“A Simple Equation?”: #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 Then on Sunday, post 8 sentences from a current writing project, published or unpublished.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 […]

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!

WIPpet Wednesday: “Curses Upon Thou!”

WIP it! WIPpet good! (At least, I hope it is!)

Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date. It’s hosted by the lovely K.L. Schwengel, maven of bad boys, stock dogs, and flying monkeys!

This week, I’m returning to Chameleon’s Dish (which may or may not become Never Doubt I Love) – where we check in with Henry, a young boy with a potentially deadly problem – someone or something is stealing from his snare lines, and winter is coming…

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk the Bard’s words and Hunt her lost identity.

WIPpet Math:

  • Today is March 25, 2015.
  • You get 25 sentences today. =)

Henry’s breath puffed out in quick angry bursts, matching the clenching of his fists. It could be no beast, so it must be man – or, more like, Verity’s boy Homer, or the twins whose names seemed ever to slip his mind, and to belong at once to their matched, sullen faces. He gave them more than he could easy spare, already, but those children seemed always empty and wanting, their mother endlessly grasping, and’ twould not be the first time they had stolen what he might have freely given.

The fourth empty snare set  fear chewing through his anger, the deep fear that had once been always with him. He’d thought himself long shut of it. But yet, here be another snare empty – another three days’ worth of meat and a fur taken – and Henry bowed under the weight of the clouds, and those hungry children, and his own need…

No – fear was a deadly foe; it stole energy for life as surely as the thief had taken his kills. Better that he give himself to the anger – anger could give warmth, and life, and energy he needed, if he was to survive. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his own flesh, feeling that pain, holding to it against despair and fear. But it sat uneasy in him; he wasn’t angry by nature.

“Curses upon thou, whatever thou art!”

The wisp of a shadow leapt away, up a tree ten paces ahead. Mayhap he had only just missed the rabbit-mort at his work. Henry cursed himself for a fool, even as he took up his slingshot and pebble sack, loaded, and released, all before his next breath steamed the air. But his pebble bounced off a trunk, harmless and useless, and, though he stared to the place where the shadow had vanished until his eyes took an ache, nothing moved there. Though his ears sifted through every sound, none came from that place. Mayhap, though, he had affrighted the thief – hope was a fine thing, if not carried too far. He set off again, stepping quickly, lest the mort be there afore him.

Some people spoke of witches in these woods, or fey creatures. Verity spoke of demon-spawn, and the threat of Satan, and all spoke as though these things were as true as the changing of seasons, or that rabbits and people would breed, and children be unwanted, unnamed, and unfed -

A child’s fancies, boy. Thou art no child, nay, not truly. Leave thy imaginings here, and be about thy business, Henry.” His mouth twisted; he sounded like one of the severe sisters who had tended the children in the foundling’s home. He had escaped that life, three years gone, but mayhap he would ever carry it within him.

Will Henry find the thief? Survive the winter? Be able to feed those hungry children who aren’t his, but for whom he feels responsible?

Well, you’ll have to wait a while to find out. For the next four months, I will be posting new writing, as I dive into a series of writing challenges, delving further into existing stories, and creating new ones…

And, of course, I invite you all to come along for the ride… =)

While you wait for next week’s excitement, you can peek at more WIPpet Snippets; as always, we offer assorted genres, sizes, and styles to choose from! =D And, if you’re so inclined, follow the little froggie, post your own snippet, and join in on the WIPpety fun!

“In Nearly All Cases…”: #WeWriWa – #8Sunday

Leap into the fray!

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 The Earth Doth Move, a Star Trek TOS/Enterprise crossover fan fiction novel. This is a rough draft written for NaNoWriMo 2014.

Disclaimer: Spock, his family, and all of Star Trek are the property of Paramount. I’m not making any money; I only play here.

This snippet immediately follows last week’s post, “Seeking Clarity”. A young Spock is out in the desert, where he has come to gain insight…

Yes, Sarek would begin, and likely end, with that, as if doing so were all the argument that was needed. He would say it, and have no thought of what the words denied – the desire of the one to choose a course for himself. If the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, then it was illogical to speak of what any wanted, as wants were certainly to be placed far beneath the logic of need.

Spock remembered those words, spoken to him, each night, before Sarek took his leave, and again in the morning, as greeting. They were ingrained, now – and that was the intent of the repetition, he suspected – to build into each Vulcan child the belief that their own needs – much less their desires – must ever be suborned, if they came at the cost of denying a greater number what they needed.

Empirical evidence suggested that the method was highly effective, in nearly all cases. Spock paused in his journey, to admire the clean sharp line of a dune, and the way the sudden gusting of chill air from the Forge set off a miniature sandstorm, shifting and obliterating that line…

Yes, it nearly always worked.

Last week, I was welcomed warmly into Eight Sentence Sunday, although one commenter expressed concern, because I hadn’t specified what I intend to do with my Trek fan fiction. The truth is – I just want to write it and share it. I’ve been writing it since I was 13; I’m 45 now, so I don’t expect I’ll stop. I fully intend to get better, and I love playing in these worlds. Ultimately, I will be submitting to fan fiction websites.

What I have no intention of doing is making any money from this writing. I offer it as a gift, a way of sharing my passion for and appreciation of characters and a fictional reality that have, in no small part, shaped my life. I write other things with the intent to earn money – this is what I do purely for love…

And maybe because those Vulcans in my head won’t let me stop…they claim it’s only logical.

They also insist that it’s logical for us all to visit other #8Sunday posts, and comment on those we find agreeable.

An Active Vision: March 18, 2015

ROWin’ on to the final week of Round One! =D

So, how’s the weather? Spring’s taking a coffee break here, or just reminding us in her capricious way that it’s still winter for another day or so… the wind is sighing, somewhere just below freezing, and the skies are fitful…

My creativity seems to be bound to the weather, in some manner. I’m feeling a bit fitful today, a little restless and as though a shift in my personal energy is imminent…but that could just be because our power went out about 20 minutes ago, and other than one quick blip, has stayed off. We’ve got some firewood, a lantern and candles, and I’ve got a good and mostly charged battery on the laptop. I’ve even got internet access through my new phone (what a world we live in!)…so I can keep working, and, so long as the daylight lasts, even do some hometending, if this outage lasts. My suspicion is that it’s weather related, and will be over in a few hours, at most.

For right now, I can work on this post (hooray for writing posts offline!), and several other projects. I’ve got 70% power on the laptop, which translates to nearly four hours of writing time with power saving settings. And I’ve got lots of planning I can do without going online…

So life goes on, at an altered tempo…

Here’s how I’m doing with my revised goals:

Blue with overstrike = completed.

Green = in progress.

Red = goal-in-waiting.

  • Planning for my CampNaNo projects. Plan and plot two Kifo Island Chronicles novellas before April 1. KIC #1- “Transitions”. Read all experimental stories, and ordered them for later reference. Minor editing and highlighting. I have almost 5K of story material to draw from. Ordering the relevant folders in progress. Character arcs completed – Step 4/13. Next up, Goal/Motivation/Conflict for all existing scenes, the rest of the plan, then Book 2.
  • Blogging. My A-Z Challenge Intro post is completed and scheduled! The Big Theme Reveal is Monday, March 23, so check here then!
  • Hometending and lifetending.  More hometending projects; a mellow workout with Jeremiah, and some strenuous firewood toting, too. The house is even tidier…and I might even dive into the Chaos That Is Our Front Porch in the next week or two…
  • Revising: Revisions for “Slow Jazz Awakening”; complete and submit by March 31. Trip’s GMCs complete. Scene Summary Template added to both. Inciting incidents and Plot Point 1 completed for both. Next up, the other 12 scene summaries.
  • Review and adapt goals lists for February, March, Round One, and 2015. Assessing where I am and where I want to be, and adjust accordingly. Next up, continuing comments on Round One and 2015, and writing February/March update.
  • Prepare posts for the rest of the week. Second Serving Sunday, Coffee and Conversation, WIPpet Wednesday, Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Eight Sentence Sunday, and ROW80x2. Next Monday’s C and C post finished and scheduled. Next up, WIPpet Wednesday, and this ROW80 update, both in progress.
  • Continue editing/sharing photos from our Oregon trip. Edited up through our first walk on the 18, and added most to Flickr. Next up, more Flickr uploads.
  • Create a queue of three Coffee and Conversation posts: one essay, and two Walks With Jo. Began topics and queues lists for development. Next up, write essay rough draft; set up first Walk With Jo post.
  • Sign up as a Round Two sponsor. Email sent! Confirmation received.

Things are humming along, so I’m going to add two goals this time through:

  • Write a paragraph or so of notes for all 26 A-Z posts.
  • Draft a Round 2 sponsor post.

You’ve reached the end of my goals, so why not pop by and visit another ROWer – or maybe several? And, whatever the season where you are, may it be a joyful one for you and yours! =)

Diggin’ in for the final week!

 

WIPpet Wednesday: Peace in the Stars?

Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date. It’s hosted by the lovely K.L. Schwengel, maven of bad boys, stock dogs, and flying monkeys!

This week, I’m returning to Chameleon’s Dish (which may or may not become Never Doubt I Love) – to reconnect with Tisira…

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk the Bard’s words and Hunt her lost identity.

Note: The characters have been growing older during the revision process. This snippet was written when I imagined Tisira/Nockatee to be about 7 years old. In the final draft, she’s going to be nearing or at puberty, I think, so some details will change.

WIPpet Non-Math:

  • I started this post on March 17, 2015.
  • Non-Math: My parents named me after an Irish river, and I’m sipping a Guinness as I type. So you get 17 sentences and an Irish-in-spirit smile in place of an eighteenth. =)

Tisira thought she was in a chill woods, with snow coming….and now she’s somewhere else, or she’s dreaming another dream, one where she’s safely with her father. But will he protect her?

“You must not be left alone, until the nectars have become fully a part of you, Tisira. Your dreams will be more real than what is before you, at times, and there is danger in that.”

A part of my mind wondered, as I pressed myself into his safe warmth. Had I not been – somewhere else? Somewhere with the smell of fertile soils, and the tang of frost, and pale yellow sunlight filtered through clouds?

But that made no sense. I was with Father. Yes. He had carried me here, because I had had a nightmare…

I looked about. Father held me, and the sky was filled with stars, as though someone had cast handfuls of jewels across it, to form patterns across the darkness. Always, I found peace in the stars.

But – had I not been somewhere else?

Am I safe here, with you, Father?” The question was strange to my ears; I hadn’t meant to ask it, and hadn’t known I would. But, once begun, it poured forth, living a life of its own. “Will you protect me?”

Which reality is real? Are both only dreams brought on by the mysterious nectars? Will Father keep her safe? Will there be peace in the stars?

I’ll be offering another post from one of these characters next week, and then we’ll be segueing into four months of on-the-fly writing challenge posts – all raw and new and a mixed bag of projects.

If you’ve got a favorite character among Tisira, Nockatee, and Henry, let me know!

See you next week – and, hey, while you’re here, here’s the link to more yummy WIPpet Snippets; assorted genres, sizes, and styles to choose from! =D

WIPpet Wednesday: Nothing

Come WIPpet with us!

 

 

Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date. It’s hosted by the lovely K.L. Schwengel, maven of bad boys, stock dogs, and flying monkeys!

This week, I’m returning to Chameleon’s Dish (which may or may not become Never Doubt I Love) – to reconnect with Henry, Tisira, and Nockatee…

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk the Bard’s words and Hunt her lost identity.

Note: The characters have been growing older during the revision process. This snippet was written when I imagined Tisira/Nockatee to be about 7 years old. In the final draft, she’s going to be nearing or at puberty, I think, so some details will change.

WIPpet Math: Time Warp! This post was intended to be posted during our vacation; apparently, a black hole swallowed it up. So the math made sense once, but now, well…not so much.

  • Today is February 25, 2015.
  • Math: Playing with the date: 25 – (2×5) := 15: for a total of 15 paragraphs, with some single lines.

This is the incident that creates Nockatee, although she doesn’t yet have a name…

I Changed, and Ran – from the screeching woman, and the boy who tempted, and, more than these, from Father, and his terrifying madness that Hunted me through space and time. His Hunting drove me past all reason, and I Ran as though for my life, until I came to an ancient grandmother of a pine, and dug my claws into the tree’s bark.

The pain crushed my self; the force of Father’s will a vise, locked on me. “The stars are fire. Never. Doubt. I. Love.” I whispered, as the last breath was forced from my lungs, and I could not draw another. Blackness, like space if there were no stars, crashed over me, pressing, pressuring -

Let it be all a dream,” I thought, as I struggled against the pull that wanted to swallow me, burn me to ash. I held to my sense of the boy – had there been a boy? Had we been dancing? -as anchor, and to the tree…Or was he only another dream, another part of this nightmare?

Father was crushing me, dragging me to him, even though I fought him now, dug my claws in and pulled myself to the first tier of branches, huddling against the trunk, although it was no shelter – there could be none, from the force of those unseen jaws, and my own cracked open in a yowl of pain as my claws and awareness slipped, and I fell-

The wind again, and a slapping, over and over, upon my body, – I was helpless, unmoored, crushed beneath the force of his will, his madness, his desire.

A jolting impact, those jaws so tight, I knew I was dying.

Nothing.

Nothing…

Nothing –

No – not nothing.

Pain. Pain everywhere – with each breath, each bloodpulse, slicing like fangs, like talons –

I tried to count breaths, to measure time – but my mind would not hold a count, and I knew I repeated myself. All I knew was the pain, and that I couldn’t move.

I turned my mind to trying to open my eyelids. I was sweating when I managed to open them to slits -and, after another forever, I could see a blur of faint color, the barest tracing of shape. I couldn’t direct them; it was as though they belonged to another.

A cry tore up from my depths, scraping madly at my throat as it emerged in a single, meaningless word…

Father!”

The word held shadings and scents that made no sense…and a terror that twisted at my belly, that crushed my mind in a sickmaking tightening. I tried to get up, to run, although I didn’t know where I was or where I might find safety…but the pain and the crushing force held me pinned to ground, senses fogged and leaving me helpless as a mewling kit.

Was this my nature, to be so?

I was looking at something, vague shapes swimming oddly across vision – one silvered and round; others indistinct sparks against the darkness…

Something in it spoke to me, and I tried to listen, and to learn.

Stabbing pains, fang-sharp, pierced my mind, so that I called out –

“Father!”

Father?

Will this girl find meaning in her own words, and this new reality? Will she survive Father’s attack? What prompted it, to begin with?

Well, I’m going to leave those questions dangling for a bit – and, I confess, I’ve got no idea what I’m going to offer next week. Maybe more of these three, or more Trip and T’Pol – or a snippet from the early explorations of my CampNaNo novellas to be, drawn from my Kifo Island Chronicles stories…

So, if you have a preference, don’t hesitate to speak up – I’m especially open to suggestion, this week!

See you next week – and, hey, while you’re here, here’s the link to more delightful WIPpet Snippets; assorted genres and styles to choose from! =D