Michael S. Atkinson's Blog, page 14

NaNoWriMo, Day Eight

I am behind in the count. I only wrote 900-some words today. I did watch three episodes of Superman: the Animated Series, so that’s something.  Also, Sally the Sanguine has now made it to the Second Circle of Character Hell. So far she’s met Achilles. Yes, that Achilles. Heel Guy. Once referenced in “The Tick”. Sulks. The Whiner of the Illiad. You know.

After this, I plan to introduce a romance-novel villain. (It’s the Second Circle, who else do you think will be in there?). He’ll probably have four or five middle names and a British accent, and might possibly be a vampire. I haven’t decided yet. Needless to say, Sally will not fall for his charms. She’s either going for Bulkington from Moby Dick or Jason Waterfalls. Ah, l’amour.

NaNoWriMo, Day Seven

Word count: 11,287.

I have now set up six separate plotlines, maybe seven. I ended up splitting everyone away from Jason Waterfalls, so he’s now alone. I am hoping to keep things from being as complicated as the Wheel of Time series was, with fourteen books and plotlines spanning whole continents, and multitudes of similarly-named characters. I may not succeed at this. In the meantime, here is a random passage from chapter three.

Burton advanced tentatively. His paws sank in snow. The sky shone cloudless and pale blue overhead. It took him a moment to make sense of his chaotic surroundings. Then, when the blur of sound and sight finally resolved into crisp images, he rather wished they hadn’t.

The snowy field stretched out to the horizon, dotted by scraggly clumps of trees with bare branches, and low stone walls that ran alongside narrow paths. Smashing through the walls, grinding over the trees, came battalions of armor. Tanks, mechanized trucks, troop carriers, rocket launchers: whole squadrons wheeled and plunged over the field. Burton saw black and gold markings on the vehicles, but he didn’t recognize the insignia. He did recognize the technology, though. He had seen just those sorts of armored vehicles during the recent invasion into the Island, when an army of mechanized badgers had come through a rift in time. Burton hoped it wasn’t more badgers this time, or at least that they would be the friendlier sort of badgers like Major Miska had been.

Then one of the tanks skidded to a halt in the snow, spraying white clouds. The top hatch opened, and a golden-whiskered head popped out to survey the landscape. Burton blanched. It was worse than badgers. It was cats.

Burton, I should mention, is a human-sized rat. You can understand why a mechanized army of cats would be concerning.

NaNoWriMo, Day Six

I am slightly behind; my word count is 9,562, which is about 400-some words short of where I need to be. Tomorrow is Saturday, though, so I should be able to catch up. One hopes, anyway.  As of now, I split off another character from the main group, mainly because I got tired of having my characters do a sort of roll-call conversation every paragraph or so. As a result, Major Miska of the Badger Democratic Republic (picture Soviet Union, but with badgers), is now on a starship. Because kelpies.  (It makes sense in context).

Meanwhile…  here’s a fun fact. One of my two main characters is named Jason Waterfalls. I got this from a CNN article I read once on the subject of mondegreens.  The word “mondegreen” was created by Sylvia Wright in 1954. As a child, her mother used to read her a sad 17th century Scottish ballad, which she heard as follows:

“Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,

Oh, where hae ye been?

They hae slain the Earl o’ Moray,

And Lady Mondegreen.”

She thought this was very tragic, the poor bonny Earl dying with his love and all. When she grew up, however, she learned what the actual last line was.

“They hae slain the Earl o’ Moray,

And laid him on the green.”

Thus, mondegreens were born. For example, when I watched The Princess Diaries as a younger person, I could’ve sworn that in the beach party scene, Lana and her cohorts were singing the words “Scooby cubie, you’re a roomy guy.”  I discovered later that what Lana was actually singing was “Stupid Cupid, you’re a real mean guy.” Which makes more sense. Anyway, there’s a certain song out there, in which the chorus is “Don’t go chasing waterfalls.”  Apparently, some people have heard it as saying, “Don’t go, Jason Waterfalls.”  And so my character was born. Now you know! :)

NaNoWriMo, Day Five

Today’s writing seemed more difficult than previous days. I don’t know whether it’s because my inspiration is giving out, or the plot is bogging down, or the stress of my day job, or what. Regardless, I still managed to get the word count in, but I went to some odd places. For example, today’s writing began with this passage.

“At last, finally, she [Darlene Dove] managed to get to sleep. This lasted exactly one hour. Then she flew awake. Jason was staring into the tunnel, eyes wide. He had heard it too. It was a definite, distinct sound that wasn’t at all the badger’s breathing. A high, shrill, wailing cry rose out of the dark. “Bagpipes,” Jason whispered. “Bagpipes in the deep. They are coming.”

