway, the excerpt I’ve chosen is from the very beginning and tells the tale of how the main character’s parents met. As always, this is unedited.

They say the people of Witch Hills were created when Beauty mated with Magic. But it could also be said they were too ugly to be borne, hidden as they were behind their masks and veils. To be sure they had little use for outsiders, and rarely ventured beyond their own borders.

So it was with surprise the warlord Rankin received a summons to the city of Alandria, the largest of the cities of Witch Hills. He went, accompanied by twelve of his best knights, curious to see what the people of Witch Hills would need from a warrior. From all accounts, the Witchers, as they were called, were fierce themselves and needed no one’s protection.

Even the cities of Witch Hills were beautiful to behold. They were built of white stone – tall, slender towers, graceful arches spanning deep crevasse, gardens spilling over low walls and waterfalls misting the air. While the men accompanying him looked around in wonder, muttering to themselves, Rankin remained impassive.

The audience room was not overly large, made of the same white stone as the rest of the city, only this stone sparkled with flecks of silver. It was brightly lit, but the source for that light was unseen. The men with Rankin muttered nervously about magic, but quieted with a glance from their leader. The walls were hung with finely woven tapestries, the brilliant colours showing mostly landscapes and fantastical beasts.

King Theron sat at one end of the room on a throne made of blue glass. Even seated he gave the impression of being tall. His shoulders were broad and his long dark hair was threaded with silver. He was dressed in black armour that shone in the light.

Two smaller thrones flanked him. The one on the left was of a dark rose, and held a tall, slender woman. She wore a stiffly formal dress of blue, the same colour as the king’s throne. Her hair was unadorned, falling in an inky waterfall past her waist, almost to the floor.

The throne on the right was of smoky grey and had a younger seeming man. He, too, had black hair, although his only brushed past his shoulders, and was dressed all in black, but in leather armour and silk. The two men wore masks, the woman wore a veil.

“Welcome, Rankin of Varellia,” the king said when Rankin was halfway to the throne. “You prompt response to our request is met with gratitude.”

Rankin waited until he was only a few feet from the throne before stopping to answer. He bowed and said, “I am grateful for your summons, and I admit to some curiosity as to its purpose.”

“I am a man of few words, so I’ll get right to the point. The nomads of the wastelands to the north have long harried our borders. For years they have been insignificant, a minor irritation like fleas on a dog. However there has been a cult rising in their midst, one dedicated to the Ice Lords.”

“I have heard of this cult,” Rankin said. “I agree that it is becoming a growing concern to many of the surrounding kingdoms.”

“I wish to form an alliance to deal with this matter.”

“An alliance you say?” Rankin’s gaze narrowed. “And what have you to offer in exchange for this alliance?”

“Ah, what indeed?” King Theron got to his feet. “I offer you my hospitality that we may speak of this further.”

“Accepted,” Rankin said readily. He would have been a fool not to accept. As well as rumours of the magic and great beauty of the inhabitants of Witch Hills, they were also rumoured to be incredibly wealthy.

He ordered his men to stand down and follow the servants to a less formal dinner, while he followed another to a room where he was to refresh himself. A bath had been drawn and fresh clothing laid out for him. He fingered the fine cloth with appreciation. Obviously armour was not welcome at the dinner table. The dark blue trousers were a perfect fit, as was the tunic with gold trim to go over them. Finishing the outfit were a pair of low heeled boots of dark blue leather. There was another servant waiting for him when he was finished, who led him to a small, but elegant, dining room. A fire had been laid in the fireplace at one end, and the long table was set for four. The king and the young man from the throne room were already seated, rising when he entered the room.

“This seems a far more fitting way of greeting one we hope will be a friend,” King Theron said. “May I present to you my son, Orin.”

The king and his son had also changed out of their armour. The king was still dressed in black, trousers tucked into half boots with a silver trimmed tunic much like the one Rankin was wearing. Orin was wearing a similar outfit, save his was in a smoky grey and there was no ornamentation on the tunic.

Neither man was wearing his mask and Rankin would have had to been blind not to be struck by their beauty. Their features were perfectly symmetrical, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, lashes any woman would have envied. Rankin gave a start when he realized he’d been staring.

“I am honoured to meet you, Orin,” he said. “Word of your prowess with the bow has reached even my poor castle.”

The eyes that had been staring at him so indifferently suddenly brightened. “I have heard that you have developed a cross bow that can be used from horseback. Perhaps we can speak of this at a later time.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“We but wait upon my daughter, Sharina,” Theron told him.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the door to the dining was opened and a servant announced, “The Lady Sharina.”

She swept into the room in a cloud of a floral scent that went straight to Rankin’s head. She was beautiful, the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. It only took that one look and he was utterly lost.

