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|Monday, August 22nd, 2005|
|Sunday, August 21st, 2005|
The start of something new
As I was telling Jezebel, I didn't like my book after I looked at it for the first time in 2 weeks. Here is a nwe beginning. We'll see how long I like this. Are the rest of you still getting ready to write? I hope so, cuz I don't wanna be postin' by myself! :P Besides...I liked what y'all were doin' and wanna see more.
Anyway, 'ere we go, as they say.
How do you begin to tell a tale when you are not sure if it’s about to end? Where do you start when you are not sure what will prove most relevant? I am sitting here using tools of my enemy to procure from my memories an account of what has happened, just in case I am still not around to tell it tomorrow. It is dark. The air is cool and feels like a silken sheet that flits by you, a tangible object made alive through forces I cannot reckon. There is no light. It is the month of no moons. My generator is buzzing next to me. Its light is not great. We cannot afford to have much light here. We are hiding. We are waiting.
How do I relay to you what has happened in my life? How do I make you see that the story of my people can be seen as I tell my own story, that this is not just some egotistical exercise in self-aggrandizement? I can give you my word. This story must live on, or it will all be for nothing. I have no choice but to preserve for you what we have done here, what I have seen and heard. I hope that it will affect you as it affected me. I hope it will spur you to action. I hope you will not sit on your hands, or scratch your head, pout for a moment, and then move on with your everyday life. You need to take this story and run with it. You will understand how if you read it right. It is that hope that is keeping me going right now. It is not that I doubt my cause, our cause. It is rather that my death time is imminent, and my deepest wish now is not to die in vain. The horizon seems to be moving closer to me somehow, and distances are becoming shorter without me taking a step. The time is coming quickly. It is the deepest part of the night, when the insects have stopped their music and the birds are nestled in the trees. The ground is still. With dawn will come our moment. I must not tarry.
|Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005|
Warm water washed away soapy suds which sluiced softly, slowly down her back. She loved her shower. It was the one place where she could think without disruption or disturbance. The constant spray beat against her back, her arms, her head, and she simply stood still and let her mind wander with the swirls of water washing past her toes and down the drain. No sound but the hush of the shower, and the occassional squeak of her feet against the bottom of the tub as she turned. The water and steam coursed down her face, her neck, her chest, her stomach, her hips, her legs, and she knew that she would gladly pay the high water bill yet again.
|Sunday, July 31st, 2005|
|Saturday, July 30th, 2005|
Chapter 3 so far
I included the paragraph you have already seen...made the corrections Stormy saw.
Chapter One is here
Chapter Two ishere
I hope the cuts work. They are showing up weird on my computer for some reason. grr. Thanks for reading!( chapter 3 so farCollapse )
|Friday, July 29th, 2005|
The start of chapter 3
Where is everybody? =/
When the Gaians first arrived on Burwadee, the thought was that all technology, all facets of their lives, their culture, everything should move ahead as fast as possible. The first Gaians wanted to extend their explorations still further into the universe. They wanted to develop ways to help their friends and loved ones still on Earth. They, in short, wanted their presence on this new planet to be felt. As has happened throughout the annals of humanity, however, the Gaians soon got mixed up in political disputes, in their wars with the Burwadians and the continuing enslavement of the Burwadians, and in the complexities of everyday life. When the Great War started, all development suddenly came to a halt. There was a palpable need among the Gaians to recreate what their predecessors had had on Earth. Occasionally a new bunch of Earthlings would come to join the Gaian civilization, and with them they would bring books made of paper, regular soil that had been used on Earthling farms, strange things that the Gaians were desperately in need of for some reason. I have never been sure if it was the start of some sort of intergalactic homesickness or if it was about solidifying a cultural identity while making another culture subservient. I figured if the Gaians were really so homesick, they could have just traveled back home. At any rate, around the same time Burwadians were enrolled in "re-education classes." Attendance was not an option for enslaved or captive Burwadians, and if a Burwadian slave needed to stay up or awaken at torturous times to make sure the work still got done, that was no skin off the Gaians' noses. It was essential, the leaders at the time said, to make sure that the Burwadians learned about Earthling culture, history, life, everything. The Gaians convinced themselves that it would do the Burwadians good, that it would civlize them. Also, the Gaians believed that a deeper familiarity with Earthling things would aid the Burwadians in being better servants.
|Thursday, July 28th, 2005|
Okey dokey. This isn't my usual style of writing but rather my first-ever attempted foray into something with a mild sci-fi feel to it. I've had these couple paragraphs floating around for a while but I do want to develop them into something so I might as well share them with you gentle readers... :)
It had been a grueling two-year stint at the Aeronautical Institute, but Darren was proud to have finished at the top of his class. There weren’t that many opportunities available to serve an apprenticeship on one of the class-A starships, so the only way to guarantee a spot was to graduate in the top two percent.
“And,” as Darren was fond of pointing out, as he was just then to his best friend Tony, “that’s just not very easy when you’re not a ‘natural student.’”
“You keep saying that,” Tony observed. “What the hell is a ‘natural student,’ anyway?”
