“By All the Nebulae in the Galaxy”: #WeWriWa – #8Sunday

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors’ Eight Sentence Sunday!

It’s simple and fun. Sign the linky list with your name, blog url and email address on Mondays, 8:00 AM EST. Each week, the list remains open until Saturday, 11:59 PM. Then on Sunday, post 8 sentences from a current writing project, published or unpublished. Visit other participants and offer opinions, critiques, support. Writers hanging out with writers, a good time with a great group of people.

It’s a chance to share a small snippet -exactly eight sentences – of my current writing. I’m sharing an excerpt from my April CampNaNoWriMo  project, Transitions: Kifo Island Chronicles, Volume One.  The Kifo Island  novella series takes place at a resort that’s a little like hospice meets Fantasy Island Transitions chronicles the intersecting and changing lives of Barry, Terrance, and Corinne.

This snippet is three paragraphs after the snippet I shared over at WIPpet Wednesday  last week. Barry and Corinne have returned at the sound of shattering pottery, and Terrance has claimed that he only dropped a handmade bell…

Barry’s face said that he knew it was a lie. He always knew. But he glanced over his shoulder at the young woman who lingered near the door, and then back, and his dancing green eyes had a new shadow – the shadow of guilt, a shadow echoed in the woman-child’s blush.

They were beautiful, by all the nebulae in the galaxy. Desire had set them afire, and it made them glorious, glowing embers, ready to ignite.

The air he tried to breathe was as thick as smoke, and as hard to find oxygen in. But Barry came to him, striding in long paces, and wrapped his hand in his hair to kiss him – chai tea and the taste of the woman layered over the taste of their earlier kisses, adding new seasonings. Maybe, just maybe, he could catch hold of that, claim a vicarious taste of their young passion…

Will Terrance regain his place in Barry’s heart? What exactly was going on between Barry and the young Corinne? Why and how did Terrance break the bell?

No, I’m not telling you, but I’ll have another 8 sentences next week, and maybe you’ll learn something from that…or maybe you’ll end up even more confused.

While you wait, you can go visit other #8Sunday posts, which might just offer more answers!

What does Enterprise have to do with this post? Well, maybe not much, other than the space reference,  but the song is fitting, and the Vulcan lady and her favorite engineer are still whispering in my head, and unwilling to hush up till next month, when it’s their turn. I’m kinda hoping this will appease them…and please you. And, if not, it was an excuse for me to watch, so a win either way. =)

SoCs: Logic and Discord

Rowing down the Stream of Consciousness. Badge by Doobster at Mindful Digressions.

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt: “naught/knot/not. This flash fiction story inspired by Star Trek: Enterprise is also the opening scene of a short story-in-progress, Slow Jazz Awakening, as a young woman considers the nature of logic and humanity on an alien world called Earth.

Disclaimer: T’Pol, Soval, Koss, and the rest of Star Trek are property of CBS/Paramount; no copyright infringement intended, and no money is being made.

T’Pol walked through the muffling fog, her sensitive ears, evolved for the desert, catching up sounds. Staccato footprints, their force and swiftness betraying tension in the legs that made them. Bits of conversation, in several alien languages.

And laughter. Strange expulsions of breath, accompanied with percussive sound that caused sharp pains in her head; kept her always poised, ready to face danger – danger that did not come.

Humans don’t laugh when frightened,” she told herself silently – but, in truth, she did not know if this was so, and there was a certain illogic in making any such assumption.

There was a certain and undeniable illogic in being here at all.

T’Pol thought of her small and comfortable room at the Consulate. It was a Vulcan space, quiet and contemplative. The air, conditioned to Vulcan-normative heat and dryness, carried neither unexpected outbursts of sound, nor the profusion of scent that assailed her senses here, where they lay heavy on San Francisco’s humid ocean breeze. Her meditation candles waited, offering the calm of deep reflection. She would be alone, there, and there would be no need for her current state of alert.

