Thanks to my friends and family for the kind words of support. They have not fallen on deaf ears. I did not win at NaNo - but I am going to keep writing on this book. Even working 14 hour days and part or all of 3 weekends in November, I managed 10,000 words. Not only did I not have time to write, but I didn't have time to post what I have written here.
My story is gripping me and I am dreaming it which is always a good sign, so I am going to continue working on it. I will start posting again - maybe two or three times a week in 500 to 1000 word segments to make it easily readable in the BLOG format.
As I told Clarice - I WILL finish this book, and the revision of the first one, and the completion of the unborn first one (yes, Heather, The Gentry Witch will see her day!). I will continue to write - because it brings me joy, because the stories keep bubbling out of me, because of the love and support of my family and friends.
Thank you.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Plugging Along
I am still plugging along. This week hasn't been great, but it hasn't been awful either. I've been given Thanksgiving week off so If I can hit 30,000 or so by then I will be alright. Hope to get some writing in this weekend. Anyway here is the next section - I am trying to post in a logical fashion.
“Today’s the big day isn’t it Donnor”?
Donnor barely glanced up as he passed Mater Jones in the hallway.
“Do well now,” she called after him. “We’re counting on you.”
He raised his hand in half hearted acknowledgement and continued on to his class. He didn’t especially like being the ‘poster-child’ for the deten center’s success, but to deprive them of that brag would mean tossing off his own education, so he just lowered his head and let them take credit for all his hard work. He only had 3 more months in this place and then he’d be free again.
Two years had gone by pretty quickly. There had been nothing to do but study really. He had about as much in common with the petty thieves, thugs and troglodytes he was forced to live with, as a gay man has with a breast feeding mother. To top that off, brain tennas were completely disabled in deten, and nobody but his mother ever visited.
If it wasn’t for the center library he would have degenerated to the level of his cell-mates long ago.
The deten center was nice as far as these things go. He had a fairly private room with a half-wall dividing his sleeping area from his bunk partner. Reclining on the bed gave you a modicum of privacy – if you ignored the 24 hour vid feed that reported your every move to security robots, which then analyzed the behaviors and reported anything suspicious to the Maters.
Unfortunately for the teenaged boys incarcerated here, masturbation was included on the list of ‘suspicious’ activities. More than one boy had been drug before the tribunal to suffer the indignant examination of the Maters and be warned about ‘deviant’ behavior.
Other than the over-zealous guards however, the center, for all intents and purposes would appear as a wealthy university campus. Fine brick buildings, ivy covered walls, cavernous dining hall and spacious grounds, filled with flowers, shrubbery and trees.
Donnor was allowed to walk the pathways through the lawns and gardens as much as he wished, but should he attempt to step over the bright blue barrier line it would trigger the chip they had implanted in his brain and he would be instantly paralyzed. It was like your body turned to
stone. First you would freeze, then you would topple.
When he first came to this place he flirted with temptation almost daily, but after being ‘stoned’ 15 or 20 times the novelty wore off. There was never any change – he would freeze, fall, lie there staring at the ground close up until the orderlies came and carried him back to his room, then lie frozen on his bed until the next auto-sweep when the computer mainframe would re-set his chip which would cause his bowels and bladder to release. In the end run the mess was more bother than it was worth.
So, he had ended up spending most of his sentence in the library accessing information in the most archaic way possible – with actual computer terminals.
Today’s test was his rite of passage. The beastly hard competencies, the endless re-iterating of sociological ramifications and the complex understanding of the degrees of separation required by the 12 hour exam had broken more than one student. If he got a high enough score his future would be set, and he would have the pick of a host of interesting careers. If his score was unimpressive he would be relegated to the trades. Its not that Donnor had anything specifically against plumbing – he had a real talent for mechanical things, and was pretty sure that he would enjoy the actual labor, it’s just that guys in the trades rarely rated a candy girl and he had zero interest in going about his life without a girl on his arm.
He pushed open the door of the invigilation chamber and squared his shoulders against the onslaught of scholarly fustiness. The panel of examiners sat on a raised dais in the far end of the room. Soaring windows, heavily draped offered the promise of light, if not the actuality. The composite floor was patterned in a mosaic effect which made you dizzy if you stared at it too long. At first glance it was simply a wash of color – blue, red – but then you could begin to pick out shapes – a picture hidden in the swirling colors. Supposedly it was a copy of a famous piece of 200 year old art. The cavernous space between the door and the dais echoed with his footsteps as he approached the enquiry box.
“Today’s the big day isn’t it Donnor”?
Donnor barely glanced up as he passed Mater Jones in the hallway.
“Do well now,” she called after him. “We’re counting on you.”
He raised his hand in half hearted acknowledgement and continued on to his class. He didn’t especially like being the ‘poster-child’ for the deten center’s success, but to deprive them of that brag would mean tossing off his own education, so he just lowered his head and let them take credit for all his hard work. He only had 3 more months in this place and then he’d be free again.
Two years had gone by pretty quickly. There had been nothing to do but study really. He had about as much in common with the petty thieves, thugs and troglodytes he was forced to live with, as a gay man has with a breast feeding mother. To top that off, brain tennas were completely disabled in deten, and nobody but his mother ever visited.
If it wasn’t for the center library he would have degenerated to the level of his cell-mates long ago.
The deten center was nice as far as these things go. He had a fairly private room with a half-wall dividing his sleeping area from his bunk partner. Reclining on the bed gave you a modicum of privacy – if you ignored the 24 hour vid feed that reported your every move to security robots, which then analyzed the behaviors and reported anything suspicious to the Maters.