The two were eating one of their last meals in the Institute cafeteria, but they weren’t feeling particularly nostalgic. Neither one had cared much for the school, but there just wasn’t any other way to learn to pilot the larger spacecraft.
“You know what I mean,” Darren said, barely paying attention to the sandwich he was cramming into his mouth. “Like you and me. We don’t need the theory, we don’t need to know why it works. We were born to fly these babies. It’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tony said, crunching on some chips. “But what can you do?”
The two finished their meal and headed back to the housing unit. As second-year students, they each had their own room. They had roomed together their first year, much to everyone’s amusement. Darren was blond and ruggedly handsome although relatively short at five-foot-eight. Tony, with darker hair, was almost six and a half feet tall and very lanky. And the two were opposites in character as well. Darren was outgoing and loved being the center of attention, while Tony was much quieter and more introspective. Despite – or maybe because of – these differences, the two got along great and became best friends as well as roommates. Even now, their student rooms were right next-door to each other.
“Darren Milton,” Darren spoke into the audio recognition device on his door, placing his thumb on the print-reader at the same time. Once inside his room, he saw a light blinking on his data module, indicating that a message was waiting for him.
|Wednesday, July 27th, 2005|
Greetings and an update
First of all, greetings and salutations to our newest member, big_ragu! I hope you enjoy it here!
Second, I have completed chapter 2. The first 2 paragraphs you have seen already, but I polished them a little bit more. The rest is new. Cut for length. Thanks!
Chapter One is here ( chapter 2, en totemCollapse )
|Tuesday, July 26th, 2005|
I'm a dolt
OK, I made editorial corrections to things. However, instead of making a new entry for chapter 2 so far, I edited the entry where my second paragraph was. So...please go down there and take a look. I am not awake, clearly. Thank you guys for your comments so far!
for that entry. Thanks!
The Dreaming.....still working on Chapter 1
this story is kicking my ass already. i really need to stop working on it while I'm at work and sit down for about an hour a day at home.
"No, my name is Stark Walden, please call me Stark." He seated himself in one of the lounge chairs, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Thank you for meeting me so late."
"Shall we begin?" queried Penelope as she seated herself comfortably in her chair.
"Not yet," said Stark. "My assistant is parking the car, and will be arriving shortly with the contract. In the meantime, please tell me something about yourself."
Penelope glanced out the wall of window, which overlooked the Capitol Building, and then over at Nathanael, who was looking more severe than normal. "What do you mean?"
"I like to get a sense of who I am employing for any job. Interests, hobbies, etc. Those kinds of things that make an impression," Stark mused, and threw his gaze around the room once again, his eyes lingering slightly upon the end table from which Nathanael was cultivating the appearance of being very forbidding.
"Well, Mr. Wal...er...Stark, I don’t actually have any hobbies. My work is my hobby, and it keeps me occupied quite sufficiently." Penelope retorted, staring at her fidgetting hands for a moment.
"What, then, do you do when you aren’t working?"
This is the first 2 paragraphs of chapter 2, parsed together and hopefully improved. I addressed the comments i got from jeanine & stormy. Let me know what you think.( Chapter 2 so farCollapse )
|Monday, July 25th, 2005|
The start of Chapter 2
For Prologue (Chapter 1) go here
Because the Gaians were limited primarily to the city of Gaia, and because paranoia reigned regarding undue pollution, only the infirm were allowed to use transportation machinery within the city limits. For those traveling to Foster City, Pax, or beyond, it was necessary to be transported more quickly, so they reserved the right to ride in vehicles powered by electricity. Why the Gaians were worried about these "clean running" vehicles polluting the air was beyond me. I tried to research the thing once, but my editor shot down the idea. I believed that the leaders of Gaia simply didn't want the Gaians to have the ability to leave, but maybe that's just a crazy idea. At any rate, I walked from my little office to Candace's home. It had all of the signs of a wealthy residence. There was an iron gate around the house, a fountain that enabled an irrigation system for ludicrously rich gardens, and doorknobs and other little accessories were made of copper. The house sat back far from the road as if it were hiding from loud noises or something else. I pushed a button on the intercom that was nestled in the front gate's corner.
"Name?" a voice said accusingly.
"Uh, yeah, I'm the journalist scheduled to meet with Artemisia?"
I did what I was told. The gate opened. I walked down the path to the door, which was shaded by an arch of sharlen trees (the Gaians also referred to these as Burwadian Cherries). A heavy door that was painted white contrasted sharply with the cobalt house -- the wealthy Gaians had borrowed the look from the Burwadians. A door knocker in the shape of a Cootoo beetle begged me to make my presence officially known, but for some reason, my heart was making the same sound that I knew the door would make when I rapped it with the knocker. Why was i so worked up? I came close to turning around and retreating down the path laden with white petals, but just then the door creaked open, and there in the warm light of the day stood Artemisia.
|Sunday, July 24th, 2005|
|Friday, July 22nd, 2005|
It rises as a roar in his throat, leashed, controlled, and not yet free. He contains it, barely, and he feels the force and heat of power his anger always brings. It is not yet time. The excess of raw rage burns, and he paces, fists clenched, eyes darting, waiting. The increasing tension is as formidable as the rise of erotic pleasure. