The boys who don’t get blown up approach me warily. One says, “We’ve been charged with asking the question of the day.”
“It’s not about music,” says the other one.
“Well that’s a relief. What is it today?”
“Religion,” says the first one.
The other one nods. “Is it featured in your novel?”
“Yes, in fact it is.”
A loud pop sounds in the distance.
“What was that?”
The boys look at each other. “Nothing,” they say in unison.
“Uhh, yeah.” I peer into the paper-wadded landscape but don’t see anything unusual. “Anyway, Geva is the female god featured in my novel. Mr. MC’s people are pretty technologically minded but he still likes to think there’s someone out there to blame for his problems…err…I mean to pray to for help when he’s in a bad situation. He’s not one for actual worship and there aren’t any churches. I’d consider it part of his society’s perpetuated culture more so than a religion as we think of it.
“Ms. MC does follow the religion of the planet nearest where she was during a tumultuous time in her life. Using her telepathic gifts she became a middle-level priestess before giving up after being told she could go no higher because she was an outsider. So rather than bring peace to individuals through linking minds and performing healings, she became a soldier and sought peace that way.”
The pop sounds again followed by a rumbling bray that reminds me of a Wookie.
“What the hell is that?”
“Was that the signal?” says one of the boys.
The other elbows him in the ribs. “We’ll go check it out and get back to you.”
“You do that.”
They run to the edge of the desk and disappear.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 23
Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him saunters across my desktop and leans against my laptop screen. “So, how’s the writing going?”
“Pretty good, though not a word yet today. Been rather busy around here with work and getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
“Ah yes, that’s a day we don’t usually see you around here, isn’t it? Too busy dealing with cooking, traveling to visit family and all that sort of thing. No time for writing.”
“I’m having people here this year, so no traveling. I should have time to write. Probably not later in the day though.”
Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him marks something on his hand.
“What are you doing there? Are you writing on your hand?”
“Me? No, not at all. That would be silly. Who does that?”
“You do, apparently. What were you writing?”
“Nothing. Say, I believe I’m supposed to ask you a question today. Let’s see.” He pulls out his creased flyer. “I…uhhh…” He looks around and reads the flyer again, his brow creasing more and more with each second.
“Is there a problem?”
“Umm, no. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
He licks his lips and slaps on a half-assed smile. “Do animals play any part in your story?”
I purse my lips and ponder this question for a several very long and silent minutes, taking secret joy in watching beads of sweat form in his brow. “Say, weren’t you feeling ill last time you were up here? Better now?”
“Oh yes, much better.” His gaze darts to his shoulders and then back to me.
“Good to hear. Wouldn’t want you to start sneezing up huge globs of phylum.”
“Yeah.” He laughs nervously. “So animals?”
“No, not in my novel this year. I’ve written in some dogs and horses in the past, but hmm, no just not a big animal writer, I guess.” A nagging thought persuades me to check my calendar. It is the twenty-third. “Have you seen Chuck?”
“The Barthromian captain?”
“Yeah.”
“He told me I should take his place today. Said he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Don’t tell me he’s got what you had the other day.”
“I don’t know. Hey, I’ve got to get going anyway. I’ll check on him and let him know you asked about him.”
“You do that.” Though I was pretty sure my spy was doing a fine job. Chuck had some promise after all.
“Pretty good, though not a word yet today. Been rather busy around here with work and getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
“Ah yes, that’s a day we don’t usually see you around here, isn’t it? Too busy dealing with cooking, traveling to visit family and all that sort of thing. No time for writing.”
“I’m having people here this year, so no traveling. I should have time to write. Probably not later in the day though.”
Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him marks something on his hand.
“What are you doing there? Are you writing on your hand?”
“Me? No, not at all. That would be silly. Who does that?”
“You do, apparently. What were you writing?”
“Nothing. Say, I believe I’m supposed to ask you a question today. Let’s see.” He pulls out his creased flyer. “I…uhhh…” He looks around and reads the flyer again, his brow creasing more and more with each second.
“Is there a problem?”
“Umm, no. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
He licks his lips and slaps on a half-assed smile. “Do animals play any part in your story?”
I purse my lips and ponder this question for a several very long and silent minutes, taking secret joy in watching beads of sweat form in his brow. “Say, weren’t you feeling ill last time you were up here? Better now?”
“Oh yes, much better.” His gaze darts to his shoulders and then back to me.
“Good to hear. Wouldn’t want you to start sneezing up huge globs of phylum.”
“Yeah.” He laughs nervously. “So animals?”