Unfortunately for the teenaged boys incarcerated here, masturbation was included on the list of ‘suspicious’ activities. More than one boy had been drug before the tribunal to suffer the indignant examination of the Maters and be warned about ‘deviant’ behavior.
Other than the over-zealous guards however, the center, for all intents and purposes would appear as a wealthy university campus. Fine brick buildings, ivy covered walls, cavernous dining hall and spacious grounds, filled with flowers, shrubbery and trees.
Donnor was allowed to walk the pathways through the lawns and gardens as much as he wished, but should he attempt to step over the bright blue barrier line it would trigger the chip they had implanted in his brain and he would be instantly paralyzed. It was like your body turned to
stone. First you would freeze, then you would topple.
When he first came to this place he flirted with temptation almost daily, but after being ‘stoned’ 15 or 20 times the novelty wore off. There was never any change – he would freeze, fall, lie there staring at the ground close up until the orderlies came and carried him back to his room, then lie frozen on his bed until the next auto-sweep when the computer mainframe would re-set his chip which would cause his bowels and bladder to release. In the end run the mess was more bother than it was worth.
So, he had ended up spending most of his sentence in the library accessing information in the most archaic way possible – with actual computer terminals.
Today’s test was his rite of passage. The beastly hard competencies, the endless re-iterating of sociological ramifications and the complex understanding of the degrees of separation required by the 12 hour exam had broken more than one student. If he got a high enough score his future would be set, and he would have the pick of a host of interesting careers. If his score was unimpressive he would be relegated to the trades. Its not that Donnor had anything specifically against plumbing – he had a real talent for mechanical things, and was pretty sure that he would enjoy the actual labor, it’s just that guys in the trades rarely rated a candy girl and he had zero interest in going about his life without a girl on his arm.
He pushed open the door of the invigilation chamber and squared his shoulders against the onslaught of scholarly fustiness. The panel of examiners sat on a raised dais in the far end of the room. Soaring windows, heavily draped offered the promise of light, if not the actuality. The composite floor was patterned in a mosaic effect which made you dizzy if you stared at it too long. At first glance it was simply a wash of color – blue, red – but then you could begin to pick out shapes – a picture hidden in the swirling colors. Supposedly it was a copy of a famous piece of 200 year old art. The cavernous space between the door and the dais echoed with his footsteps as he approached the enquiry box.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Tuesday 10th - Day 10 Hopelessly Behind
I am struggling. Working 12 and 14 hour days so I have been too exhausted to write effectively. Not giving up though. I can still make it if I write 2000 words a day which is what my average was last year. Work has calmed down this week so I will keep slogging on. Anyway, here is the next installment.
Donnor was jolted awake by the opening of the supply hatch on his cart. The hum of electricity and the swaying motion of the cart had conspired to lull him to sleep. As the hatch opened the compartment was flooded with electra-sun and he had a brief glimpse of the plant filled corridor of the secret lab before a fairly large piece of furniture was rolled into the cart by the robot arm.
It seemed to be some kind of bed – maybe for a very small child or an animal. Were they conducting some kind of hideous experiments on animals here? Donnor thought that kind of cruelty had been stopped, but the mattress held a bundle securely wrapped and obviously incapacitated.
Whatever it was, there was no real time to react - it was coming in and Donnor was trapped between the back wall of the cart and the encroaching furniture. He had to stand, and suck in his stomach to allow room for the bed, which caused him to lean over its occupant.
“Don’t worry,” he heard a voice say, “He’ll be fine in the conveyor, and protected from exposure to any possible infection. He’ll be safely at the outtake hatch in 10 minutes. We’ve never lost one!”
The supply hatch whooshed closed, shutting out the bright light and Donnor felt the cart begin to move. Filled with morbid curiosity, he dialed up his pocket sun and reached to flick back the blanket covering the bundle in the center of the bed.
It was hideous. Small, pale, nothing more than a fuzz of hair over its eggshell head. Hands that were so curled and wrinkled they appeared ancient. Were they conducting some kind of shrinking experiments on the old? He had heard rumors that they were trying to find ways to reduce body mass to allow for longer space flight but this was crazy. This poor person was obviously completely incapacitated. Small yes, but incapable of managing even the lightest work load.
Staring at the wizened, sleeping face Donnor wondered what wisdom had been lost. He reached out a finger to stroke the poor thing’s cheek.
“Were you a promising Roboticist? A Fusion expert? No probably not. They wouldn’t run an experiment this dangerous with anybody important. I bet you were the janitor.”
The touch of his finger triggered movement as the hapless victim of science opened its eyes and turned its head questing for the tip of Donnor’s finger with an obviously hungry mouth.
“Oh you poor thing. They shrink you, destroy your life, and don’t even have the decency to feed you?”
Donnor’s body was wedged securely upright and he could not work his arms to the pocket of his pants – otherwise he would have pulled out the remains of his energy bar from lunch to share with the… person? in the bed before him.
Having nowhere to go, and forced into the uncomfortable stoop over the bed there was nothing to do but study the strange little occupant. It seemed to have no control over its arms and legs, waving them randomly in the air. It had lost all bowel control as well, judging by the tiny hygiene control pants it was wearing.
Donnor felt a powerful urge to pick it up and give comfort. Whatever had happened to this poor being, they didn’t deserve it. How awful it must feel to be so small and helpless.
He reached out, and gathered the bundle of blankets and warm humanity into his arms. And he knew, just like that, this wasn’t a victim of some crazy experiment, this was a baby.