“Pray let us be seated. I know the royal cook has spent the greater part of the day preparing this feast,” Sharina said.

Rankin sat automatically. Her voice was like bells, no, more like a choir of angels. He could sustain himself just listening to the sound.

The meal was delicious, but Rankin tasted very little of it. Words were spoken, but he had no idea what was said. Most of the meal he spent staring at Sharina while trying to make it look like he was not staring. Had he been able to pay attention to anything else, he might have noticed the look of satisfaction on Theron’s face.

“You will forgive me,” Sharina said when the meal was finished. “But I have several small matters to attend to. I hope I shall see you again before you leave,” she said to Rankin.

He rose when she did, bending low over her hand. Kissing it, he said, “I will make sure that you do.”

She was gone and he suddenly felt bereft. It was all he could do not to follow. Theron summoned the servants to clear the table and had them return with a bottle of wine.

“Now, let us talk of an alliance,” he said.

Confession Is Good For the Soul

The act of writing can be a form of release – a confession performs the same action: putting your inner life on the page or into the hands of a trusted person releases tensions and sheds light on what often seems hidden until spoken – or written.
— Connie Nielsen

I have a confession to make. I’m back up to level 492 on Solitaire Garden. And the ploy of going to the craft store to replace some of my gaming time with crafting time did not work. *sigh*

And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that between rounds they show advertisements, and the ads they’ve been showing the most are for Lenovo laptops, the laptop I was lusting after before I got this one.

There’s nothing wrong with the lap top I’m using now. Sure, it gets a little warm when I’m using it on my lap, and it’s heavy and the battery life sucks, but I really like the backlit keyboard with its adjustable colours and it’s smooth to type on . . . But Lenovo has a fingerprint lock, and it’s lighter, and some of them come with a built in fan.

I told the hubby about it, thinking he’d tell me there’s nothing wrong with my old laptop so what’s the point in getting a new one, but he let me down. He said I should go for it. I could use the old lap top for gaming and social media, and the new one strictly for writing. Say what?

So then I told him that if I got a new one I could wipe the old one so he could use it – his lap top was never great to begin with and it seems to be going downhill fast, but he doesn’t want to go to the trouble of switching all of his music programs over to a different computer.

I’ve gone to the Lenovo site a couple of times to check them out – so many choices! – and I’ve narrowed it down to a couple, but I’m still having a hard time justifying it in my mind. Maybe I should just table the whole idea of a separate laptop for writing until I’m actually, you know, writing consistently.

I did get my regular blog post done and my Fiction Friday post done last week, I didn’t start the new non-fiction series yet because I’m waffling between two different series.

Poetry played a big part in my writing last week. I did quite a lot of research for this month’s “poemwork” for my poetry group, which was to “write a mandala poem.” At first I wasn’t too keen on the idea, I mean as prompts go that’s pretty vague, but then I got a few ideas and started doing some research, and then I figured out a really unique way to present it. Then I was sitting out on the deck working on my mandala poem and a whole different poem kinda swooped into my head, so I wrote it down on the back of one of my pages of notes.

I also, be still my heart, generated some interest in the two books I have sitting here waiting to be edited. Elemental Spirit was featured on Fiction Friday, and when I was going over it to find an excerpt I had a brilliant idea of how to re-do the beginning. And I’ve also come to the conclusion I’m going to have to bite the bullet and do journal entries for the beginning of each chapter like I did in Fire and Water.

I’ve been trying to edit Blood Ties on the computer, and I really wasn’t getting anywhere, so I finally printed it out – all 328 pages of it – to work on a few pages at a time. And I also came up with a new idea to begin this one, but I’m going to think about it for a bit before I tackle it.

With Elemental Spirit, it’s in such terrible shape it won’t matter if I take a section from later on and move it to the beginning, But with Blood Ties, it’s pretty much done except for the final polish, and to change the beginning at this point would take a bit a work. Twenty or thirty pages worth of work. I’ll probably do it, it’ll make for a better story, but it won’t make me happy doing it. LOL

I managed to pull myself out of the Nora Roberts black hole with my reading, switching my attention to fairy tales, including some non-fiction books about them. But I didn’t get back to Bird By Bird last week, which means no exercises in the writing journal. I didn’t get around to the three minutes with three words writing prompts either.

The Week Ahead . . .

It’s going to be a busy week this week. I get to do some actual babysitting of the grandbaby, I’ve got to clean up the old couch set for the charity group that’s coming to pick it up, the new set is going to be delivered, and there’s a business meeting with my poetry group. Plus my office is still a mess and I’d really like to fix that. Maybe move some books around.