There is a danger in breaking protocol.” This she couldn’t dispute. She was not intended to be out of the compound alone; Soval considered her still too young and unpracticed in diplomatic matters, and, perhaps more importantly, she was Promised, but not yet bonded. She was still a year from her marriage to Koss, and she risked both the termination of the contract her parents had arranged with the young man’s when they were seven years old, and the loss of her posting here on Terra – a posting that, however illogically, was of far greater importance to her than the bonding that would define the rest of her life, once formalized.

Comfort, safety, and security awaited her at the compound. All were at risk, with her current activity. Logic dictated that she should return immediately to the compound, and her life as it had been.

And yet, she didn’t turn, didn’t return to the safety of her room at the Consulate. As she had once ingested the rarest of Vulcan nectars, knowing the act would change her forever. As she had, as an infant, touched the flame of her mother’s meditation candle, even after the warning that it would bring pain…

Now, she simply kept walking, as though there was no danger, as though her muscles weren’t tightening into what a human might refer to, in the particularly imprecise manner of the prevalent human language, as ‘knotted’ – as though muscles were lengths of rope. She walked as though the sounds didn’t pain her head, as though the odors that overwhelmed her olfactory senses were not also ‘tying her guts up in knots’, as she heard a passing human male say.

An imprecise language, this English, and very different than that taught to her by her first foremother, T’Mir. And yet, very apt. Her digestive tract did indeed feel as though it was twisting and tightening, threatening to expel the plomik broth she had eaten at the evening meal, when she had too agitated by the breach of protocol she had so meticulously planned to consume anything more substantial.

T’Pol stopped walking. Her senses were being assaulted, and she was risking her position, not only in the Ministry of Diplomacy, but also as regarded her marital status, and her duty to Vulcan culture.

Highly illogical. She would return. To the Consulate, and her small, safe life. A progression of increasing age and responsibility that might, in time, allow her the freedom to move amongst the fascinating, chaotic species which named itself ‘homo sapiens’ – ‘rational man’.

She was turning to leave when she heard the strains of Terran music – discordant, and yet stirring something to life within her, something that had stirred when she touched the flame, and drank the tikkin nectars.

In time, she might earn the right to explore Earth and her people. After her marriage, and the traditional year lived with Koss, on Vulcan. If she were not pregnant; she had once postponed the marriage, and Koss might expect her to conceive their offspring at once. It had seemed an acceptable risk at the time, but now, the possibility seemed far too restrictive.

The notes of the chaotic music drifted freely to her, and something within T’Pol was compelled by them. She turned back, tipping her head to better catch its direction, and began to follow…

She reminded herself of logic, and risk, and protocol. “Kroykah,” she told herself, a word learned before all others, a command to desist that must be obeyed, even in plak tow, the blood fever of mating-

And yet, T’Pol walked on, her guts in knots, not heeding logic. The human language English had another term, one she’d always felt was completely illogical, a mathematical impossibility. “All was for naught.”

Now, as the young Vulcan woman commanded herself to return home, and continued to follow the strange human music, she thought perhaps that she was beginning to understand. 

The video below is just a bit spoilery, if you haven’t seen the series, and don’t know T’Pol’s story…

Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Come play – there’s just a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)

Get more SoCS right here!

Second Serving Sunday: The “It’s Spring, Sir!” Edition

A weekly peek backwards and a look ahead, from my little corner of the blogosphere

Life Stuff:

My last Second Serving Sunday post: The It’s Been A While Edition

  • Click the link for my recent posting history!

It’s been an interesting week. We’ve had a taste of spring, followed quickly by the return of winter weather, and a power outage that lasted about five hours. Things are warming up sllloooowwwwyyyy, now…

I’ve got a split on the bottom of my foot (my skin tends to crack during the cold season), and it’s making walking very painful. I’m thinking that I’ll try a corn cushion pad, and see if I can get back to moving without a limp, because limping around while hometending just isn’t my idea of fun.

In other news – while I’m still feeling “behind” in my prepping for the various challenges I’ve scheduled for the next four months, I’ve done a good chunk of plotting for my CampNaNoWriMo project – the first two novellas in my Kifo Island Chronicles series, which is based on my A-Z Challenge posts from last year. I’ve also written a new Trip and T’Pol story, roughed out two essays, edited and collaged some pictures for future blogposts, and done most of the reverse engineering needed for revisions of my TnT short story, “Slow Jazz Awakening”, which I wanted to submit to Ad Astra in February, but am hoping now to get out before the end of March.

I’ve also been hometending – getting a jump on the spring fling, even if the weather isn’t exactly cooperating with me, just yet.

All that to say, I’ve been doing stuff. Lots of it. =)

And now, last week’s features:

Coffee and Conversation:

  • Nothing this week…but stay tuned!

WIPpet Wednesday:

  • Peace in the Stars?: An excerpt from my time-travel fantasy novel-in-progress, Chameleon’s Dish. Tisira is with her father, watching the stars that have always brought comfort – but her reality is shifting, and she was somewhere else, a few breaths ago – was she not?

SoCS (Stream of Consciousness Saturday):

  • I, Eye, Aye, Sir?”: The highly illogical vagaries of written English prove problematic for Enterprise‘s Vulcan Science Officer, with unexpected and amusing results.

Eight Sentence Sunday:

ROW80: The Writing Challenge That Knows You Have A Life.

Variety’s Spice: Two reblogs, this week, and both well worth a look! =D

What’s Next:

March Focuses:

  • Wrapping up ROW80 Round One – the round goes in the books, officially, on Thursday. I’ll post my final update on Wednesday, and then look at my longer-term goals during the break before Round Two starts on April 6.
  • Completing and submitting homeschool paperwork (done!), and my fan fiction story, “Slow Jazz Awakening”, currently in revision.

This week, on the blog:

  • For Coffee and Conversation: At long last, my Blogging from A-Z Challenge Intro Post. (Yes, I thought that it would be posted this past Monday, but it turns out I was a week early for the Big Theme Reveal, so it will post this week, instead.)
  • For WIPpet Wednesday: A final bit from Chameleon’s Dish, at least for the next few months, as we find out what happens next to Henry, a boy on his own, facing a possibly disastrous situation…and then we move to new stuff for April – July.
  • Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS):A post based on the weekly prompt, TBA Friday. Might be fiction, or not, but it’s always surprising!
  • Eight Sentence Sunday: Eight more sentences from the Prologue of The Earth Doth Move. This is the last week for a while – I’ll be sharing excerpts from my Kifo Island Chronicles novellas during April.
  • ROW80 Updates: My progress on my current and long term goals for A Round of Words in 80 Days, posted on or near Sunday and Wednesday.

In the Wilds of Internet-Land: A celebration of spring!

SoCS : “I, Eye, Aye, Sir?”

Row down the stream-of-consciousness with us!

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme.

The idea is simple – post an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt –this week’s is I/eye/aye, which yielded a flash fiction story inspired by Star Trek: Enterprise, and the vagaries of my native tongue…

Disclaimer: Hoshi, T’Pol, Trip, and the rest of Star Trek are property of CBS/Paramount; no copyright infringement intended. I just love to play with them!

Hoshi Sato frowned at the display on her datapad as she entered the Mess Hall, wondering whether it would make more sense to address this problem to the Chief Engineer, or the Science Officer.

As luck would have it, they were both here, and bickering.

All you ever eat is that broth and salads. How can you survive just on that?”

Commander Tucker, I have ‘survived’ my entire life on a plant-based diet. My metabolism and nutritional requirements differ from yours, and my physical dimensions are appropriate for my age and species.”

Your age, huh? Now, what would that be?”

T’Pol raised one elegantly groomed brow the width of two hairs. “Classified.”

Trip groaned. “I swear every Vulcan should have that word tattooed across your foreheads at birth -”

You propose to disfigure my entire species, Commander?”

Trip spluttered, “Maybe not, but it would save time.”

Excuse me, Commander, Subcommander,” Hoshi said, before Trip could get himself in any deeper. “I’m having a problem with transmissions from the Science station, and I was wondering if either of you could tell me where the glitch is, and how to fix it.”

A problem?” T’Pol set her spoon carefully into the bowl of plomik broth before folding her hands in front of her.

Have a seat, Hoshi, and tell us about it.”

Hoshi pulled up a chair. “Well, for the past three days, I’ve been getting random strings of Vulcan characters in the Sciences readouts, or else gibberish – not English, and not Vulcan either, but a hybrid of the two.”

With you so far,” Trip said, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes nearly drowning in gravy. “T’Pol?”

Is that a representative sample?” The Vulcan tipped her head slightly toward the pad Hoshi held.

This is the complete rundown.” She handed over the pad, and tried not to smile as the two heads, one fair and one dark, leaned in toward one another as they studied the readout together.

Looks like a glitch in the translation matrix – but why’s it coming up in Vulcan?”

I’ve programmed the station to accept written commands in my native tongue, and translate output to English,” T’Pol said.

Why? Doesn’t seem very efficient to me.”

T’Pol actually looked uncomfortable. She reached for her tea, and sipped, studying Hoshi rather than Trip. “I learned to speak English in childhood, but I couldn’t read or write it when I was assigned to Enterprise. It is – a most perplexing and inexact language, and poorly suited to reporting of a scientific nature.”

Trip nearly sprayed mashed potatoes on the pad, and T’Pol’s hand as she held it between them. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

T’Pol looked directly at him and said, “I. I. I.”

You what?”

Precisely.” T’Pol sipped at her tea. Trip sat there with his fork dangling in his hand, staring at her.

Precisely, what?”

Were I speaking in Vulcan, you would have known that I was speaking three separate words – ”

Come again?”

I think I get it,” Hoshi said. “Not I, I, I, but -” she tapped her chest. “I.” Next, she pointed to her face, and blinked. “Eye.” Then she pulled a mock salute, and said, “Aye, sir.”

Precisely,” T’Pol said again. “It’s the same word, when spoken, but each meaning is written differently.”

But you speak English as well as any of us- ”

Better than some,” Hoshi chuckled, and Trip gave her a dirty look.

I can infer spoken context, but I find it prohibitively difficult to discern which spelling is accurate for many words I wish to use. English doesn’t follow even its own convoluted rules. This poses considerably difficulty where precision and alacrity are necessary.”

So you input everything in Vulcan, and the station computer translates for you?”

Apparently not as consistently as it should.”

Trip took the pad from her, scrolling through the display. “Shouldn’t be a problem – looks like there’s a faulty circuit in the translation matrix – not all of your signal’s getting through. I’ll come up and fix it for you at the start of shift tomorrow, and, now that I know your little secret, I’ll keep an eye on it for you. Hoshi, will that solve the problem?”

Aye, sir.”

Trip groaned. “You know, I just heard it. Sorry I teased you, T’Pol. I’m guessing that I wouldn’t do half as well even just trying to speak Vulcan.”

Most members of your species lack the muscular control needed to produce many of the vocal forms.” T’Pol picked up her spoon, and sipped daintily at her broth.

Guess I deserved that,” Trip muttered, digging back into his potatoes.

She’s telling you the truth, Commander. I could understand Vulcan years before I could speak it.” She looked at T’Pol. “If you’d like, Subcommander, I could help you improve your written skills.”

That would be most generous, Ensign, although I would find it a simpler matter if Starfleet had elected to make a more logical choice regarding the operating language on its starships.”

Like what?” This time, Trip took the time to swallow the potatoes before speaking.

I’m competent in written and spoken Latin. Since it lends itself well to scientific discussion, it would be a more logical choice.”

Only a Vulcan would make a suggestion like that. I flunked Latin – twice.”

T’Pol reclaimed the pad, and, in flawless Latin, looked at Hoshi and said, “If you’re free, I will assist you in translating these data streams.”

Hoshi smiled. “Tempis fugit.”

An illogical statement, in any language.”

She and T’Pol rose together. Hoshi didn’t need the translation matrix to read the touch of humor and enjoyment in the Vulcan woman’s eyes as they walked away, leaving a scowling Chief Engineer to chew on mashed potatoes and Latin.

Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Come play – there’s just a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)

Get more SoCS right here!

Seeking Clarity: #WeWriWa – #8Sunday The First

Click the icon to learn more!