Donnor had never seen a baby, and the pictures they had shown in 2nd grade biology were a hazy memory. He knew that women had them, but they were not part of society until the baby was 2 years old and looked like a miniature person. Babies were not part of his world.
He could feel the tiny fluttering heartbeat, sense the laboring of the lungs. It was so fragile. How did humans ever survive this tenuous beginning? He felt a sense of protectiveness towards the tiny being in his arms – a sense of purpose.
“I’ll keep you safe baby,” he cooed. “No-one is going to hurt you.”
He was so wrapped up in the wonder of the moment that he didn’t sense the cart coming to a halt. The doors whooshed open and the bed began to trundle out. Donnor looked up to see a woman frantically searching the empty bed, her face a mask of terror.
“No, no, no,” she moaned “Where is my baby? Where – is – my – baby!”
Donnor stumbled out of the supply cart, still clutching the baby to his chest.
“Its here,” he mumbled. Then, clearing his throat and speaking louder, “He’s here, he’s safe.”
The woman looked up at him, a series of emotions flickering across her face, confusion, relief, fear, anger.
“You give me my baby!”
Numbly, Donnor held the bundle out to her feeling an unreasoning sense of loss as it was taken from him. He was so dazed that he didn’t even think to run, or try to evade hospital security. He could still feel the slight pressure of the baby’s weight. His nose was filled with the powdery soft odor of his skin. His fingers ached for the velvety feel of the newborn skin.
Donnor went meekly and silently with the hospital Goon, too profoundly caught up in his new internal landscape to give any thought to the punishment that was coming.
Donnor was jolted awake by the opening of the supply hatch on his cart. The hum of electricity and the swaying motion of the cart had conspired to lull him to sleep. As the hatch opened the compartment was flooded with electra-sun and he had a brief glimpse of the plant filled corridor of the secret lab before a fairly large piece of furniture was rolled into the cart by the robot arm.
It seemed to be some kind of bed – maybe for a very small child or an animal. Were they conducting some kind of hideous experiments on animals here? Donnor thought that kind of cruelty had been stopped, but the mattress held a bundle securely wrapped and obviously incapacitated.
Whatever it was, there was no real time to react - it was coming in and Donnor was trapped between the back wall of the cart and the encroaching furniture. He had to stand, and suck in his stomach to allow room for the bed, which caused him to lean over its occupant.
“Don’t worry,” he heard a voice say, “He’ll be fine in the conveyor, and protected from exposure to any possible infection. He’ll be safely at the outtake hatch in 10 minutes. We’ve never lost one!”
The supply hatch whooshed closed, shutting out the bright light and Donnor felt the cart begin to move. Filled with morbid curiosity, he dialed up his pocket sun and reached to flick back the blanket covering the bundle in the center of the bed.
It was hideous. Small, pale, nothing more than a fuzz of hair over its eggshell head. Hands that were so curled and wrinkled they appeared ancient. Were they conducting some kind of shrinking experiments on the old? He had heard rumors that they were trying to find ways to reduce body mass to allow for longer space flight but this was crazy. This poor person was obviously completely incapacitated. Small yes, but incapable of managing even the lightest work load.
Staring at the wizened, sleeping face Donnor wondered what wisdom had been lost. He reached out a finger to stroke the poor thing’s cheek.
“Were you a promising Roboticist? A Fusion expert? No probably not. They wouldn’t run an experiment this dangerous with anybody important. I bet you were the janitor.”
The touch of his finger triggered movement as the hapless victim of science opened its eyes and turned its head questing for the tip of Donnor’s finger with an obviously hungry mouth.
“Oh you poor thing. They shrink you, destroy your life, and don’t even have the decency to feed you?”
Donnor’s body was wedged securely upright and he could not work his arms to the pocket of his pants – otherwise he would have pulled out the remains of his energy bar from lunch to share with the… person? in the bed before him.
Having nowhere to go, and forced into the uncomfortable stoop over the bed there was nothing to do but study the strange little occupant. It seemed to have no control over its arms and legs, waving them randomly in the air. It had lost all bowel control as well, judging by the tiny hygiene control pants it was wearing.
Donnor felt a powerful urge to pick it up and give comfort. Whatever had happened to this poor being, they didn’t deserve it. How awful it must feel to be so small and helpless.
He reached out, and gathered the bundle of blankets and warm humanity into his arms. And he knew, just like that, this wasn’t a victim of some crazy experiment, this was a baby.
Donnor had never seen a baby, and the pictures they had shown in 2nd grade biology were a hazy memory. He knew that women had them, but they were not part of society until the baby was 2 years old and looked like a miniature person. Babies were not part of his world.
He could feel the tiny fluttering heartbeat, sense the laboring of the lungs. It was so fragile. How did humans ever survive this tenuous beginning? He felt a sense of protectiveness towards the tiny being in his arms – a sense of purpose.
“I’ll keep you safe baby,” he cooed. “No-one is going to hurt you.”
He was so wrapped up in the wonder of the moment that he didn’t sense the cart coming to a halt. The doors whooshed open and the bed began to trundle out. Donnor looked up to see a woman frantically searching the empty bed, her face a mask of terror.
“No, no, no,” she moaned “Where is my baby? Where – is – my – baby!”
Donnor stumbled out of the supply cart, still clutching the baby to his chest.
“Its here,” he mumbled. Then, clearing his throat and speaking louder, “He’s here, he’s safe.”