I want to dive head first into the edits on Blood Ties, even if it means rewriting the first 30 pages or so, and ideally I’d like to start with the rewrites of Elemental Spirit.

And finally, I need to pick a new novel to take with me to the writing retreat I’m going to in the fall. You know, the one I was supposed to go to in the spring of 2020. :-D I was originally going to take Knightsong (the novel I started for NaNo 2010) but it’s nowhere near finished and I’d like something a little closer to being done.

So . . . what will you be writing this week?

An Elemental Spirit

Welcome back to Fiction Friday!

Before I took my unexpected hiatus, I was working my way through the novels I’ve written for National Novel Writing Month, better known as NaNoWriMo, or NaNo for short. My last true Fiction Friday showcased my 2018 NaNo novel, which means today we're up to 2019.

When I started writing An Elemental Wind I had no idea what I was doing beyond posting a new chapter on my blog each week. And I can totally blame the amazing Jamie DeBree for this, because she was the one who challenged me to do a serial on my blog. ;-)

Anyway, I didn’t start out with the idea of writing a multi-book series, but when I got to the end of Wind I realized there were three more elements and I should write about them too. By this time I had a common thread running through the books which I figured would culminate in a fifth book.

Fast forward to the end of the fourth book and I still had only a faint idea of how all these books would come together in the fifth book. I mean I knew but I didn’t know how to make it happen. For the next couple of years I did a lot of thinking/planning/angsting about the fifth (and final) book in my series. Finally I decided it was time to fish or cut bait. So with only a vague idea of what I was doing, I dove in to make An Elemental Spirit my 2019 NaNo novel.

The fact that I reached 50,000 words is nothing short of a miracle. The book ended up being one hot mess, but at least by the time I was done I had a better idea of what it should be. It was just going to take a lot of rewriting. The following scene is the opening of An Elemental Spirit. Unedited.

It had taken the science vessel Odessa several months to make its way to the rogue gas giant on the edge of the Hurangan star system. Their specialty was the study of gas giants, their ongoing mission was cataloguing and analysing data from them.

“Standard orbit,” the captain ordered. “Let’s not get too close until we know what this baby’s made of.”

“Standard orbit, sir,” the navigator said.

“Sir,” the woman manning the science station, Ensign Wabito, broke in. “The preliminary readings we’re getting are gibberish. I don’t understand it – if I didn’t know better I’d say we were being jammed. We’ll need to get closer to sort them out.”

The captain debated for a moment. “Negative on that. We’ve already determined this planet is unlike any we’ve ever encountered. Send a probe in – we need more data before we take any risks.”

“Aye, sir.” The ensign dutifully launched a probe towards the hazy mass filling the main view screen.

Compared to the size of the planet, they were a mere speck of dust hanging in space. The captain stood in front of the viewer, almost mesmerized by the sight of the swirling gases below. He never got tired of the sight – every gas giant a mystery to be solved, every gas giant different. He wasn’t the only one fascinated by the view on the screen, several others of the bridge crew couldn’t seem to stop staring.

“Sir,” one of them said hesitantly.

“What is it Lieutenant Yunang?”

“Sorry sir, my eyes must be playing tricks on me. I could swear I saw several land masses down there.”

The Captain frowned at the screen. Lieutenant Yunang came from Boryun, a dark desert world whose inhabitants had developed a powerful sense of sight. So powerful that they had trouble seeing clearly off world and used specially constructed visors. Yunang had apparently taken his off and was staring intently at the screen.

“That’s impossible,” the technician beside Yunang said. “Gas giants don’t have land masses.” Yunang shrugged. “It was probably just a shadow, or a light distortion.”

“Maybe not,” Ensign Wabito broke in. “Reports from the probe coming in. The composition of gases is unlike any I’ve ever seen. And it’s confirmed – there are several large land masses.”

“Impossible!” the captain said, echoing the technician’s disbelief. “Can you show the data on the big screen?”

“Yes, sir.” Ensign Wabito’s fingers danced over the controls and the image of swirling gas was replaced with lines of raw data from the probe.

“Amazing,” the captain said. “Send the probe towards the nearest one. Let’s see a image of this land mass.”

The ensign made the appropriate adjustments and the view once again changed. This time it was the images from the camera on the probe. At first it was just a blurred view of the gas, almost like a fog, white with darker particles of varying sizes.

“This is—this is impossible.”

“Captain, look!”

The captain, along with several of the non-essential crewmen, moved closer to the screen, unable to believe what was showing on it. Not only was there a land mass, but on that land mass… “Is anyone else seeing a structure?” the captain asked.

There were several murmurs, but no one wanted to come right out and agree with him. A land mass, any kind of land mass, was unheard of. A gas giant just wasn’t designed in that way. For there to be a land mass solid enough to hold a structure though….

