S.A. Swann's Blog, page 18

Prologue – Part 2 – Eleven Years Ago

Mommy came in and picked Allison up, hushing her. Allison cried into Mommy's shoulder and things spun around to fast for her to understand.  Mommy carried her and before Allison knew what was happening, she was out in the cold night air in her pajamas, and Mommy was buckling her into her booster seat in the car.

"No. I don't want to—" but Mommy moved too fast for Allison to make her understand.  One moment she was buckling her in, the next Allison was alone in the back seat listening to Mommy throwing things in the trunk.

The inside of the car was packed with stuff too, boxes and suitcases.  The box next to Allison's seat was open and on top was the long white coat that Mommy sometimes wore home from work, Allison knew that because a badge with Mommy's face was clipped to the pocket in front, it had a green border and had a lot of words on it Allison couldn't read— though she knew that the big letters P, R, I, was where Mommy worked, and where Daddy worked too.  Daddy had a badge too, a red bordered one that clipped to his black uniform.

That made Allison start thinking.  She didn't understand what her parents were arguing about, but Daddy had said something about losing his job.

The trunk slammed shut behind her and Allsion heard Daddy's voice, "Don't do this, Carol."

What if it was something Allison had done?  Mommy had told her over and over that she was never to talk to anyone about where she lived or who she lived with, not even a policeman.  Allison was never to tell anyone who her Daddy was.  All Allison was ever supposed to give anyone was Mommy's name and phone number.

Mommy had said very gravely that both Mommy and Daddy could lose their jobs if Allison told. Had she said something wrong to someone?  Allison couldn't remember.  Did she say something in kindergarten?

"No, I didn't.  I didn't."

Mommy was by the driver's door, and Daddy had grabbed her arm.

"Let go of me," she said.

"I didn't plan things like this."

"Did they?"

"What?"

"'Did they?'  Did Stone and his cronies at Prometheus encourage you to shack up with me?"

Daddy let Mommy go, looking as if someone had just hit him.  "Is that what you think?"

"It's what they do, isn't it?  A standing bounty for names on their list?"

"Yes but that's—"

"Your name's on the list, John.  You didn't tell me."

"You'd never understand.  You've never liked that part of PRI.  If I told you. . .  Just like you're looking at me now, like

I'm some sort of botched experiment."

"I thought you only cared about company policy—"

"If we got married one of us would have to quit."

"—but what you cared about was the bounty."

"That's not it."

Mommy opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.  She started the engine, but Daddy grabbed the door before she pulled it shut.  "You know that's not it."

Mommy sounded very sad when she said, "I know.  My name's on the list too."

"No, you can't be.  I checked."

"I have more than one name, John.  I'm listed under one of my foster families."

Everything became silent except for the sound of the engine.  Daddy looked as scared as Allison felt, and that made her even more scared.

"You honestly didn't know, did you?"  Mommy said.  She pulled the door shut, leaving Daddy standing in the driveway staring at them as if he didn't see anything at all.  He didn't say anything, didn't move, as the car pulled away.  Allison tried to turn her head to see him as they left, but the booster seat kept her from looking out the back.

"Daddy," she sobbed.

"Shh," Mommy said from the driver's seat.  "It will be okay, honey."

"I'm sorry!"

"Allie?"

"I take it back.  I didn't mean to tell anyone."

"No, this isn't your fault."

"I don't want to leave."

"I know.  I don't want to leave either."

"Then why?"  Allison dragged out the last syllable until she was out of breath.

"I don't have a choice, because of who Daddy is, who I am, who you are.  I want you to be safe, and you can't be safe here."

"It's okay.  I won't tell anyone.  I'll stay in my room."

"Allison, it really isn't you.  Even if I turned back, once Daddy has a chance to think about what I told him, he'd send us away

himself."

"He wouldn't."

"He loves you, and he doesn't want you ending up like the other kids at Prometheus any more than I do."  Mommy tried to sound cheerful, but Allison could hear her heart breaking.  "Maybe when we're settled, we can figure out a way Daddy can come and join us.  He just can't right now."

"Why?"

"Someone has to cover our tracks."

Prolouge – Part 1 – Eleven Years Ago

"Mommy," Allison whispered. "I'm scared."

She must have been too quiet, because Mommy kept pulling clothes from Allison's bureau and throwing them into the suitcase on Allison's bed.  It was scary because Mommy had shaken her awake and pulled her out of bet way after Allison's bedtime.  It was scary because Mommy always told her to fold her clothes, and now Mommy was just shoving them into the suitcase.

It was scary because Mommy was scared.

Allison was a big girl, almost six.  She wasn't going to start crying like a baby.  That's what she told herself.  "Mommy," Allison said, louder.