The woman looked up at him, a series of emotions flickering across her face, confusion, relief, fear, anger.
“You give me my baby!”
Numbly, Donnor held the bundle out to her feeling an unreasoning sense of loss as it was taken from him. He was so dazed that he didn’t even think to run, or try to evade hospital security. He could still feel the slight pressure of the baby’s weight. His nose was filled with the powdery soft odor of his skin. His fingers ached for the velvety feel of the newborn skin.
Donnor went meekly and silently with the hospital Goon, too profoundly caught up in his new internal landscape to give any thought to the punishment that was coming.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
NaNo Post Wednesday 4 - Day 4
Rising up from the warm tile floor, Donnor went in search of a service hatchway. Not more than 40 steps from his observation post he found the first one, and lucky for him, it was for the exact supplies carts that were going into the mystery door. He waited for a cart to come out of the hatch and dove through the opening before it could close behind. He landed roughly on the metal mesh cart track, scraping a gash into his elbow and taking a mild shock from the electrified grid before he could get to his crepe-soled feet to protect himself.
Gripping his bleeding elbow, Donnor looked around at the world of automated service machines he had entered. Everything was precise, sterile and hermetically sealed. Metal gleamed, rubber shone softly, and robot arms reached and placed, filled and filed all with a quiet whooshing sound like a heartbeat. Hospital infection rates were controlled partly by this quiet and clean efficiency behind the scenes. He felt momentarily guilty for the drops of blood that were falling to the mesh floor, but quickly banished the thought – he had never been sick a day in his life so there was very little chance he was carrying an infection, and besides a few drops of blood were nothing compared to his planned vandalism.
Moving cautiously along the grid, Donnor worked his way past the first rank of robot arms and deeper into the system. He needed to get far enough back to reach the un-activated carts. That way his tinkering wouldn’t set off any alarm bells.
The further back he moved the dimmer the light became, as fewer machines had active sensor lights. Gradually, his vision was reduced to the faint glimmer of the track below his feet, and the infrared glow of his embedded watch. He turned his wrist so that the pale light added what strength it could to his path.
Feeling his way carefully with his toes, Donnor inched along the path until he came to the cart storage facility at the end of the line. Here was rank after rank of supply carts, returned from the sterilization wash, sitting in standby mode, waiting to be summoned from electronic slumber.
Donnor pulled his pencil box from his pocket. The box was his own invention, built in applied robotics. Any casual scan simply revealed a very old-fashioned container for holding pencils and other archaic writing implements. He had told his teacher it was for storing some antiques inherited from his Grandmother. In fact, each of the 6 ‘pencils’ stored inside were highly advanced multi-tools. He had ‘found’ most of the technology in the University Robotics lab while on a field trip there when he was 13.
It had taken him two years of fiddling to discover what he had and how to use it. In the end run, by combining what he had found at the University with the basic student kit in his robotics course he had been able to direct his robots to build a red and blue laser, a fuser, a pocket sun, a holo-jector, and a flexi-chip interface; all cleverly disguised as harmless mementos that would evade security scans.
Power for the tools came from a perpetual fusion battery disguised in the base of the box.
Donnor pulled pocket sun from its cradle in the box, automatically activating its power. He projected his sun just above his head, and dialed up the light just enough to be able to see the electric panel on the front upper corner of the first cart. He slid the sun pencil into the chest pocket of his shirt (a fashion faux pas that he took a lot of grief for at school – pockets in shirts are entirely L.C.) and picked up the red laser. With quick deft strokes he removed the faceplate of the cart in front of him.
As he had expected, the electronic workings of the cart were all grouped to the front in a narrow space between the outer paneling and the break-wall that sealed off the supply hatch. This way, if a loaded cart needed repair or service, the technician never came in contact with the supply chamber.
Rising from his crouch, Donnor went around the cart to check out the supply hatch. It was his bad luck to have chosen a medicine dispenser cart first. This cart’s supplies space was entirely taken up by a complex system of conveyor belts which could feed the correct medications to patients one by one. No room for a teen-aged boy in this cart.
Donnor used his blue laser to seal the damage to the cart and moved down the line. This time he checked the supply chambers on the carts first. Food carts with larger versions of the medicine dispenser system; dirty laundry carts which would douse the contents with boiling steam as soon as the hatch door closed; clean laundry carts which had too many narrow shelves to allow space for a teen-aged boy; cart after cart proved useless and Donnor was beginning to think he would have to abandon the plan when he came to a row of carts that were slightly longer than the others.
The space in this cart was more than ample to allow for Donnor’s presence and judging by the size, his weight would not trip any sensors. All he would need to do now is program the sensor to tell the robots the cart was already full, and ride it into the room behind the forbidden doors.
A few minutes of work had the front panel open, and the interface tool effectively inserted. Donnor studied the holographic image his tool projected in the air above the panel. He found the appropriate switch, triggered it into the ‘full’ position and then used his fuser to seal it that way. For a few days this cart would both exit and return to the cleaning and storage facility labeled ‘full’ – until auto maintenance caught the problem and alerted a technician.
Sealing the control panel closed once again, Donnor maneuvered the cart out of the storage row and onto the electrified path. It began to move forward immediately and he jogged to catch up and climb into the supply hatch, pulling the door closed behind him. In the enclosed space of the cart his pocket sun was blazingly bright and he quickly dialed it down to a dimmer setting.
All he had to do now was wait for the automatic system to deliver him behind the door.