“No, not in my novel this year. I’ve written in some dogs and horses in the past, but hmm, no just not a big animal writer, I guess.” A nagging thought persuades me to check my calendar. It is the twenty-third. “Have you seen Chuck?”
“The Barthromian captain?”
“Yeah.”
“He told me I should take his place today. Said he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Don’t tell me he’s got what you had the other day.”
“I don’t know. Hey, I’ve got to get going anyway. I’ll check on him and let him know you asked about him.”
“You do that.” Though I was pretty sure my spy was doing a fine job. Chuck had some promise after all.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 22
“Charming girl, isn’t she?” Not gifted with subtlety though.
“She is. She’s got lots of charms.”
“Oh, I’m sure she does.” I hold up my hands. “No details necessary. Don’t want to know.”
“Right. Sorry. Anyway, we were wondering what happened to your other NaNo novels. You seem to write them every year but no one gets discarded. Either than means you write a whole lot better than you used to or that you’ve never bothered to revise them.”
“First off, what’s this we thing? You and who else?”
“The guys. Well, except for the boys who don’t get blown up. They were too busy helping the Barthromians work with the dust bunnies, but now Captain Chuck has shut that all down.”
“Ah. And why do we care what’s going on with other novels?”
“Everyone’s holding onto hope for a way out of this character purgatory.”
“Is this one of those ‘or else’ situations where you try to pressure me into writing you all back in or some mysterious threat will appear?”
His gaze darts around my desk and he chews his lip. “Umm no. Not at all. Why would you say that?”
“Oh, just a hunch.” Delilah isn’t the only one lacking subtlety.
“Yes, I’m writing more carefully these days which means less character casualties—in the discarded sense anyway. Also a sort of yes as to the revisions. I have worked on revising Sahmara’s Sunset and Swan Queen and sold one of the short stories I wrote during last year’s NaNo rebel effort, but for the most part, my attention has been on cleaning up Trust for its return to queryland. I do certainly have plans to get to all the NaNo novels haunting my hard drive at some point.”
“Good to know. I’ll pass that on. Thanks!” He strides to the edge of the desk and descends into the paper-filled landscape.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 21
I rip the masking tape from the Barthomian Captain’s mouth. “Chuck, I have a deal for you.”
“Why would I want to make a deal with you?”
“Because I could keep you up here decorating my tissue box forever. Would you like that? You realize, that being a fictional character, I can just leave out the commonplace things like feeding you, making sure you get bathroom breaks, sleep, you know, all the day to day stuff we writers sometimes skip over and the reader assumes happened? What if it just never happened, Chuck?”
“That would suck.”
“Indeed.”
“You’ve been up here since, what, day nine?”
“Yeah.”
“No shower, no change of clothes, no food, water or a bathroom. Enjoying this?”
“Not really.”
“Those soldiers of yours are morons. Sadly you have the only twinkle of evil among the entire lot of you. I need you back among them. Shut down that stupid dust bunny shelter, find out what Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him is up to. Report back by day twenty-three.
“I’ll gladly go back to my men, but spy on my fellow discarded characters? I don’t know about that.”
“You’re evil! Come on. Embrace it!” I pull the rest of the tape off him, letting him enjoy a few moments of freedom.
“Maybe.”
“There just might be a spot in this novel for you.”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
“Sure.”
“Wait a minute. What was the question for today?”
I hand him the flyer on which he and Delilah had written their confession.
“That’s what I thought. What are your goals for this novel and do you actually plan to complete it? I don’t want to be stuck in some half-finished, archived file for a decade or two.”
“Never fear, Chuck. I plan on finishing this one. Someday soon, it might even go on to my crit group were people will read about you.”
“Read about me? Really? I’ve waited for that for so long!”
“So what do you say?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” He sprints to the edge of the desk and leaps off with a victorious whoop.
“Why would I want to make a deal with you?”
“Because I could keep you up here decorating my tissue box forever. Would you like that? You realize, that being a fictional character, I can just leave out the commonplace things like feeding you, making sure you get bathroom breaks, sleep, you know, all the day to day stuff we writers sometimes skip over and the reader assumes happened? What if it just never happened, Chuck?”
“That would suck.”
“Indeed.”
“You’ve been up here since, what, day nine?”
“Yeah.”
“No shower, no change of clothes, no food, water or a bathroom. Enjoying this?”
“Not really.”
“Those soldiers of yours are morons. Sadly you have the only twinkle of evil among the entire lot of you. I need you back among them. Shut down that stupid dust bunny shelter, find out what Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him is up to. Report back by day twenty-three.
