David R. Michael's Blog, page 43
November 15, 2010
Baptism (Part 2 of 3)
by David Michael
Read Part 1 of "Baptism" here.
Spring Solstice (continued)Myra screamed– No, she wanted to scream, but nothing came out. She didn't–couldn't–open her mouth as she felt Antonio's life pulled into her. She couldn't even whimper as her lovely, young husband mummified in front her eyes. The desiccation started in the fingers of his left hand and his toes and moved toward his heart and head. She saw his sculpted limbs deflate, his washboard abs and square-cut pecs shrivel and finally his lips pull away from his teeth and his eyes dry into wrinkled prunes. She heard his last breath come out as a wheeze, felt it touch her face. It smelled of damp dust.
When she released his right hand, it didn't fall. What had once been Antonio was now a kneeling sculpture of ripped leather stretched over bones.
What was left of her managed to scream. But she couldn't stop herself from reaching to touch–to grab–the next kneeling person, an elderly Latina dressed in the blue-gray uniform of a resort maid. Or the pudgy white man in the too-small Speedo trunks behind the woman. Or the little Asian girl.
She couldn't stop herself. When the people–finally–began to pull away from her, to run for their lives, she had no choice but to follow them.
The people were still saying her name, but now it was a scream. "Myra! Myra!"
She would reach, grab, and–she didn't know what she did then. She felt as if she inhaled their lives. She felt the water coming out of them, flowing into herself. Her body didn't change. She remained the shape of Myra Acevedo. With each person she–absorbed–drank–killed–though, she became less and less Myra Acevedo.
Myra Acevedo drowned for the second time in one day. After a while, she didn't even scream. It was too late. Even for screaming.
Winter Solstice
Myra spread her hands in front of her. They were still the hands of a beautiful trophy wife who had never had to work a real job once she blossomed in college. Long, slender fingers with a spa-perfect manicure. The only thing that had changed since she died was that the nail polish–aqua, to match her new suit–had been etched away by the hot, dry winds.
She didn't know how long ago she had died. It could have been years. It could have been yesterday. It might have been last week.
How long did it take to destroy the world? How long did it take one young woman to drain the oceans?
Not long enough for her still naked breasts to sag, it seemed, but long enough for the last remnant of her bikini to be gone.
"Holy Mother," said the voice of a girl behind her.
Only the girls would speak to her, or the youngest of the boys. Perhaps it was her nakedness.
A part of Myra still objected to the children calling her Holy Mother. It was blasphemy. Or heresy. Or worse. She had become a demon. A monster. She had done monstrous things. But another part of her accepted the appellation. Myra Acevedo had never been a mother, not really, but some part of her had.
"Holy Mother," the girl, Sumalee, said again. "Why have you brought us here?"
Sumalee didn't speak English or Spanish, but Myra understood her. She understood all the children, and as long as she was nearby, they understood one another.
Myra didn't turn around. She didn't open her mouth to speak. She didn't know what she would say. She spread her arms, palms backward toward the children, indicating that they should stay back.
"There is no food here, Holy Mother."
Myra didn't respond. She stood there, on the broken edge of what had once been the Golden Gate Bridge, arms spread, palms down now, face forward and up, eyes closed against the brightness of the sun.
She didn't say anything. There was nothing for her to say. There was no food anywhere. She had been very thorough.
Summer Solstice
She didn't kill everyone. She didn't need to.
Where she walked, dry death followed. Where she stepped, plants died. Where she breathed, people and animals choked on dust and killed one another fighting over scraps of food and drops of water that evaporated before touching their tongues.
Some people tried to run away from her. She didn't give chase. She merely walked, one foot after the other. Where people waited for her, usually on their knees, hands clasped in front of them, praying their ignored prayers, she touched them and took them and left their husks disintegrating in her wake.
She walked with her arms spread, palms forward, as if she expected someone to hug her. As if she were looking to embrace everyone and everything. Some men and women accepted her embrace, throwing themselves at her, weeping or crying for mercy for themselves or their families. Always she put her arms around them and held them to her as they fell apart and fell away. Orphaned children–children she had orphaned–cried and held out their little arms to her to hold them, and she did. At first.