Gripping his bleeding elbow, Donnor looked around at the world of automated service machines he had entered. Everything was precise, sterile and hermetically sealed. Metal gleamed, rubber shone softly, and robot arms reached and placed, filled and filed all with a quiet whooshing sound like a heartbeat. Hospital infection rates were controlled partly by this quiet and clean efficiency behind the scenes. He felt momentarily guilty for the drops of blood that were falling to the mesh floor, but quickly banished the thought – he had never been sick a day in his life so there was very little chance he was carrying an infection, and besides a few drops of blood were nothing compared to his planned vandalism.
Moving cautiously along the grid, Donnor worked his way past the first rank of robot arms and deeper into the system. He needed to get far enough back to reach the un-activated carts. That way his tinkering wouldn’t set off any alarm bells.
The further back he moved the dimmer the light became, as fewer machines had active sensor lights. Gradually, his vision was reduced to the faint glimmer of the track below his feet, and the infrared glow of his embedded watch. He turned his wrist so that the pale light added what strength it could to his path.
Feeling his way carefully with his toes, Donnor inched along the path until he came to the cart storage facility at the end of the line. Here was rank after rank of supply carts, returned from the sterilization wash, sitting in standby mode, waiting to be summoned from electronic slumber.
Donnor pulled his pencil box from his pocket. The box was his own invention, built in applied robotics. Any casual scan simply revealed a very old-fashioned container for holding pencils and other archaic writing implements. He had told his teacher it was for storing some antiques inherited from his Grandmother. In fact, each of the 6 ‘pencils’ stored inside were highly advanced multi-tools. He had ‘found’ most of the technology in the University Robotics lab while on a field trip there when he was 13.
It had taken him two years of fiddling to discover what he had and how to use it. In the end run, by combining what he had found at the University with the basic student kit in his robotics course he had been able to direct his robots to build a red and blue laser, a fuser, a pocket sun, a holo-jector, and a flexi-chip interface; all cleverly disguised as harmless mementos that would evade security scans.
Power for the tools came from a perpetual fusion battery disguised in the base of the box.
Donnor pulled pocket sun from its cradle in the box, automatically activating its power. He projected his sun just above his head, and dialed up the light just enough to be able to see the electric panel on the front upper corner of the first cart. He slid the sun pencil into the chest pocket of his shirt (a fashion faux pas that he took a lot of grief for at school – pockets in shirts are entirely L.C.) and picked up the red laser. With quick deft strokes he removed the faceplate of the cart in front of him.
As he had expected, the electronic workings of the cart were all grouped to the front in a narrow space between the outer paneling and the break-wall that sealed off the supply hatch. This way, if a loaded cart needed repair or service, the technician never came in contact with the supply chamber.
Rising from his crouch, Donnor went around the cart to check out the supply hatch. It was his bad luck to have chosen a medicine dispenser cart first. This cart’s supplies space was entirely taken up by a complex system of conveyor belts which could feed the correct medications to patients one by one. No room for a teen-aged boy in this cart.
Donnor used his blue laser to seal the damage to the cart and moved down the line. This time he checked the supply chambers on the carts first. Food carts with larger versions of the medicine dispenser system; dirty laundry carts which would douse the contents with boiling steam as soon as the hatch door closed; clean laundry carts which had too many narrow shelves to allow space for a teen-aged boy; cart after cart proved useless and Donnor was beginning to think he would have to abandon the plan when he came to a row of carts that were slightly longer than the others.
The space in this cart was more than ample to allow for Donnor’s presence and judging by the size, his weight would not trip any sensors. All he would need to do now is program the sensor to tell the robots the cart was already full, and ride it into the room behind the forbidden doors.
A few minutes of work had the front panel open, and the interface tool effectively inserted. Donnor studied the holographic image his tool projected in the air above the panel. He found the appropriate switch, triggered it into the ‘full’ position and then used his fuser to seal it that way. For a few days this cart would both exit and return to the cleaning and storage facility labeled ‘full’ – until auto maintenance caught the problem and alerted a technician.
Sealing the control panel closed once again, Donnor maneuvered the cart out of the storage row and onto the electrified path. It began to move forward immediately and he jogged to catch up and climb into the supply hatch, pulling the door closed behind him. In the enclosed space of the cart his pocket sun was blazingly bright and he quickly dialed it down to a dimmer setting.
All he had to do now was wait for the automatic system to deliver him behind the door.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Day 2 and 3 - Reality Bites!
Finding time to write is going to be a real challenge while I am working 14 hour days! But, hey! There is always the weekends! And who needs sleep anyway? One note - I am trying to get up at 6 am and write for a couple of hours - anyone who knows me knows that 6am is not my best time of the day. A nice mug of English Breakfast Tea, sweet and white, (thanks for that particular obsession Derek!) seems to help! Anyway here is the update for Monday and Tuesday:
Rising up from the warm tile floor, Donnor went in search of a service hatchway. Not more than 40 steps from his observation post he found the first one, and lucky for him, it was for the exact supplies carts that were going into the mystery door. He waited for a cart to come out of the hatch and dove through the opening before it could close behind. He landed roughly on the metal mesh cart track, scraping a gash into his elbow and taking a mild shock from the electrified grid before he could get to his crepe-soled feet to protect himself.
Gripping his bleeding elbow, Donnor looked around at the world of automated service machines he had entered. Everything was precise, sterile and hermetically sealed. Metal gleamed, rubber shone softly, and robot arms reached and placed, filled and filed all with a quiet whooshing sound like a heartbeat. Hospital infection rates were controlled partly by this quiet and clean efficiency behind the scenes. He felt momentarily guilty for the drops of blood that were falling to the mesh floor, but quickly banished the thought – he had never been sick a day in his life. If anyone’s blood was clean, his was.