Naturally, they wind up chasing after the bagpipes, in wild pursuit in the dark. Darlene, incidentally, is the Sugar Plum Fairy, with magical powers I haven’t quite defined yet. At the moment, she can conjure up things. Like, for instance, really fast and powerful race-cars. Think The Bridge of Khazad-Dum chapter in The Fellowship of the Ring, meets Cars. Vroom vroom.

Then Darlene makes a wrong turn, and finds herself reenacting the part of the sperm whale in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Namely, she is, at the moment, plummeting towards the surface of a planet, and her magic powers have inexplicably failed to work. This could be a problem.

NaNoWriMo, Days Three and Four

Jason Waterfalls, my other main viewpoint character besides Sally the Sanguine, has led several of his companions into a secret tunnel. (Cue my Avatar: The Last Airbender fans: SECRET TUNNEL! THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN! SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET TUNNEELLLLLLL!”).  I found myself lacking for words. This resulted in a paragraph or two where, after having eaten, the characters debate what to do about the bathroom situation. Also, one of the characters is an incarnation of the Sugar Plum Fairy named Darlene Dove, who magically provides pizza for everyone. This resulted in the following exchange.

“What strange meal is this?” Jason Waterfalls demanded.

“Seriously, you guys don’t have pizza?” Darlene asked. “Didn’t someone bring it in from a modern story or whatever?”

“Perhaps in the back-alleys of Mondegreen city,” Jason said stuffily. “In Charmingfell, our meals are prepared by kitchen-elves, who all work very hard-”

“Kitchen elves?” Darlene said suspiciously. She had read some literature about the poor treatment of magical creatures in the service industry.

“And they are all paid appropriate wages, and receive several weeks of vacation per year, plus holidays!” Jason said, anticipating her objections. “They’re even organized in a proper guild!”

“Oh. Well. In that case…” Darlene paused. “Well, fine, then. So, anyway, this is pizza. It’s, like, super delish.”

Take that, J.K.

Meet-Cute in the Time of Empire

Carter Leckwith heard the explosion a mile away. He had been standing guard over the daily food ration line in District 7-B. Some people occasionally tried to sneak back in, with duplicate ration cards. Carter’s mates usually shot without warning. Carter, being sensible, preferred not to waste ammunition on ration-line cheaters. It was easier just to confiscate their card. They’d come back next day hungrier and wiser, and the system rumbled on.

“Did you hear that?” Carter asked Becky, standing next to him. It was Becky’s task to dispense the ration once Carter had marked off the card. “Sounded big.”

Becky shrugged. “If it’s important, Command will let us know.”

Carter looked in the direction of the explosion. A towering black cloud mushroomed lazily up towards the sky. “Looks bad.”

“Yep.”

“Wonder if we should check in?”

“They’ll let us know,” Becky repeated. She smacked a protein bar into the outstretched palm of a waiting civilian. They mumbled a word of thanks and staggered off.

“You’re probably right,” Carter said nervously.

His communicator remained obstinately silent. Carter checked off another card, and the civilian filed on past for the protein bar from Becky. The process was orderly as ever. Carter could do his job practically without thinking. He often used the time to think about other things.

“Say, Becky…” he ventured, after a long moment. The cloud, in the distance, kept billowing on upwards. It flickered with different colors now, from inky black to flecks of angry red. “Do you have any plans for Empress Margaret Day?”

“Parade, of course,” Becky said laconically. “Afterwards, I don’t know. Why?”

Carter paused, to scrutinize a ration card. It looked a little too shiny, he thought. But there, in the corner, was the proper ID mark. The duplicate-makers always forgot that. He waved the card-holder on, and then turned to Becky. She was reaching out with the next protein bar. “Well, they’ve just opened the new canteen. Near the outskirts. I hear this one has a cache of real alcohol, from the old days. I thought maybe… we could….see it.”

He could’ve kicked himself. The question had sounded better in his head, but the explosion and the ominous cloud had distracted him.

“Sure,” said Becky, plopping a protein bar into yet another hand. “Sounds fun. After Parade, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Carter said. He was so encouraged he almost forgot to check the card for the ID mark. Then he noticed it wasn’t there. Exuberant, Carter abandoned his usual restraint and pulled out his rifle. It was turning out to be a good day after all.

This story was inspired by Rowan’s suggestion of setting a romcom in a police state, as part of yeah write’s focus on dystopia fiction this month. It takes place in the Megverse, in a tangential way. The explosion in the background resulted from the events of the last story. What effect that will have on Carter and Becky’s date following E.M.D., I don’t know. Yet.

NaNoWriMo, Day Two

My first viewpoint character, Sally the Sanguine, has set off on a new adventure, armed with cutlass and musket. (She was a sorceress in the last book, but lost her magic wand due to certain circumstances, and Sally for the moment is not a person who can do magic without a wand. She’s not the Sugar Plum Fairy, you know. This makes sense in context).  She is accompanied by Peter Bulkington, a character I swiped from Moby Dick. (I don’t know if he was actually named Peter. Artistic license, and all that).