“I’ll gladly go back to my men, but spy on my fellow discarded characters? I don’t know about that.”
“You’re evil! Come on. Embrace it!” I pull the rest of the tape off him, letting him enjoy a few moments of freedom.
“Maybe.”
“There just might be a spot in this novel for you.”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
“Sure.”
“Wait a minute. What was the question for today?”
I hand him the flyer on which he and Delilah had written their confession.
“That’s what I thought. What are your goals for this novel and do you actually plan to complete it? I don’t want to be stuck in some half-finished, archived file for a decade or two.”
“Never fear, Chuck. I plan on finishing this one. Someday soon, it might even go on to my crit group were people will read about you.”
“Read about me? Really? I’ve waited for that for so long!”
“So what do you say?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” He sprints to the edge of the desk and leaps off with a victorious whoop.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 20
They must be desperate to distract me. That’s what passes through my mind as I see Trala climb over the edge of my desk. I feel dumber just being near her. Maybe that was their plan. Hmmm.
“What can I do for you, Trala?”
“I’m supposed to ask you a question today. This paper said so.” She holds up a heavily creased flyer.
“Oh joy. What’s the question?”
“If you could meet one fictional character from any book you’ve ever read, who would it be?”
“Interesting question. I’m going to go with none of them. I like my romance men on the page. No one is near as attractive and sexy all the time in real life. And really, most of them are trouble at first. I really don’t need that sort of aggravation. I’ll leave that to the female romance lead.”
A low, loud sound comes from behind a distant pile of paper wads. I glance over there but don’t see anything.
“What was that?”
“What? I didn’t hear anything.” Trala blinks her big blue eyes.
“Uhh, ok then. Well, fantasy novel guys could be fun too, but I’ve read how often the wash – not near enough. And their teeth? Ok, so that might not be mentioned on the pages, but we know. Same with pirates. All well and good on the page, but no sir. Not live.
“I can’t think of a female character that I’d be anxious to meet in person. We’d probably hate each other in short order. Vampires? Umm no. Safer on the page. Sci-fi guys? Hmm. Most of them are on the run, violent, have troubled pasts, a price on their heads, serious issues, weird gifts… yeah. I’m going to pass there too. I’ll keep enjoying characters on the page where I can put them down when I want to and spend time with them when it works out, and totally on my terms.”
A second deep throaty sound is cut off by someone shrieking. “No really. What’s going on over there?”
“Oh nothing. Probably just Marin harassing the Barthomians. They’ve been trying to tame dust bunnies.” She rolls her eyes. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard off.”
“Yes, it is.” And I don’t just mean the bunnies. Those Barthromians need some direction. And that didn’t sound like Marin or dust bunnies. Unless they were really big dust bunnies. I need a spy.
“What can I do for you, Trala?”
“I’m supposed to ask you a question today. This paper said so.” She holds up a heavily creased flyer.
“Oh joy. What’s the question?”
“If you could meet one fictional character from any book you’ve ever read, who would it be?”
“Interesting question. I’m going to go with none of them. I like my romance men on the page. No one is near as attractive and sexy all the time in real life. And really, most of them are trouble at first. I really don’t need that sort of aggravation. I’ll leave that to the female romance lead.”
A low, loud sound comes from behind a distant pile of paper wads. I glance over there but don’t see anything.
“What was that?”
“What? I didn’t hear anything.” Trala blinks her big blue eyes.
“Uhh, ok then. Well, fantasy novel guys could be fun too, but I’ve read how often the wash – not near enough. And their teeth? Ok, so that might not be mentioned on the pages, but we know. Same with pirates. All well and good on the page, but no sir. Not live.
“I can’t think of a female character that I’d be anxious to meet in person. We’d probably hate each other in short order. Vampires? Umm no. Safer on the page. Sci-fi guys? Hmm. Most of them are on the run, violent, have troubled pasts, a price on their heads, serious issues, weird gifts… yeah. I’m going to pass there too. I’ll keep enjoying characters on the page where I can put them down when I want to and spend time with them when it works out, and totally on my terms.”
A second deep throaty sound is cut off by someone shrieking. “No really. What’s going on over there?”
“Oh nothing. Probably just Marin harassing the Barthomians. They’ve been trying to tame dust bunnies.” She rolls her eyes. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard off.”
“Yes, it is.” And I don’t just mean the bunnies. Those Barthromians need some direction. And that didn’t sound like Marin or dust bunnies. Unless they were really big dust bunnies. I need a spy.
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