Moving cautiously along the grid, Donnor worked his way past the first rank of robot arms and deeper into the system. He needed to get far enough back to reach the un-activated carts. That way his tinkering wouldn’t set off any alarm bells.
The further back he moved the dimmer the light became, as fewer machines had active sensor lights. Gradually, his vision was reduced to the faint glimmer of the track below his feet, and the infrared glow of his embedded watch. He turned his wrist so that the pale light added what strength it could to his path.
Feeling his way carefully with his toes, Donnor inched along the path until he came to the cart storage facility at the end of the line. Here was rank after rank of supply carts, returned from the sterilization wash, sitting in standby mode, waiting to be summoned from electronic slumber.
Monday, November 02, 2009
NaNoWriMo Day 1
Donnor was bored. The hospital staff wouldn’t let him dance, or play interactive vids or ping his friends, or even pull his feeds and sort the news from the trivia. In fact, his brain-tenna was automatically tuned out when he entered the facility and would not resume broadcast until he left the building. No wonder so many people died in this place – boredom is a killer!
Leaving his Mother at his Grandmother’s bedside, Donnor wandered the halls looking for anything to take his attention off the mind-numbing quiet. No music. No background commentary, not even any ad-vids to break the monotony - just corridor after corridor of artificially homey décor, steroid enhanced plants and soothing colors.
It was completely rankerous, Donnor thought, that the hospital employees were allowed to keep their brain-tennas tuned in – even if only to Government approved channels. He slouched down the halls kicking out at random planters, carts and dispensing stations, wishing he was anywhere rather than here.
Turning a corner Donnor came up against a door clearly marked ‘White Coats, Pink & Whites and Mothers only beyond this point’.
Finally! Here was something to get his mind off the lack of brain-tainment. Donnor had never been able to resist the temptation of the forbidden. From the time he was a little kid he was drawn to the things he was denied by his Mother or the Watchers. Tell him he was not to climb trees and he went into full monkey mode. Mention that the school was off limits after dark and it became his night-time haunt.
“One of these days,” was his Mother’s constant litany, “you are going to get into trouble you can’t get out of.”
Shaking off the ghost of her warning, Donnor considered the security pad on the door in front of him. It was a flex-plastic palm reader that read not only the lines of the palm, but the contours of the hand. Not easy to fool. Of course, in the vids you would just mob some unsuspecting Doctor, knock her out (or chop off her hand if you were violently inclined) and use her hand to gain access.
There was no real way to just sneak through when someone else opened the door – the entrance censor would sound the intruder alert. He moved back to a position across the hall and slid to the floor next to a giant violet. The 2 meter high blooms gave him great cover, and if anyone did notice him, with his spiky black hair and slumped posture, he would just look like another bored teenager.
The longer Donnor stared at the door the more intrigued he became. Unlike other similar passage doors in the hospital, this door had no plexi-panes to allow you to see the hallway beyond.
Whenever a Doctor approached, they checked the hallway behind to ensure they weren’t watched before pressing their hand into the flexi reader. The doors slid open for the briefest of moments, revealing a flash of electra-sun washed space before sliding firmly closed again.
For the supplies carts the doors did not slide back at all. As the self propelled carts arrived, a port appeared in the left hand door only fractionally bigger than the cart itself. The cart whisked through, and the port closed seamlessly into the door once again. The fit was so perfect that not even a glint of sun-light bled through.
Donnor sat and studied the door for a long time. By now his Mother would have finished her visit with his Grandmother and would probably have headed to the Vac without him. He had been riding the Vacuum cars on his own since he was 8, and she was used to him disappearing. As long as he made it home before general curfew was sounded she never worried too much.
As afternoon turned to evening an idea gradually began to dawn – it would involve some vandalism and destruction of hospital property, and it might mean a spell in deten if he got caught, but the intrigue was too much to bear. Donnor had to see what was on the other side of those doors – he would take his chancequences.
Leaving his Mother at his Grandmother’s bedside, Donnor wandered the halls looking for anything to take his attention off the mind-numbing quiet. No music. No background commentary, not even any ad-vids to break the monotony - just corridor after corridor of artificially homey décor, steroid enhanced plants and soothing colors.
It was completely rankerous, Donnor thought, that the hospital employees were allowed to keep their brain-tennas tuned in – even if only to Government approved channels. He slouched down the halls kicking out at random planters, carts and dispensing stations, wishing he was anywhere rather than here.
Turning a corner Donnor came up against a door clearly marked ‘White Coats, Pink & Whites and Mothers only beyond this point’.
Finally! Here was something to get his mind off the lack of brain-tainment. Donnor had never been able to resist the temptation of the forbidden. From the time he was a little kid he was drawn to the things he was denied by his Mother or the Watchers. Tell him he was not to climb trees and he went into full monkey mode. Mention that the school was off limits after dark and it became his night-time haunt.
“One of these days,” was his Mother’s constant litany, “you are going to get into trouble you can’t get out of.”
Shaking off the ghost of her warning, Donnor considered the security pad on the door in front of him. It was a flex-plastic palm reader that read not only the lines of the palm, but the contours of the hand. Not easy to fool. Of course, in the vids you would just mob some unsuspecting Doctor, knock her out (or chop off her hand if you were violently inclined) and use her hand to gain access.
There was no real way to just sneak through when someone else opened the door – the entrance censor would sound the intruder alert. He moved back to a position across the hall and slid to the floor next to a giant violet. The 2 meter high blooms gave him great cover, and if anyone did notice him, with his spiky black hair and slumped posture, he would just look like another bored teenager.
The longer Donnor stared at the door the more intrigued he became. Unlike other similar passage doors in the hospital, this door had no plexi-panes to allow you to see the hallway beyond.
Whenever a Doctor approached, they checked the hallway behind to ensure they weren’t watched before pressing their hand into the flexi reader. The doors slid open for the briefest of moments, revealing a flash of electra-sun washed space before sliding firmly closed again.
For the supplies carts the doors did not slide back at all. As the self propelled carts arrived, a port appeared in the left hand door only fractionally bigger than the cart itself. The cart whisked through, and the port closed seamlessly into the door once again. The fit was so perfect that not even a glint of sun-light bled through.
Donnor sat and studied the door for a long time. By now his Mother would have finished her visit with his Grandmother and would probably have headed to the Vac without him. He had been riding the Vacuum cars on his own since he was 8, and she was used to him disappearing. As long as he made it home before general curfew was sounded she never worried too much.
As afternoon turned to evening an idea gradually began to dawn – it would involve some vandalism and destruction of hospital property, and it might mean a spell in deten if he got caught, but the intrigue was too much to bear. Donnor had to see what was on the other side of those doors – he would take his chancequences.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
NaNo Officially Begins
This year's novel:
Wish me luck!
Unwilling Donor
Donnor was bored. The hospital staff wouldn’t let him dance, or play interactive vids or ping his friends, or even pull his feeds and sort the news from the trivia. In fact, his brain-tenna was automatically tuned out when he entered the facility and would not resume broadcast until he left the building. No wonder so many people died in this place – boredom is a killer!Total of 500 words today - that is a poor start, but I will be up at 6 am in the morning to write.
Leaving his Mother at his Grandmother’s bedside Donnor wandered the halls looking for anything to take his mind off the mind-numbing quiet. No music. No background commentary, not even any ad-vids to break the monotony - just corridor after corridor of artificially homey décor, steroid enhanced plants and soothing colors.
It was completely rankerous, Donnor thought, that the hospital employees were allowed to keep their brain-tennas tuned in – even if only to Government approved channels. He slouched down the halls kicking out at random planters, carts and dispensing stations, wishing he was anywhere rather than here.
Wish me luck!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Things That Stop Me From Writing
Work
Stress
Work
14 Hour Days
Excuses
Work
But NANO is coming - I must get control of this!!
This year's novel - an alternate reality vision of the future - with Pirates!
Stress
Work
14 Hour Days
Excuses
Work
But NANO is coming - I must get control of this!!
This year's novel - an alternate reality vision of the future - with Pirates!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
How to Get Back to Writing
I have written over 300,000 words since April and I haven't written a thing.
Colon Cleansing
Dermatological TV
Puppy Training
Escort Services in London
Automating Your Home
More Colon Cleansing
Snake Oil of Many Types
Domestic Violence
Prostitution
Sigh - all those words wasted on things, excepting the occasional bright spot, that have no meaning.
I think free-lance writing is not so good for a novelist!
Colon Cleansing
Dermatological TV
Puppy Training
Escort Services in London
Automating Your Home
More Colon Cleansing
Snake Oil of Many Types
Domestic Violence
Prostitution
Sigh - all those words wasted on things, excepting the occasional bright spot, that have no meaning.
I think free-lance writing is not so good for a novelist!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Bad Dreams of Unfair Justice
I dreamed bad dreams all night.
Of standing before a disapproving judge.
Of getting the evil eye from an unforgiving former friend.
Of trying to bear up under the unrelenting hatred of a hostile DA.
I despair and dream of slitting my wrists and collecting the blood to mail to these people with a note that simply says "Are you happy now?".
Of standing before a disapproving judge.
Of getting the evil eye from an unforgiving former friend.
Of trying to bear up under the unrelenting hatred of a hostile DA.
I despair and dream of slitting my wrists and collecting the blood to mail to these people with a note that simply says "Are you happy now?".
Thursday, September 10, 2009
When o When can I Write?
I am so good at overbooking myself. I currently have bubbling on my writing stove:
Words for a Christmas Cantata (or an Easter Oratorio)
Words for 12 hours of Opera
Words for 2 Lullabys
1st novel revision/finishing
2nd novel plotting and brainstorming
So - I have LOTS to write and almost no time to work on it.
Instead I write about lawyers and colon cleansers and puppies. Yes, this writing pays the bills (just barely), but still... I want to write fun stuff!
Maybe the fact that I am starting a new job tomorrow will help.
Part time work, but at a really good rate of pay.
Should mean I have to do less freelance writing so hopefully I can swap that time out for fiction and musical writing.
Wish me luck!
Words for a Christmas Cantata (or an Easter Oratorio)
Words for 12 hours of Opera
Words for 2 Lullabys
1st novel revision/finishing
2nd novel plotting and brainstorming
So - I have LOTS to write and almost no time to work on it.
Instead I write about lawyers and colon cleansers and puppies. Yes, this writing pays the bills (just barely), but still... I want to write fun stuff!
Maybe the fact that I am starting a new job tomorrow will help.
Part time work, but at a really good rate of pay.
Should mean I have to do less freelance writing so hopefully I can swap that time out for fiction and musical writing.
Wish me luck!
Friday, September 04, 2009
Life in a Corpocracy
The book that is stirring around in the back of my mind for this year's NaNo is based in the future. When Corporations have taken over all of the 1st and 2nd world governments. You know, the stuff of science fiction...
Until my son points out this...
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20090323_america_is_in_need_of_a_moral_bailout/
Ah brave new world...
Until my son points out this...
http://www.truthdig.com/
Ah brave new world...
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Between Parachutes - What I Learned
I don't like writing about my personal travails. An author must play God and put her characters through challenges, set backs and travail - this is what makes books exciting. Unfortunately, when it comes to my own life, I seem to prefer waiting until after the challenges are done so that I know 'how it ends'. I am a storyteller - I tell dozens of stories about my own life - repeatedly. My friends tease that they like listening to my stories to 'find out what happened this time'.
So - as an update - I am still between parachutes, but there are good things on the horizon. My husband starts his Master's degree in a week and we have settled into an apartment in Denver. I am looking forward to beginning work again on my novel. And I have begun to anticipate NaNo 2009.
I'll probably start popping up here again more often now, trying to tell the stories that are my life.
So - as an update - I am still between parachutes, but there are good things on the horizon. My husband starts his Master's degree in a week and we have settled into an apartment in Denver. I am looking forward to beginning work again on my novel. And I have begun to anticipate NaNo 2009.
I'll probably start popping up here again more often now, trying to tell the stories that are my life.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Between Parachutes 1
You could not have told me in advance that I would find any city home. I am a country girl. I like open spaces and trees, and rivers and sky. All the things that are generally in short supply in a city. A normal city. But Edinburgh is not a normal city!
Edinburgh is a city of green spaces, parks, the 14 mile walk along the River of Leith, gardens and hills (7 of them to be exact - all still undeveloped). Edinburgh is a city whose very architecture leads the eye upwards to the sky. Edinburgh is very 'walk-able' which means that I spent more time outside - walking to and from work, the grocery store, the cinema than I had in all our years in California where it is necessary to drive everywhere!
In Edinburgh this country girl became citified. I regularly went to the art galleries, the museums, the concert halls. I went to music festivals, film festivals, book festivals! And still spent more time outside than any time since my childhood.
I learned a lot in Edinburgh. I gained by Bachelor's degree in music, I found my voice as a writer, I deepened my love for my husband, I gained a more worldly perspective in politics, I discovered a passion for film, I d
iscovered a talent for arts development work. I was still learning. That is why the call to vacate the country was so devastating. I did not feel ready to end that learning process.
I feel the loss of Edinburgh as a deep cut. I am terribly homesick for the chimney pots, the closes, the daffodils. It is spring there now, the snowdrops have come and gone, the carpets of crocuses in purple, yellow and white are giving way to the daffodils - hundreds of thousands of delicate yellow blooms draping Castle Hill, coating the Meadows, filling your heart with sunshine.
For now, my heart sits in shadow.
Edinburgh is a city of green spaces, parks, the 14 mile walk along the River of Leith, gardens and hills (7 of them to be exact - all still undeveloped). Edinburgh is a city whose very architecture leads the eye upwards to the sky. Edinburgh is very 'walk-able' which means that I spent more time outside - walking to and from work, the grocery store, the cinema than I had in all our years in California where it is necessary to drive everywhere!
In Edinburgh this country girl became citified. I regularly went to the art galleries, the museums, the concert halls. I went to music festivals, film festivals, book festivals! And still spent more time outside than any time since my childhood.
I learned a lot in Edinburgh. I gained by Bachelor's degree in music, I found my voice as a writer, I deepened my love for my husband, I gained a more worldly perspective in politics, I discovered a passion for film, I d
iscovered a talent for arts development work. I was still learning. That is why the call to vacate the country was so devastating. I did not feel ready to end that learning process.I feel the loss of Edinburgh as a deep cut. I am terribly homesick for the chimney pots, the closes, the daffodils. It is spring there now, the snowdrops have come and gone, the carpets of crocuses in purple, yellow and white are giving way to the daffodils - hundreds of thousands of delicate yellow blooms draping Castle Hill, coating the Meadows, filling your heart with sunshine.
For now, my heart sits in shadow.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
The Writer Attempts to Articulate her Thoughts
Well. Here I am again. Staring at a blank page. Trying to think of something witty or bright to say. I am a victim of my own ideas. Too many. Too complicated. Too unformed. But then the impulse will take me and my fingers will seem to fly over the keyboard and before I know it I am writing - really writing - and I am lost in my imagination.
I am hoping that the musings I place on this page will be a catalyst for those times that I submerge myself in the flow of ideas. A place to limber up before each day's writing, to loosen the imagination muscles and get the creative juices flowing.
To start with, I will be journalling my current personal life in a series of articles I am calling Between Parachutes. I was happily ensconced as an ex-patriot in Edinburgh Scotland until my VISA extension was denied and I was given 14 days to vacate the country. Now I am homeless, unemployed and living with relatives while I sort myself out. So - tune in here for the saga, the musings, and the general chatterings of my overloaded brain!
I am hoping that the musings I place on this page will be a catalyst for those times that I submerge myself in the flow of ideas. A place to limber up before each day's writing, to loosen the imagination muscles and get the creative juices flowing.
To start with, I will be journalling my current personal life in a series of articles I am calling Between Parachutes. I was happily ensconced as an ex-patriot in Edinburgh Scotland until my VISA extension was denied and I was given 14 days to vacate the country. Now I am homeless, unemployed and living with relatives while I sort myself out. So - tune in here for the saga, the musings, and the general chatterings of my overloaded brain!
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