Cat Hellisen's Blog, page 38
February 3, 2011
Ooh a reading list!
The book ferret linked to this book club women in science fiction thing so I'm all OH SHINY.
Slightly bummed to only find out now, because yeah, February and all that. But still.
Sadly, I have only read 2 books on the SF list (China Mountain Zhang and The Handmaid's Tale) although I keep *starting* Doomsday and Farthing….
Oddly, on the fantasy list, I have read None Of The Above. Weird.
OH LOOK AN EXCUSE TO BUY MORE BOOKS.
*ahem*
So, for feb, I'll need to get hold of
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and
*runs off*
January 30, 2011
today i went
out for beer.
This is my day in pictures.
First stop, Empire Cafe for a Darling Ale.
Muizenberg was looking pretty sweet, warm and not too windy.
Then we heard the shark warning, and as you can see, the flags were up. Notice how there's no one in the water…
Then we walked back home, and now I'm all fagged out.
ETA: I also went to the Empire bookshop and bought 2 new books and went out for fish and chips and more beer and bought 2 hats… 
I just didn't take pictures of that.
January 18, 2011
Microfiction Prompt 3 – Bring Me the Head of John the Chameleon.
Woops.
Pretend it's Monday, go on. I won't tell.
Remember, nothing over 500 words, post on Friday.
And go.
January 15, 2011
Week 2 – Low Red Moon
Woops, i forgot to post this one yesterday.
The red moon feels bigger than the world today so low in the the sky and bunny likes the feeling of lying in the long grass and waiting for it to fill her like a god. The angels came to her in the morning and told her all sorts of things about kings and cabbages and other things she can't remember but what she can remember is this that she's supposed to lie here now and wait.
The waiting is boring and bunny has never had patience that's why her mother calls her bunny because she has the brains of one her mother says but that's okay because the angels didn't go to mother at all and bunny smiles a secret smile and waits for the moon to fall.
January 13, 2011
I was never faithful and I was never one to trust
I just looked up from a day of rewriting a third past POV into first present and realised it was Thursday.
Whoa, how did that happen?
I have to write a new scene here, but my brain is feeling kind of numb, so I'll leave that for the morrow, when my head is fresh.
In the meantime I shall inflict an excerpt on the world. This is from Nulled & Void, and it's part of a scene where my three destroyed angels touch the metadivine in order to see if someone they know has become a god. It makes way more sense in context.
I think.
Trend hasn't moved yet. The day is still young, and most of the congregation is asleep. Passed out on inflatable mattresses, wrapped in sleeping bags. The sun is almost at peak. The thin sound of it through the small dusted windows a high whine.
Em and Gavs are sitting on the rubber couch, pink now in the dusty light.
"Hey," says a dissident. He touches the vial at his throat. Half-bows. "Wanna beer?"
I snort. What a stupid fucking question.
The dissident nods once and runs off to fetch me a drink.
What? says Em.
Gavs is half-asleep, curled against her. Their fingers are linked. He looks at me through half-lids, waiting.
Once, we could tell when a god was born. Thanks to our connection with the Amnio. Now of course, we keep the door closed. But if we could touch it for just one moment, I would know. I need to see something, I say. In the waters.
Em hisses. Gav sits up. The dissident presents me a beer.
Just a touch, I say after I have downed half the beer in one long swallow. A dabble.
They know better than to ask me why. And it will take only a moment. Em shifts up a little on the couch, releases Gav, and I take my place between them. The three of us meet, fingers curling together, and the skin is to skin, and I lean over and kiss Gavs, quick and hard, and as I pull away, I draw blood.
He was expecting it. Not a flinch. Em does the same to me, and then Gavs to her.
The few waking dissidents watch from the dusty shadows, silent. This is not something they have seen before and they can tell. They can tell. This act is bigger than it seems.
For a moment, blood to blood and spit to spit and skin to skin and we can feel everything. The Amnio is just there, waiting for us.
It calls.
We do not come to it.
We hesitate, just on the edge, and feel for the electric flicker of a new god.
There.
The shape of the god is familiar-new, potential and probability and perhaps. It's her. Certain. We have what we came for. Time to turn back.
Away.
And it is so hard to not just let go, take the leap back to our precious waters. But we have made a vow,
Em pulls back first, lets go my hand.
She is shaking. I want, she says. I want … and then she holds her self quiet and still and I can feel the want leaving her, like it is leaving me, leaving Gavs.
Did you see it? I ask.
Gavs nods, and Em sighs, Yes.
Good. The Asher-Bird ungod has been resurrected.
edit: I should probably add, yep, i know it's jerky and wtf, I'm still trying to work out what I'm doing with it.
January 10, 2011
January 7, 2011
Week 1 – Glass Hands
Glass Hands
There are prayers trapped between her palms. The men press her in, bow their heads, mumble responses, raise their voices on amen. They're not looking at her. She's still glad she washed her hands and scraped the blood out from under her fingernails.
Prayers are selfish. Please can I – give us this day – forgive me – bless my family. The men in the pews smell like old newspaper and sanctity. They instruct god to watch over strangers.
Her finger tips push against her lips and she tastes her words. Let the kitchen walls and tiles be clean, let this be a dream, let the children be smiling when I wake.
She keeps her eyes closed.
In the interests of something not science: here's what the first draft looked like. (I won't be doing this every time, just thought that some might find it interesting.)
She has always wondered if people could see the prayers trapped between her palms. In church, perhaps not. Everyone there wants to be seen as good. They bow their heads, they mumble the responses, they raise their voices on amen. They're not looking at her. She's glad she washed her hands, scraped under her fingernails.
Prayers are selfish. Please can I give us this day forgive me bless me family. And even when they are directed at strangers, they are selfish. Sarah thinks – we just want god to think we're good.
Because then maybe we will be. If somehow we can fool god, then maybe the things we have done wrong will be ephemeral. Sarah closes her eyes tightly, and prays that that no one will see the things she is holding.
January 3, 2011
Week 1 – Prompt
My muserific friend Sayitwhirly has set herself a microfiction challenge. But she's crazy, so it's all good.
Anyway, I'm kinda stealing the idea from her, because I am a thief of things.
I did something similar before and then slacked, but this time I shall attempt to be a wee bit more productive. They're really just exercises, and I'd love it if you played along. Feel free to leave links to your results.
So, every Monday I'm going to post a prompt, and by Friday I'll have the story up. My rule is this: no longer than 500 words.
Yep.
Week 1 Prompt: Glass Hands.
