A to Z Victims

Welcome to the 2014  A to Z Challenge. My theme for this year is why I shouldn't be participating. Thank you to David for writing the post that got the voices in my head working against me.

Victims of the knife: the series of posts that were the meat of this blog for a while until I got caught up in too many others things and had to let it lapse. I miss hanging out with all my discarded characters. Many of them found themselves back in my graces after we spent some time together and were repurposed back into other stories or novels. However, there are a few characters still out there, lingering around the edges of my room, hunkered down beneath crumbled papers of edits past, fashioning weapons from paperclips and discarded technology.

It's been so long since one of them has made the climb up my desk and perched next to my hand, spewing threats and then begging...and then threatening again. Really, it's the threats that tend to get my wheels turning so they are better off with those. Poor Ms. Wildstar is still looking for love and I'm sure the dust bunnies have managed to break free of the Barthromian's efforts at domestication. They're probably back up to ravenous status behind my desk.

One of these days, I'll get back to the drama of my discarded cast. None of them fit into Sahmara's story so they'll just have to wait for the next one for the chance at a new life on the page.

April A to Z Characters: X

X is for Xander.

Xander was once one of the Victims of the Knife, but was recently recycled back into Trust.

He once had a big role as a young man that the MC mentors, but it turned out that angle wasn't necessary for the character's growth so Xander, the conflicted and struggling kid, got whacked.

The Xander that returned has a tiny part, but at least he lives on. He is one of the men that works for Gemmen in the guild that takes from the tech wealthy, repurposes and sells to the highest bidder. Some might quaintly call them space pirates. It certainly cuts down on the long description.

Xander works closely with Gemmen as a trusted guard. In his one scene he pulls a gun on the MC due to his questionable loyalties at the time--the MC's not Xander's. He then stands there, being all threatening until being called off and sent along on his duties.

I meant to get Xander into Chain of Gray as well, but the right situation where he would be required never came up. Alas, Ms. Wildstar lost her fawning boyfriend for the benefit of one little scene. Does Xander regret getting pulled from Victims of the Knife for his bit part?

He says, "Hell no."

Likes: Getting back into a novel, getting to pull a gun on the MC, working for the Pirate Guild again without having to go through all the awkward proving himself that he had to endure in his original role.

Dislikes: His tiny part in the story (Not that he's really complaining. Honest.), not getting to do more than escort the MC into a room and then get ordered out of it. (No really, not complaining.) and not actually getting to fire his gun. (Not that he'd want to kill the MC, that's going a bit far, but would getting to actually kill someone be too much to ask? I mean he never really gets to have any fun. Women don't take him seriously in this role. Did that sound like whining? It wasn't. He's fine with everything. Wouldn't change a word. Nope. It's great.)


See all the A to Z challenge partcipants here.

Victims of the Knife: Blue goes to camp

Blue arranges his tentacles on the DVD player that shares my writing space. Turns out that while it takes up a lot of space, it also makes a nice seat for my resident alien. He stares at me expectantly.

"What?"

"I've been waiting for you to call me up here."

"For? Look, it's early. Not only do I not do mornings, I don't do people...or aliens...until around noon. And by "do" I mean-"

He holds up a tentacle to which is strapped a wide, silver bracelet. "I believe translator conveyed the correct meaning."

"Good. I'm not much for humor this early either. So?"

"Your April Camp NaNo project. I hear I'm going in?"

"You are?"

He looks around and leans closer. "No need for secrets. It's just you and me. Everyone else is still sound asleep."

"Lucky them."

"Into the Blue. That's your title. That would be me. I'm Blue."

"If I told you it was just a phrase regarding space travel, would you believe me?"

He consults his translator and lowers what would be his eyebrows if he were more humanoid. "I'm Blue. You're writing about me. I'm going in."

"I admit, I wasn't aware of this. That you were going in, I mean." I hold up a hand to halt his reiteration. "I know that you're Blue."

"Seems only logical."

"Who are you, Spock?"

"No, I'm Blue."

"Right." I sigh. "Well, you did eat my Barthromains so I suppose it would be best if I got you out of here before you dine on anyone else."

"I would greatly appreciate it."

"If you'll leave your adverbs with Nekar when you pack your things, I'll see what I can do."

Camp, edits and balls

Trala runs screaming through the paper-lined paths. "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"

"What the heck are you talking about?" Delilah asks, peering upward. "Holy crap. She's right. Run!"

Nekar stands his ground beside Ms. Wildstar. They both watch as a wad of cloth plummets to the floor. Nekar gives it a minute to settle before examining it closer.

"Why the mass of terrycloth?" asks Blue.

Ms. Wildstar shakes her head. "It's a towel."

Nekar extracts a crumbled post-it note from within the wad and straightens it. "She Who Taps the Keys has officially thrown in the the towel on Camp NaNo." 

Delilah creeps out from the paper wads. "She finished?"

Blue holds up his translator. "Perhaps you should get one of these." He sighs. "It's a phrase meaning-"

"What's on the post-it note?" asks Ms. Wildstar.

"Story titles." A steady whump, whump, whump sounds overhead.

Trala takes another hysterical lap. "The sky! It's falling!"

Blue snakes out a tentacle and trips her. He whistles to himself as he backs away. 

"Is she submitting again?"

"Five stories at once. Hence the juggling. If you hear any hint of swearing. Do run. Worse than the sky, balls will fall on your head."

Ms. Wildstar nods. "That explains the editing snow of random words that fell thickly over the weekend." 

Nekar reaches over to pluck a shred of paper from her hair. "Hey, you got a nod on you."

"Oh god, get it off!" She shudders. "They were everywhere! I thought I'd burned them all."

"We should make sure there aren't any more laying around. The damn things breed like dust bunnies." Nekar leads Ms. Wildstar into the pathways.

The Crazy Cometh

From my yard: Sunbathing squirrel
"Nothing to see here. I'm just a shingle.
Move along."

"What is that tapping sound?" asks Ms. Wildstar.

Nekar cocks his head and listens. "I'd call it more of a banging."

Blue checks his shiny new translator and jabs a tentacle upward. "I'm getting a distinct Kablam Kablam Kablam."

"I'm pretty sure that's not a word," says Nekar.

"It might be. You don't know them all," says Ms. Wildstar.

"I've been keeping an inventory of everything that's fallen down here since I arrived. I've yet to see that one."

Blue rubs his bulbous head. "Please don't imply that this translator is also malfunctioning."

Ms. Wildstar gasps. "No. It can't be." She shrieks. "Oh great word processor save us! She's dancing with that nano zombie--remember that cute boy? Tyler, I think his name was. Didn't one of you take care of him, Nekar?"

"I thought we did."

Blue accesses his database unit. "Did you burn it? According to your all-knowing wiki-"

"We don't get access to wiki down here. That's for She Who Taps The Keys. But hey, what else does the all-knowing wiki say?"

"Nothing." Blue hides his database unit behind his back. "I must remember to keep my advanced knowledge from the locals. It causes nothing but problems. Rule one, Blue. Must remember these things." He slinks away.

Nekar watches Blue leave and scratches his chin. "What is going on on up there?"

"I think She Who Taps The Keys has lost her mind."

"Are those bruises on her forehead?"

Ms. Wildstar peers through a pair of binoculars. "It sure looks like it."

"Where the hell did you get those?"

"I uhh...found them." Ms. Wildstar darts into the mountains of crumpled paper.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on around here?" Nekar yells.

A post-it note flutters to the ground at his feet. June. Camp NaNo.

Victims of the Knife: Malfunction

A distant scream yanks my attention away (yet again) from editing A Broken Race.

I spin my chair around and scan the paper covered floor. There, in the corner by last November's dismantled ream wall, characters run around like they've lost their minds. Delilah is on her knees, sobbing. Nekar throws adverbs left and right as if searching for one in particular. 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 shouts threats on the top of his lungs.

 The object of his threats comes into view as I draw closer. Blue sits in the middle of a bloody, uniform-strewn clearing. He appears to be chewing something.

 "Blue, what the hell are you doing?"

"Having a snack." He holds up the sleeve of one of the uniforms.

 Holy crap, there's a hand dangling from it! "You've eaten the Barthromians!"

 Blue smiles around his mouthful of pale flesh. "They were good."

 "Since when do you eat humans?"

"I don't. They were aliens. They just looked like humans."

Ms. Wildstar taps me. "He has a point. About them being human-looking aliens, that is. You said so yourself." I glare at her. "Weren't you the one screaming?"

"That was Trala." She points to the quivering woman on the ground beside Delilah.

"Oh. Weren't you supposed to be introducing Blue to everyone? How did this happen?'

Ms. Wildstar sighs. "He said he was hungry. I went to get him some food." She holds out a bowl of discarded undefined fantasy novel 'food'.

"Seems he was too hungry to wait." I pluck the new alien from his messy plate of a clearing. "Blue, seriously, what the hell? You ATE my Barthromians."

His eyes, on their foot-long stalks, blink at me unabashedly.

Nekar groans. "That was horrible."

"Shut up." I turn back to Blue. "Well?"

"I thought I made my intentions quite clear when you introduced me to everyone. I said I looked forward to eating them."

"No. I'm pretty sure you said, meeting. Guys?"

The gathered discarded characters nod.

"See? Meeting. Not eating."

"Stupid translator." His tentacles sag. "So when they were running around screaming as I tore them limb from limb, it wasn't because they were excited?"

"Um. No."

"Ooops."

Victims of the Knife: The New Guy

From the shadows under my desk comes a concentration-busting drone of sobs. I turn away from edits on A Broken Race and search for the culprit.

I discover a blubbering blue mass of tentacles. Ms. Wildstar sits beside it, patting one of the long, thick appendages. She glares at me. "What did you do to him?"

"I wrote him a nice letter."

"You call that nice? You dumped him."

"I dumped him nicely. I have other projects to work on and his wasn't going anywhere. Remember my resolution of LESS? This falls under cutting losses so I can devote my story-fixing peroclating time to stories that have a hope of getting published."

"But you hoped his story would get published. Why would you up on him?"

"He was created for a specific prompt. When he was rejected, I changed him for a wider market. He never quite flowed right after that. We covered this in the letter." I turn back to my laptop and the more promising story waiting for me.

A tugging on my leg proves just as distracting as the sobs had been. "What now?"

Drooping eye stalks atop a climbing mass of blue tentacles make their way up my leg. His prolific tears soak into my pants.

I sigh. "Since you're intent on not going away, I suppose you want to meet everyone?"

He bobs his eye stalks.

"Everyone, this is Blue. He's an alien. He's blue. Thanks to being horribly misled by our government, he's now very paranoid and will not be taking any vacations in the desert. He enjoys filing thorough reports, good food, females and the familiar comforts of his spaceship. And apparently most things beginning with the letter F. His dislikes are people that won't listen to him when he tells them their world is about to be destroyed, his boss, probes of any sort, and misinformation."

Blue raises a tentative tentacle and waves it. A shrill female voice says, "Hello." Blue turns a shade bluer and bangs on his translator. A booming male voice says, "Hello. That's better. Worthless piece of malfunctioning crap. I look forward to meeting all of you."

"Happy now?" I ask him.

"For the moment. Got anyone around here that can fix translators?"

Ms. Wildstar beckons to him. "Let her get back to work before she axes someone else out of spite. I'll show you around."

I let the two of them be and settle back into editing in silence.

Year end writing goal met!

I'm happy to say that as of this evening, I've wrapped up this year's NaNo novel, the sequel to Trust. The rough draft came in at 95,000 words and its actually complete from beginning to end. I'm so bad about leaving gaps to fill in later, but this time, no sir, its really, really done. And I like it. I'd toss out that I love it, but it's a rough draft so that would be a little extreme. Let's just say I'm pleased.

I'm also pleased to announce that I found a role for Chuck. I know, he said he was happy here in my last post. I had great plans for him, mentoring him in how to actually be evil and all, but something came up and he was perfect. And no, I didn't kill him. He did get punched in the face, but the medic assures me he'll be fine once the swelling goes down.

This means I can start polishing a few of the shorts floating around on my hard drive and get Trust back into Query land in the coming months. Hooray for starting the New Year without a half finished editing or novel project looming over me!

Hey, there's a first time for everything.

Victims of the Knife: A late Christmas gift

This year, rather than throw myself into the holidays, I've assumed my Gollum-self and hunkered down in my writing cave. Yes, I filled the stockings, baked the cookies, hosted the extended family, cleaned the house, did the tree and presents thing with the kids, but then I ran back to my cave where only the tip tapping of keys could be heard throughout the day. It helps that my family got a Kinnect for Christmas and have been heavily occupied with it, which means more writing time for me.

My goal is to wrap up Trust's sequel, which was my NaNo novel, by the end of this year. Yes, that means there are only mere days left, but I'm almost there!

Which brings me to this announcement from Chuck, the Barthromian captain.

"We're ready for me now?"

I nod. "Go on. The others are listening."

Chuck clears his throat. "As many of you know, 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 vanished a couple days ago. Many of us thought he'd wandered back into the wastelands behind the desk after our plan to get our beloved writer to write us back into novels failed. We were wrong."

Nekar shouts, "Well where did he go?"

Chuck looks at me. "She wrote him into the sequel."

Protests fill the air.

"Now, now, I know this doesn't seem fair, but trust me, we should be grateful."

He leans close and whispers, "And thank you for not keeping your word to write me into that novel."

"You just weren't right for it. I'll find somewhere else for you."

"No, really, that's fine. I'm happy here." He plants a huge grin on his face. "See, really happy. No need to send me elsewhere."

"Suit yourself." I direct his attention back to the angry throng.

Chuck steps to the edge of the desk. "I've seen where he went. We're better off here. Way better off. She may have let him back in, and even given him part of his name back, but he was crazy and she killed him."

"That's right." I eye my suddenly silent characters one by one. "So next time you fill out your Christmas lists, keep in mind that I might give you what you ask for, but I won't guarantee you'll like it."

"This is the part where you laugh evily," Chuck whispers.

"I'll let you take that part. You need the practice. Now get out of here, I have a novel to finish writing."

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 30

Well halle-freakin-lujah, we’ve reached day 30! Between getting pricked by paperclips, accosted by discarded characters, being interrogated and doing a little of my own, and holding actual conversations with my Scorpius bobblehead, I was growing a little concerned that this month would end with me losing my goal for this year’s NaNo: to retain my sanity.

As of last night around 9pm, I completed my 50k word goal. The novel needs another 30 to 40k to finish out the draft, but I like where it’s going and aside from some questionable dialogue, my current in-play characters are behaving. One of my characters, thanks to the rewrite of Trust has become far darker and downright creepy in book two. He surprised even me. I love when that happens.

So how much did I write this month? Well, this blog challenge led to an additional 10k, in addition to the 50k novel in progress, at least 10k in planning/organizational emails with my co-ml (I’d get an exact number because I’m curious like that, but it would take way too long), 3k in pep talks and regional forum posts and daily notes, facebook messages of encouragement, answering NaNoMail… yeah, a lot. Let’s just call it that and let my fingers rest, shall we?

And for this last day, I’m to share a link to my story. I’ll compromise and share the opening scene. Enjoy.

I didn’t think my shipping business was overly successful, not to the point where anyone would want me dead over it. But as I lay there on the floor, observing the fine spray of my blood on my office wall, I had to consider that I might be wrong.

Heavy footsteps drew closer.

Damn. I knew I was rusty, having been out of the business for over four years, but it was still disappointing to know that I’d not done any serious damage with the two knives I’d managed to throw before toppling from my chair. I tried to peer around my desk, but my body wouldn’t cooperate.

Rhaine was going to be pissed that I missed dinner yet again.
The footsteps stopped.

Something tingled inside my head. The telepathic barriers I’d erected years ago dissolved as my mental strength faded.

The tingle came again. Familiar.

The black form of my killer loomed over me. “Oh fuck! Vayen, is that you?”

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 29

As I watch my discarded characters--I’d call them darlings, but they’ve ticked me of this month—dismantle their ream wall and reshape all those paperclips, I can only shake my head. Well, that’s not entirely true, I could laugh at the Barthromians that Chuck is making clean up all the camel crap with teaspoons on their hands and knees.

There’s hope for that man yet.

This is what happens when you let characters run amuck with a plot. They make a mess. Sometimes it’s good to see where they will go, how they will grow and the twists that you hadn’t planned on, but there is a limit to the chaos you should let them make. Even in a rough draft. Unless you want that draft covered in crap, keep them somewhat on track.

Since all my characters are busy, I’ll have Scorpius ask the question of the day…or at least put on of the tiny flyers in his hands and pretend.

What was the one thing in which I indulged to keep myself writing?

Bad dialogue. I could say drinking or chocolate, both of which are somewhat true, but no, mostly bad dialogue. When a scene stopped moving, I let someone speak their mind and the sparks started flying. While this is good, it usually resulted in a lot of responses like, “Good” “Fine” “No” from the character being ranted at with an occasional comment to egg the other character on. There will be some definite clean up involved but no, I won’t be doing it with a spoon.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 28

The boys who don’t get blown up run toward me. “We’d love to give you something. Please tell us, what would you like? What’s the one thing you’ve been depriving yourself all November?”

“Umm. Nothing? I can write my 1,667 words in an hour and half. It doesn’t take that much time out of my day. In fact, I’m usually writing around that long every day anyway, just not as productively.”

“How about a DVR full of tv shows?” asks one.

“Or a whole day to surf the internet?” asks the other.

“No, I’ve been keeping up with everything pretty well. Now, tell me, what’s behind that wall you’ve built?”

They run back to the wall, waving their hands over their heads and screaming.

The wookie noise sounds again. And again.

I step on a bent open paperclip. The stupid thing pokes into my sock and I stumble into the paper wall. Reams of paper slide off the stacks, falling behind the wall with loud thuds.

Characters go running in all directions.

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 has two long ropes with…

I do a double take. “Are those camels? Where the hell did you get camels?”

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 leads the shambling and wookie noise making camels toward me. Two Barthromian soldiers leap onto their backs. One falls off. The other scrambles his way onto the back of the camel and hits the camel on the side of the neck. Two huge guns pop out of the sides of the camel’s hump.

“Whoa. Cyborg camels?”

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 stands proudly before the camels with the ropes in hand. “Gun-toting camels. You may remember writing them in a couple blog posts.”

“I do remember that, yes.”

“But you never used them in a novel. Therefore they are a discarded idea. They ended up here.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed them around. Not to mention, I never wrote them into a novel, so they don’t technically count.”

“You can argue blog vs. novel theory with me all day, but we have demands and if they’re not met, you’ll be sorry.”

The second Barthromian soldier finally makes his way onto his camel and produces a second set of guns.

“What are you going to do, shoot me?”

Ms. Wildstar emerges from behind the paper wall and stands by his side. She looks me in the eye. “If you don’t write us back into the sequel, yes. We all came from that novel universe. You can work us in. You can send us back. And you will do it.”

“Hmm. Let me think about this.” I tap my chin. “No.” I point at the gun-toting camels and they disappear. The Barthromian soldiers fall to the floor. “I may let you silly and willful characters run amuck around here and sometimes in my novels as well, but thisis my world and ultimately, I say what goes. So no. No more threats. No gun-toting camels. And no getting written back in.”

I put my hands on my hips and glare down at them all. “You will all go pick up the mess you made out there and go about your business peacefully until I write otherwise.”

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 glares right back at me. “And if we don’t?”

I smile down on him. “You end up with the camels. Deleted.”

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 27

Nekar runs down the path at me as I approach the far wall. He pants and waves his hands. “What are you doing over here?”

“Coming to see what you guys are up to.” I peer over him. So what are you hiding behind that wall of reams of paper? For that matter, where did you guys get so many reams of paper?”

“You bought them months ago. A whole case and then some. It was a back to school deal with a rebate.”

“And you guys are have stacked them up into what looks like quite the fortified wall over here. Are those paper clips sticking out between the reams?”

He glances over this shoulder. “They might be.”

I take another step.

“Hey, how’s your word count coming along?”

“I’m ahead. I plan on reaching 50k on Tuesday. Taking it a little easy today.”

“Wait, what? You’re ahead? We kind of thought you’d wait until the last day.”

“Well I don’t plan on it.”

“But you procrastinate all the time! You work best under pressure. Don’t you think so? Some of your most interesting twists come from word wars. It’s all about the pressure. Maybe you should go get yourself a nice cup of hot chocolate and relax in front of the tv for a while. Kick back, relax since you’re ahead. You deserve some down time. Go on.”

“Down time is for January. I’ve got things to write and people to see. Get of out my way.”

I get a step further before I’m pelted with adverb cards from all sides. Disturbingly, annoyingly, irately, stubbornly, vivaciously… that one had to be lobbed by Delilah. I wade through the cards. “Onward!”

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 26

I can’t take Chuck sitting there, staring, waiting, tapping his perfectly rounded and buffed fingernails on the CD stack another minute. Getting up is the only way to find some peace. This means I have to pick my way through the paper-wad paths, making sure to watch out for wayward paperclips, any booby traps set by Nekar or 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 and attempt not to step on anyone.

The thought of a character squishing between my toes makes me reconsider sitting back down and dealing with Chuck. But no, it’s going to be a long while before I find a spot to use Chuck and I need to find out what all these strange noises are.

Chuck runs to the edge of the desk, stopping just before he flies off the edge. “Wait! Where are you going? You promised to write me in!”

“I’ll be back, Chuck. Just going for a walk.”

My walk gets all of three steps before I step on a card. I pick up to return it to an overturned crate. Sharply gives me a paper cut. Stupid adverbs!

“Thanks. I accidently knocked that over.” Delilah yells up to me. She runs around picking up more cards. “Where are you headed?”

“Over there.” I point to the opposite end of the room where all the odd sounds have been coming from.

“Oh.” She glances around. “Umm. Did anyone ask you a question yet today?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you done any research in your NaNo novel preparation?”

“Not exactly. But I did just finish the first book so if you want to call all those months of revising and plot refining research for the sequel, I’ll go with it.”

“Ok. Sure! Can you tell me more?”

“Not much more to tell.”

“There must be. Tell me all about it. Take your time. I’d love to hear every detail.”

I cross my arms and glare down at her. “It almost sounds like you’re trying to buy some time.”

“Oh no, no, not at all.” She flashes me her most charming smile.

“I wrote that smile, dear. It doesn’t work on me. Now move aside before I step on you.”

She dodges out of the way as I set off again.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 25

Captain Chuck creeps over to my laptop, glancing over his shoulder with each third step.

“No one is watching you, by the way.”

“I feel like I should sneak though, being a spy and all.”

“Well quit it. You look silly.”

“Okay, fine.” He stands up straight and dusts off his uniform.

“Is that hair on your uniform?”

“Yes, and it’s not mine.” He winks.

“I appreciated your message the other day. I’m assuming this hair is related?”

“Yes.” He winks again.

“Is this going to require me getting out of my chair and traversing the paper wads?”

“I’d recommend it.”

“What are you, a freakin magic 8 ball?”

“Not sure. Ask again later.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I take it you have a question?”

“I do. Since this story has changed so much from the one I was cut from so long ago, I’d like to get to know the characters I’ll be interacting with when you write me back in. What are their names and how did you choose them?”

“Write you back in? Oh yes, I did mention that didn’t I. Hmm. Well, I suppose you should know them then. Ms. MC is Anastassia. Her last name is still subject to change so we’ll leave that out for now. I picked her name because I’ve always had a curiosity with the Russian princess of the same name. Not that this Anastassia is a princess in any way, but the name caught my attention.

“Mr. MC is Vayen. His name came from a variation of Vayne, a character in C.J. Cherryh’s Gate of Iverl. I loved the name and his devotion to the FMC. That, in part, shaped Vayen as he came into his own when I switched the entire story to his POV years ago.

“Well then, now I know who they are. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me anything more about them?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see, Chuck.”

He wrings his hands. “Umm, exactly how long will I have to wait?”

Darn it, now I have find somewhere to put him in. I was hoping he’d forget. “Until I get to the point where I plan on putting you in. I’m not there yet.”

“Thanks then. I’ll be waiting over there.” He goes to the stack of CDs and sits down.

Well that's annoying. I guess I should get to writing so I can get rid of him.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 24

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.

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.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 22

Glicfip perches on the edge of my very dusty candle holder. “Delilah said I should come ask the question for today. Something about making sure everything was good between you two?”

“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.

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.

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.