Today, I’m trying something new – Weekend Writing Warriors Eight Sentence Sunday. It’s a chance to share a small snippet -exactly eight sentences – of my current writing. I’m sharing an excerpt from The Earth Doth Move, a Star Trek TOS/Enterprise crossover fan fiction novel. This is a rough draft written for NaNoWriMo 2014.

Want to know more about #8Sunday? Check this out!

It’s simple and fun. Sign the linky list with your name, blog url and email address on Mondays, 8:00 AM EST. Each week, the list remains open until Saturday, 11:59 PM. Then on Sunday, post 8 sentences from a current writing project, published or unpublished. Visit other participants and offer opinions, critiques, support. Writers hanging out with writers, a good time with a great group of people.

And now the excerpt!

Memory swirled with the gentle whirls of the sands, as the young man made his deliberate way across the expanse, senses awake and open to perceive any possible danger, but his awareness, at once, turned to past and future, inward and outward…

He was seeking.

Since he was only a child, even before his Kahs-wan, he had come to the desert when he needed clarity. Sarek his father would insist that location was far less important to such seeking than the disciplines of meditation. Sarek had said this to him, six hundred and four times, thus far. If he learned of this excursion, he would no doubt say it again – he was nothing if not predictable. If he knew the reason that Spock sought clarity, on this night, he would doubtless say other things- perhaps, a good many other things, and at great length.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few – or the one.”

This post is, in part, a tribute to Leonard Nimoy, who died on February 27, at age 83. Leonard has been, and will continue to be, a major influence in my life. I will miss him, and I am profoundly grateful that, for a time, we walked the same Earth. I shall endeavor to do as Spock bid us, and as Leonard did. And I wish the same for you – that we all will live long, and prosper, whatever that means for each of us… 

Find more WeWriWa #8Suday posts here!

SoCS : Communications Issues

Come roll down the stream with us!

This post is part of Linda G.Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday meme.

The idea is simple – post an unedited stream of consciousness piece that ties into the weekly prompt -this week’s is “pat/pet/pit/pot/put.”

This week, I’m offering a twofer – a paragraph about my dog, and a snippet inspired by my Star Trek: TOS/Enterprise crossover fan fiction NaNo novel-in-progress, The Earth Doth Move.

Disclaimer: Spock, his family, and the rest of Star Trek are property of CBS/Paramount; no copyright infringement intended. I just love to play with them!

Okay, this prompt, right off the bat, is making me think of a previous prompt: “bat/bet/bit/bot/but.” For that one, I wrote a nifty story snippet for Sarek, where the nonsense syllables were the crystallization of all the things he didn’t understand about his toddler son, and all the things that separated their philosophies regarding the commencement of Spock’s adult life.

So, I’m going to do both!

**

We have a companion dog. He is not a pet, although he loves to BE petted, patted, scratched, and thumped lovingly. His name is Corki, because, although, he seems to be a pit bull/Vizsla by dubious pedigree, he has a little corkscrew of a tail more suited to a bulldog. One of his favorite things is when he sees the pasta pot come out for mac and cheese, since he knows he’s going to get something to finish up or lick clean before long, and cheese is his favorite treat. As soon as the leftovers are put down for him, he wiggles his entire backside and goes to work – a one-dog cleanup machine!

Happy Corki-dog! Did he just get mac and cheese?

Well, that was easier than I thought it might be! Nifty! Now, on to the other idea…one which may not go as quickly, or as smoothly…kind of like life with a toddler who can claim two diverse species as his heritage, and who must also learn to find some balance between them…

**

The difficulty with the child began, predictably, with a whining that would have caused Sarek to wince, if he had not repressed the impulse.

He’s teething, and feverish,” Amanda said, as the whine turned into a wail that was even more distressing to Sarek’s sensitive hearing.

Were he Vulcan, he would find adequate soothing in his current activity.”