I suspect a relationship might form between Peter and Sally. This could get interesting, as in the last book Sally was on the cusp of a relationship with the hero, Jason Waterfalls. You know what this means? Love triangle. And that means drama. And that means MORE WORDS. Huzzah!

Word count: 3,369. This is right on track. And tomorrow is a holiday from work in my state and my particular job, as it is Election Day. This means I get to spend more time writing! And also voting. It is not a presidential or even a Congressional election in my state; it’s entirely local, and turnout for these things is usually abysmal. Ah, well. It just means my vote counts slightly more. Huzzah.

NaNoWriMo, Day One

This year’s novel is meant to be a sequel to last year’s NaNo ’14 novel. The basic idea is that a certain character was killed off last time, and now Jason Waterfalls, the hero of the previous year, has gone on a mission to rescue said character from Character Hell, where many story characters go when they die. I can’t reveal the character’s name or gender without spoilers, though, so from now on we’ll just call him or her X.  So. I’ve written 1,705 words now, from X’s viewpoint. It’s mostly a bit of backstory, and a description of the first circle of Character Hell. It’s primarily grassy meadows, which meant X got to spend time wandering around in a field. I found myself thinking I should probably do something to move the plot forward. X is an assertive character, so I want her (okay, gender spoiler, but pronouns are simpler this way) to be able to do something.

So I introduced a zombie.

And then the zombie was harpooned.

The harpooneer is named Peter Bulkington; he was a random sailor who fell overboard in Moby Dick and had a poetical death. I think he’s Southern.

This is going to be an interesting story.

Through a Mirror, Imperially

When the soldiers explained to Margaret that they were taking her to the Palace of the Empress, Margaret had understandably pictured a traditional palace. She had expected turrets, shining windows, and an audience chamber with a very large chair. Apparently, however, in this new future gone wrong, the word “palace” was used in its loosest sense. The Empress held court in the mess hall of a concrete and steel bunker hidden a mile below the city. The royal throne was an orange plastic chair that smelled vaguely of mold and potato. The Empress still managed to look dignified, for all that. “Who have you brought before us?” she demanded, her voice ringing throughout the mess hall.

Margaret felt oddly disoriented. It was her own voice. A little colder, a little scratchier perhaps, but it was her own voice. She had heard herself on news tapes a hundred times before the day society collapsed. She looked up, and saw herself. The other Margaret wore a uniform of resplendent medals rather than plain dark fabric. Battle scars lined her face, and her eyes were hard and grey. The original Margaret felt her stomach turn. This wasn’t right at all.

“You resemble me,” the Empress said, so shocked that she had descended out of the royal form. “You are me.”

“Looks like,” Margaret said.

“How?” the Empress demanded.

“How yourself?” Margaret shot back. “I used to be on the side of good. I used to help people. Even if things went wrong, I don’t think I would set up a dictatorship!”

“My Empire does help people. I had to do something. I was the only one left.” The Empress’s voice cracked, just slightly. “My entire family was gone.”

“But I changed that,” Margaret said. “I sent Merrick back to your time. He should have stopped-”

“Was Merrick the man who attacked me?” The Empress shrugged. “I blasted him. The man was mad. Unarmed, attacking someone who controls the power of the sun?”

“Wonderful,” Margaret said. “You killed my guy, and then you decided to take over the world.”

“He attacked me in the middle of a battle! What else should I have done?”

If Margaret’s hands hadn’t been tied behind her, she might have face-palmed. “The timing. Of course. The timing was all wrong. If I had sent him back sooner, calibrated the date on the machine properly-”

She froze. Too late, it occurred to her that telling the power-mad ruler of an evil empire that one has access to a functional time machine is not a good idea. The Empress’s eyes shone in wild light. “Take me to this machine!”

“I would rather not,” Margaret said. She only had one chance to salvage this. The Empress was her. She knew just enough to have an idea that something very explosive would happen if two identical people from alternate timelines made contact with each other. She hurled herself forward at the Empress.

The two Margarets collided. Nothing happened. As the soldiers dragged the original Margaret off the howling Empress, she  wished she had paid more attention to the intricacies of time travel theory. Then the soldiers scattered. The Empress, still screaming, raised her hands, which glowed with a harsh yellow light. “Oh, we’re going to do this now,” Margaret said, as she powered up herself. “Fine. Let’s.”

The bunker exploded in light.

This post is part of the Megverse storyline. Which is not over yet. I think.

Snacktime

Super Soccer Mom folded her arms. “Dr. Kowalski, the zoo can’t seem to find Cuddles the Wolverine. Would you know about that?”

“No, honestly, I haven’t done anything since the otter experiments in ‘97. Why?”

“Cuddles just ate a planetarium.”

“Ah. Oops.”