After that first day at the resort, the day she died, Myra never again walked along the sea coast or the bank of a river or the shore of a lake or pond. The waters of the world, including the man-made resevoirs, were picked up by the hot, hungry winds and brought to her. She took the waters in and they were lost in the depths of her. The oceans of Earth disappeared into the beautiful, walking corpse of Myra Acevedo.
A swirling vortex formed around her. The winds of the earth pushed against her, tried to take back the moisture she stole from them. The winds failed to budge her even as they tore apart the forests and jungles of Central and South America and ravaged the flesh of the living and scoured the bones of the dead.
The points of knifes and swords, the bullets of Glocks and Brownings and AK's and AR's, all of them tried to stop her. Tank shells and LAW rockets and artillery bursts and bunkerbusters rained on her in their attempts to free the rains locked within her. Like the winds, the weapons failed. The greatest, deadliest weapons ever built didn't even slow her. She walked among the corpses the weapons left behind and burned and blackened flesh crumbled and was picked up by the winds.
To her, she only walked. She put one foot ahead of the other. But where each foot would set down she had no idea. At the beginning of her odyssey she had walked through Central and South America, and then North Ameria. She had walked in Brazil and Argentina and Mexico and Canada and the United States of America. Then, for no reason that she knew, she shifted, from one step to the next, thousands of miles. She had walked in China and Thailand and India and Australia and Indonesia and Saudi Arabia and Myanmar and the Congo and Italy and more. She might take a step in Chicago, and her next step would be in Rome, and then in Chihuahua followed by Buenos Aires and Shanghai. She could be in a field of withering soybeans, then step into a rice paddy that dried and cracked even before her foot pressed against the rich soil.
Myra had no names for all the lands she walked, all the cities she saw surrounded by rings of shiny, abandoned cars clogging highways, all the villages and towns that burned and left nothing behind. The part of her that was not Myra, though, had no use for the names of the places. None at all. She just walked, always walking.
Her next step brought her to the peak of a dune. She let her arms drop to her side and her shadow slid under her feet to hide from the sun directly over her head. She faced east and looked across the rounded dunes. The dunes ended less than a mile from where she stood, sloping into dark canyons.
The dunes, which had once been a beach, gleamed with bits of seashells and the dried skeletons of fish and was littered with broken metal and glass and plastic. In the canyons beyond the dunes, which had once been the Atlantic Ocean, she saw boats lying on their sides. As she watched, she saw a man step from one of the boats. He had a bright white hat on his head and carried a bundle bound in tarpaulin.
She took a step, and she was behind the man, close enough to touch. He spun as she put a hand on his shoulder, but she didn't let go. His suddenly weak arms dropped his bundle and it burst, spilling canned goods and bottles of water across the naked rocks.
The cans and bottles around their feet collapsed in on themselves with loud pops and protests, some of them flopping about like the fish that had died weeks–months?–years?–before. The thin, stiff corpse of the man broke along his waistline and fell away from her as she let go.
"Daddy!" The voice of a little boy, coming from inside the boat.
Myra turned to look at the boat. A little boy looked out of a dusty window. The boy saw her see him, and disappeared into the darkness of the boat. She found him in the bow locker.
The little boy cowered and squeezed his eyes shut so he couldn't see her.
She wanted to tell him that she didn't hate him. That she didn't know why she had to do this, this thing she had to do. But when she opened her mouth, all she could say was, "It is too late." Then she put her hand on his head, as if to comfort him.
Winter Solstice
The winds swirled around Myra on the bridge, but they had lost their fury, their passion. The winds had been reduced to rejected suitors who could not bear to be near her and yet always sought her out. Only their need remained.
It is too late.
Those were the only words she had been able to speak for as long as she could remember. So she had stopped saying anything.
If this was the end, she had no one left to talk to.
Except the children.
Behind her she heard the children whispering. Whispering to one another, whispering about her. Whispering about their empty bellies and dry throats and chapped lips.
She had never said a word to the children. They had talked to her.
TO BE CONTINUED
Part 3 of "Baptism" will be Posted on
Monday, 22 November 2010.
Read the rest of the story on your ereader right now!