The boy lifted his head from his nursing, but did not unlatch. He stared at Sarek; he knew just where to look, and the dark eyes were vivid with intelligence, despite the alien human tears that leaked from them. “Aah Ehh Ihh Ohh Uhh!” His small face wrinkled into a scowl, and his fist knotted into the amber necklace Amanda wore, which she had explained was intended to offer the boy some comfort as his teeth erupted. It did not appear to be so; but Amanda did wince at the force of the child’s grip.

There is no logic in attempting to communicate while your mouth is full, Spock.” Sarek stated the obvious.

Perhaps there was also illogic in continuing to expect that the child would respond well to such statements, despite his obvious ability to do so if he so chose. He clamped his mouth down on Amanda’s breast with enough force to elicit a short exclamation, and repeated himself, pounding that fist, which still clenched at the necklace, with each mangled syllable.

Kroykah,” said Sarek, but the child did not desist.

Be kind, Spock,” Amanda said, softly, gently taking the boy’s hand in her own. She made no attempt to disentangle him from the strand of amber, but she did tap the matching band around the child’s wrist. “You can chew on this, or nurse. It’ll help with the pain.”

Spock’s tears still fell, but his face smoothed as he looked at his mother. He released the nipple, and said, “Bat bet bit bot but?”

I wish I understood,” she sighed. “Or that you could show me what you want.”

He has command of seventeen words, in Standard, and thirty-two, in Vulcan. Additionally, he is sufficiently skilled at two hundred forty eight hand gestures to assure we will understand his intent. I find it difficult to accept that, among them, he has no means by which to express his need or desires.”

The boy shifted focus again, and released the necklace to slide from his mother’s lap. He came to stand before Sarek, tears wetting his face and milk dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Batbetbitbotbut.”

Enunciate.” If the child would insist on the syllables that had no apparent meaning, at least Sarek could encourage that he do so with precision.

The child’s face contorted again, then smoothed into something more like a Vulcan demeanor – except that his eyes were as fierce as any Burning male at Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. “Bat. Bet. Bit. Bot. But.” He waited, only staring, as he lifted his wrist to begin gnawing at the amber bracelet he wore.

Sarek nodded. “That is satisfactory.”

But the child would, apparently, be contentious. “ “Bat. Bet. Bit. Bot. But. Pat. Pet. Pit. Pot. Put. Dat. Det. Dit. Dot. Dut. Mat. Met. Mit. Mot. Mut. Fat. Fet. Fit. Fot. Fut…” He went on, from one beginning sound to another, stopping only to worry at the amber, then beginning again.

It’s how human children learn to talk,” Amanda said, coming to stand beside him, and smiling indulgently at their son.

Perhaps it was so, and this a normal part of Spock’s unique path to language. However, Sarek was certain that the boy was challenging him. The syllables went on and on, and the child’s focus never faltered.

Enjoy stream-of consciousness writing? Come play – there’ just a few simple rules. See you next week, for another live-streaming look into the lovely chaos in my mind! =)

Get more SoCS right here!

#LoIsInDaBl Day 27: Invisible Friends

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!

NOTE:  I was away, visiting faraway friends and family, when this post was intended to be scheduled. I was unable to post it, and the two following it.  Over the course of this week, I’ll be posting my “Missing Four” Love Is In Da Blog posts, as written, and resuming my typical posting schedule.  And here we are, at the very last one!  I hope you enjoy!

Maybe all fiction writers have them; I don’t know. But I always have had invisible friends. When I was little, I often got teased for them; I learned to keep the fantasy realities in my own head, letting others see only the more “acceptable” aspects of my imaginary life.

When I got older, I discovered that I could write about them – and, the more I wrote, the more real my imaginary friends became, and the more of them there were. As I’ve given them permission to live their own lives within me, and given them a voic , they’ve grown more complex and real. More than that –

They’ve become better and better friends, the type I love spending time with, and learning about…the better a friend I am to them, the more they share with me.

I’m profoundly grateful for all of them – the ones born whole in my own mind, and those who began as someone else’s imaginary friends…

How about you? Do you have any imaginary friends? Are you a good friend to them, or have you been neglecting them?

Why not let them in, and see what happens?

Find more Love Is In Da Blog posts right here!

Just two of my invisible friends…and, oh, do they have stories to tell! ;D