Mommy kept shoving clothes into the suitcase, then, without much sense or order, she started shoving random toys and stuffed animals into it.

"Mommy!" Allison said, almost a shriek.

Mommy whipped around, her face panicked. "Allie?  Allie, honey—"

"You're scaring me."  Despite her best efforts, Allison started bawling.

Mommy reached down and scooped her up and hugged her.  "Oh, Allie, baby.  Shhh."  She patted Allison's back and said, "No, don't cry.  There's nothing to be scared of.  We're just going to have a little adventure."

"I don't want an adventure."

"It'll be fun.  A road trip, just you and me. I'll get you ice cream."

Allison thought that a drive to get ice-cream after dark might be a fun adventure, but something in Mommy's voice kept her from trusting it.  Something was wrong.

Just you and me? Allison thought.

"What about Daddy?"

"Daddy's not coming, sweetie."

"Why?  Can't Daddy come get ice-cream too?"

Mommy set her down.  "No, he can't."

"But—"

Allison was interrupted by Daddy's voice. "Carol?  What's going on?"

Mommy muttered under her breath, "Shit."

That scared Allison more than anything else.  That was a bad word, and Mommy never ever swore.

Mommy turned toward the door.  "Kitchen," she snapped.

"Carol?"

"I'll be out in a moment."  She stepped up and closed the door in his face.  Allison, wrapped herself into a ball at the foot of her bed and stopped even trying to be a big girl.  She didn't know what was happening, she only knew that she wanted it to stop.

Mommy crouched next to her and stroked her hair.  "I'm so sorry, Allie."

"I don't want to go anywhere."

She sighed.  "Honey, neither do I."  She leaned forward and kissed Allison on the forehead and whispered, "Now I want you to be a big girl and get dressed.  And if there's anything you really want to take, put it in the suitcase.  I have to go explain things to your father."

Mommy got up and left her there.  Allison didn't move, imagining if she just sat there, never stood up, then Mommy wouldn't be able to take her anywhere.  They'd have to stay then, everything would be normal, as long as she stayed at the foot of her bed and didn't move.

For several minutes she heard her parents talking, but couldn't understand what they said.  The whispers didn't last.  Eventually she heard Daddy say, "Let me explain."

It almost didn't sound like Daddy's voice.  Weak, sad, pleading, like Allison sounded when Mommy caught her doing something really bad.

"You've had over six years to explain."  Mommy's voice was hard, the same tone she used when she called her "Allison," rather than "Allie."

"It isn't what you think," Daddy said.

"You told me you had no connection to their research.  I find out otherwise.  Exactly what am I supposed to think?"

"What could I tell you—"

"You could have told me something!"  Allison winced as Mommy shouted, Mommy never shouted.  "You could have said something about this!  My God, you knew how I felt."

"You can't just leave."

"Why not?  Why not, John?"

"I love you." John said.

"Bullshit!"

Allison buried her face into her knees and whimpered.  "Mommy."

"Carol?"

"I said, 'bullshit,' John.  If you cared for me and Allie like you cared for your job, you would have told me."

Daddy said something quiet and weak that Allison couldn't hear.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I could have lost my job, Carol.  You couldn't expect me to—"

"Expect?  Expect!"

Allison heard something crash in the kitchen, and she clutched herself even harder.  She held her breath, as if she stopped breathing, if her heart stopped beating, then time itself might stop and she wouldn't hear any more.  She didn't know why Mommy was angry.  She just wanted it to end.

But even though Allison held her breath and willed time to stop, Mommy kept shouting.  "I gave up the idea of marriage so you could keep your position.  You expected me to defraud them.  I went six months without pay so you could keep Allie a secret.  I expect too much from you?"

"Please—"

"Mommy!"  Allison screamed, lungs gasping for breath.  "Stop it!  Stop it!  Stop it!"

More crashing from the kitchen, then Mommy's voice. "Allie honey, Mommy's coming."

Watch this space. . .

Well in a little less than two weeks I'll be attending DragonCon, my last convention for a while as I retool myself to paying a little more attention to the writing part of this whole writing thing.  My agent has two full novels to shop around, and I'm busy finishing my Namowrimo project from last November, a YA horror novel w/o vampires.

However, if you're missing seeing seeing me in print lately, hang on.  I will be trying an experiment on this here blog starting September 5th.

I'm Alive

Just don't have much time to be blogging. All my free writing time is going to the actual novel(s). I have some ideas about what I may be doing with this blog in the future, but for the time being I'm on a blogging hiatus.

I’m Alive

Just don’t have much time to be blogging. All my free writing time is going to the actual novel(s). I have some ideas about what I may be doing with this blog in the future, but for the time being I’m on a blogging hiatus.

Ohioana

I, along with a bunch of other Ohio authors, will be at the The Ohioana Book Festival this coming weekend down in Columbus. It's free and open to the public so if you're in the area on Saturday why not come around?

The Ohioana Book Festival

Saturday, May 7, 2011

10 am – 4:30pm

Fort Hayes Metropolitan Education Center

546 Jack Gibbs Blvd.

Columbus, OH 43215

Atlas Shrugged, the Movie.

Just saw the film and here are my impressions in no particular order:

Given the subject matter, I doubt there will be a single objective review of this film (pun sort of intended) since just about everyone will review the politics and not the movie.
I think they tried to squeeze too much of the book's plot into the screenplay, even with three films they still were pushing it, and I think several scenes will come across as unnecessarily cryptic to the uninitiated.
I think the casting was pretty much spot on.
I also think the shift to setting the events in the near future was inspired.  It aggressively draws the parallels between the books events and the current state of the country in a way that IMO will probably draw in those viewers who might be unfamiliar with the book's plot.
The movie's a polemic, which is fine because the book was a polemic.
Judging by the previews I saw with the film, the distributors aren't quite sure who the audience is. (Independent film about relationships, a Christian movie about fatherhood, an agonizing look at the immolation of Mel Gibson's movie career?)
Those who think Ayn Rand as a Medicare recipient is somehow a critique of her philosophy are engaging in the same sort of argument that those on the right use to critique so many people who argue for higher taxes– i.e. Michael Moore is free to cut an extra check to the U.S.Treasury any time he wants.

For all those authors who explode over on-line reviews.

You may think your work may have been unfairly treated by some reviewer, blogger, or some commenter on Amazon.  But no, really it hasn't.  Your work has never been truly insulted unless it has been insulted like this:

Gentlemen:

"Dod Grile" (Mr. Bierce) is a personal friend of mine, & I like him exceedingly — but he knows my opinion of the "Nuggets & Dust," & so I do not mind exposing it to you. It is the vilest book that exists in print — or very nearly so. If you keep a "reader," it is charity to believe he never really read that book, but framed his verdict upon hearsay.

Bierce has written some admirable things — fugitive pieces — but none of them are among the "Nuggets." There is humor in Dod Grile, but for every laugh that is in his book there are five blushes, ten shudders and a vomit. The laugh is too expensive.

Ys truly

Samuel L. Clemens

That two star review on Amazon sort of loses its sting now, doesn't it?

Speaking of authors doing things wrong. . .

Strangely enough, just as my ancient post on Mr. Patrick "fiction writer working at the very highest level today" Roscoe gained some renewed attention, another author decided to break the cardinal rule of writing in the age of the internet, that rule being: "Thou shalt not start a flame war over a review of thine book."

I will not fully engage my snark here because Jacqueline Howett does not seem to fit in the same category as professional authors undergoing a review meltdown (Anne Rice for example).   She seems slightly more entitled to a bit of sympathy for her misstep. Her repeated misstep. Missteps ending with the eloquent:

"Fuck Off."

More's the pity because the review in question actually suggests that she has promise as a writer, and just needs some fairly serious copy-editing. (Note to self-publishers:  Everyone needs copy-editing.  Get yourself some before you start uploading files. This is one of the responsibilities you assume by bypassing traditional publishing.) Now, because of her public tantrum, she's now known for being the author who had a hissy fit over her own bad sentence construction. (She'll be lucky if the following sentence does not become an internet meme: "Don and Katy watched hypnotically Gino place more coffees out at another table with supreme balance.")

So it doesn't matter if you're professionally published, self-published, or uploading things to fanfiction.net.  All public internet whining gets you is a fist full of abuse from folks who love this sort of thing, and a reputation as one of "those" authors. I mean, editors do Google you, and it doesn't help you if this or this is one of the top results.

Unexpected attention. . .

A year ago I blogged about Mr. Patrick Roscoe an asshat of epic proportions whose claim to fame is sending the following to a literary agent:

Colleen Lindsay:

Thank you for making it clear, through your response to my query, that you are unquipped (sic) to represent fiction writers who are working at the very highest level today.

Best of luck with your list of minor writers, third-rate writers, irrelevant writers, non-writers.

You lose, silly woman.

Patrick Roscoe

I pointed, I laughed, I moved on with my life. Imagine my surprise when today, in my spam filter, I find a comment from someone coming to defend Mr. Roscoe's honor from such ill deserved mocking engage in an attempt at their own mockery at the expense of myself. Turns out, someone put my Roscoe post up on Reddit and it started a tiny little flame war with Mr. Roscoe's champion. I'm sort of flattered.