"Baptism" Edition
Price
Kindle edition (Amazon)
$0.99
Ebook (Smashwords)
$0.99
Writing Progress Report
Writing progress report for the week starting Monday, November 8, 2010.
Writing Project
Words
Monday
Nano
1999
Tuesday
Nano
2025
Wednesday
Nano
1993
Thursday
Nano Novel Character Stuff
Friday
Nano Novel Character Stuff
Saturday
Nano Novel Outline
Sunday
Nano Novel Outline
Total
6017
Marketing/Submission
Monday
Posted "Baptism" Part 1 to the blog.
Announced "Baptism" on FB, KB, and MR. And Amazon's Horror discussions.
Tuesday
Updated the description/summary for "Nostalgia" on Amazon, SW and KB, and (finally) posted it on MR.
Updated the description/summary for TSF on Amazon.
Wednesday
Puzzled out how to add a "Books" page to FB.
Thursday
Created an account on PubIt.
Uploaded TSF to PubIt.
Friday
Saturday
Sunday
Posted TSF excerpt to B&R forum.
Reading List
The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman.
November 13, 2010
THE SUMMONING FIRE Gets 4 Stars at The Book Bee!
The Book Bee gives The Summoning Fire 4 stars!
…David Michael has created a world where the creatures of Hell have exploded upwards and are now mingling with people on Earth….
…This book is not for the faint hearted and I would recommend it to readers who enjoy a good horror book.
Read the whole review here…
-David
November 12, 2010
Nano Day 12
Today's Words: 0
Month to Date: 20041
It's official: I'm starting over on this novel.
I'm not scrapping everything I've written, though. Hell, no.
Today I continued what I started yesterday, which is going back over my characters and giving them all a lot more detail. When I launched into Nano, my character's (which my RPG session creation habit keeps wanting me to call "PC's") were little more than thumbnail sketches. Names with a couple ideas attached.
I realized this week, as I finished the beginning of my novel, that I was uncertain how to proceed (even with my sketchy outline) because I didn't really know who the characters were. I had put them into situations, including the novel's "inciting incident", but I wasn't as sure of their reactions as I should be. Because it's hard to know how a thumbnail should react.
So me and my character's are spending some quality time together.
After that, which might be tomorrow, or might be Sunday, I'm going to see about getting the story itself better defined. I have an outline, yes, but like the character's, it's a bit sketchy. I'm going to expand the outline and see if I can't come up with some useful chapter breaks.
Finally, though somewhat concurrent with all of the above, I'm moving this novel project into StoryBox, by fellow indie software developer and writer Mark Fassett. Mark's been adding features to StoryBox that sound both interesting and useful. I've avoided most specialized writing software up to now because how that software expected me to work and how I worked were seldom compatible. StoryBox, though, might be exactly what I was looking for. And, if not, I know Mark, and can badger him about making it more so.
-David
November 11, 2010
THE SUMMONING FIRE Gets 5 Stars at Murphy's Library!
Murphy's Library gives The Summoning Fire 5 stars!
…From the moment the summoning happens until the end, I would say it's a read to be read during the day, way before the night. And even then you could have some nightmares. The story is so well written that you feel the need to look behind you while reading the tensest moments, and I got my fill of shivers…
…Overall, yes, I'd totally recommend this book. But let me warn you, it is the type of horror that scares you, not the type of horror that makes you laugh. Don't expect a trash horror novel, but [a] very well written scary book.
Read the whole review here…
-David
Nano Day 11
Today's Words: 0
Month to Date: 20041
"0″ isn't entirely accurate. I've written about 1500 words so far today. And they are related to the Nano novel. They just aren't, you know, words.
Today I realized that I needed to get to know my characters better. I could've just kept writing as I have been, but … I haven't been entirely happy with some of it. The depth isn't there. I'm not really seeing the story through the eyes of my characters. So I've spent my writing time today trying to squeeze my way into their heads and behind their eyes.
I've also been thinking-via-typing (in The Journal, of course) about how I want the comedy parts of the story to work. I will confess that I'm somewhat intimidated by trying to be deliberately funny. That's another reason I'm trying to get to know my characters better: I need to see them more completely, so I can emphasize their funny/odd/quirky features, personalities, and behaviors. So I can make their dialogue less straight, more odd/offbeat/distinctive.