“Sir,” Ensign Wabito said cautiously. “Some of these readings I’m getting…I don’t think this is a true gas giant. I think it’s been terraformed somehow so it appears to be a gas giant.”

“We need to get closer. Brant, take us in, slowly.”

The navigator had to give the helmsman a nudge before he was able to comply with the order.

“What does this mean?” Lieutenant Yunang asked.

“A discovery like this?” the navigator said. “We’ll be famous. Rich and famous.”

“It has to be some kind of hoax,” Ensign Wabito continued. “Captain, those land masses aren’t fixed, they appear to be moving.”

“Moving? What do you mean moving?”

“I mean they’re moving, sir. It’s like they’re islands floating in the gas.”

As the captain and science officer stared at one another, a klaxon began ringing. The image on the screen disappeared into static.

“What’s happening?” the captain demanded.

“Something just targeted the probe, sir,” weapons and security specialist Drake Perez told him.

“What kind of something?”

“I don’t know sir, something in the gas, some kind of instability causing a massive energy surge maybe.”

“Could something in the gas have reacted to the metals of the probe?”

“It’s possible sir,” Ensign Wabito said. “The magnetic properties of the gas might have built up on the hull of the probe and shorted it out.”

“Ensign Brant, get us out of here!”

Even as the captain gave the order there was another massive surge of magnetic energy from the planet below and then all that was left of the Odessa and her crew was wreckage.

The rogue planet eventually passed unchallenged out of the Hurangan system and continued on its journey around the edge of known space.

The New Leaves Are Stirring

The woods are hush'd, their music is no more;
The leaf is dead, the yearning past away;
New leaf, new life
the days of frost are o'er;
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

So . . . the new leaf I was turning over is a little crumpled around the edges, but dare I say I think I’m starting to smooth it out? I mean, check it out – I got my poetry post done for the first Friday of the month. Can more posts be far behind? LOL

I ordered myself a copy of Anne Lamott’s Bird By Bird and I’ve been reading it a little bit at a time for inspiration. Though it’s not a writing instruction book per se, it starts out with her talking about the writing classes she’s given and describing a few of the exercises she’s given her students. Trying to get back into the writing habit (as a start to getting into a productive writing habit) I thought, why not give them a try?

The first one had you thinking back to your childhood and describing your early school years, starting with kindergarten. Anne advised that you don’t worry about the order, just write as many details as you can remember.

It was a kind of interesting exercise. Given kindergarten was a long time ago for me I didn’t think I’d have much to say, but the more I wrote the more I remembered. Before I knew it, I’d filled a couple of pages.

I’m still fumbling a bit, trying to find a routine, but I am writing more. Finding a balance is harder than you’d think. Or maybe it’s just me.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

The Week Ahead…

I’m hoping to expand on the writing I did last week. And by that I mean continue the exercise from Bird By Bird. I’d probably be happy with just that, but I’d like to see about adding a daily ‘three minutes with three words’ writing prompt.

My reading has slowed down considerably, but I’d really like to pull out of the Nora Roberts black hole I seem to be in. I did start reading a book of poetry written by one of the members of my poetry group. I’m quite enjoying it, but I’m taking my time, reading only a few at a time to make it last.

And finally, I’d like to reduce the amount of time I spend mindlessly playing games. I got tired of waiting for them to come up with new levels for Solitaire Garden and reset it. I’m ashamed to admit I’m already back up to level 389. Seeing as I made a trip to Michael’s (craft store) yesterday for more craft stuff I really don’t need, I’d like to replace at least some of that gaming time with crafting time.

Wish me luck. ;-)

Waltz Wave

It’s the first Friday of the month, and you know what that means . . . Poetry!

I’ve been in a poetical frame of mind lately, and despite having a four inch wide, three ring binder full of poems I’ve written in the past, I decided to go for something new. So I looked in my files for a form I attempted but never finished, and picked one at random. And while I was doing the research for that form, I stumbled across this one. ;-)

The Waltz Wave got its name in honour of Leo Waltz, web manager of Sol Magazine, which is a great resource for discovering new poetry forms.

This poem is written in a single stanza. It has 19 lines with an intriguing syllable pattern that gives it a total of 38 syllables. Not a lot of syllables for a 19 line poem, is it?

Syllable Count: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 2, 1

The increase/decrease of the lines give this poem its wave effect. And because waves tend to be soothing, your subject matter should be as well. Your poem should also have a title.

Note: It’s okay to split a word with more than one syllable between lines to fit the pattern if you need to.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Assignation

soft
moonlight
glows
upon
the water
shushing
back
and forth
along the
darkened shoreline
timeless and
patient
back
and forth
waiting for
the two
to
meet in
love