While not-writing today, I had the odd idea of writing the novel to completion, then going back and giving it the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment. That is, go through the story and make fun of it. Add in the sarcastic and self-referential lines that might seem to be missing and could be ad libbed by hecklers in the audience. If it didn't seem so much like doing double work, I'd take the idea more seriously.
-David
November 10, 2010
Nano Day 10
Today's Words: 1993
Month to Date: 20041
Possibly the fastest 20K words I've ever written.
A friend of mine suggests I should be able to write even faster. That I'm sloughing. Since, as he puts it, it's not like I have to upend my life so much to participate in Nano.
In response, I say: Yeah. Well.
I did use Nano (and the end of DSL) as a good time to rejigger my daily schedule. Now I get up at 8-ish in the morning. Instead of, well, variably later than 8. I get more done when I get up about 8. So it's a good thing. The hard part is getting to bed early enough that getting up at 8 is even feasible. I've been self-employed, working from home, since 1999. It's hard to not stay up as late as I can. For no other reason than: I can. Wouldn't you?
Still, getting up earlier I get more done than getting up later. Not entirely sure why.
My standard Nano Day this month:
Get up (yawn)
Breakfast (yum)
Workout (sigh)
Shower (warm)
Write (type-type-type)
Lunch (leftovers or frozen?)
Write some more (if I haven't hit 2K words yet)
Marketing (of various sorts)
Time Wasting (forums, personal email)
Dinner (reminds me: need meat)
Family Time (Netflix! DVR!)
Customer Support (makes TV more watchable)
Next month I'll have to slot in some development time for The Journal. New Years will be looming by then.
-David
November 9, 2010
Nano Day 9
Today's Words: 2025
Month to Date: 18048
As predicted, I (finally) started writing in Part 2.
Part 2 should, according to my outline and preplanning, span about 2/3′s of the book. I've put Events in Motion. For the next 40K-50K words, those Events should bump into each other and spin off New Events in Motion, and so on.
Writing 2000 words/day, the word counts stack up pretty fast. In the past 9 days I've written as much as some entire months back in the summer. I'm curious if I'll keep up this pace after Nano has ended and I've finished the first draft of this book. Since I'll have to devote some time to The Journal soon, I may have to ease up a bit. Or maybe not.
-David
Writing Progress Report
Writing progress report for the week starting Monday, November 1, 2010.
Writing Project
Words
Monday
Nano Novel
2015
Tuesday
Nano Novel
Edited Door to the Sky chapters 1 & 2.
2017
Wednesday
Nano Novel
Edited "Celebrating Christmas on the Moon".
2001
Thursday
Nano Novel
2022
Friday
Nano Novel
1997
Saturday
Nano Novel
2047
Sunday
Nano Novel
1925
Total
14024
Marketing/Submission
Monday
Updated the Serene Morning promo threads on KB and MR.
Updated the TSF promo thread on MR.
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Edited Door to the Sky chapters 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.
Friday
Posted a FREE PDF version of "Nostalgia" to Guns & Magic Bookstore.
Posted a FREE PDF version of Nasty, Brutish & Short Short to Guns & Magic Bookstore.
Saturday
Edited Door to the Sky chapters 10-20. And bonus stories.
Sunday
Reading List
The Terror by Dan Simmons.
November 8, 2010
Nano Day 8
Today's Words: 1999
Month to Date: 16023
I feel like I've said this a few times now: I'm almost finished with Part 1.
Today I wrote the rest of the Big Scene that ends Part 1, plus the requisite "backstory followup" for the Big Scene. So I expect that tomorrow I'll be writing the first scene or two of Part 2. Unless I do that the day after.
Switching gears from humor (or at least light hearted) to horror has been easier than the reverse. Once I get into Grim Mode, I have to make an effort to get out of it. I think a notable portion of my later editing of this novel is going to be going through and "lightening up" many scenes. I'll be looking for something funny (or at least light hearted) that I can be adding to a scene or emphasizing within the scene.
I do like my jumble of writing styles in Part 1. I don't know that I'll continue that in Part 2, though, because Part 2 doesn't need as much backstory woven in.
-David
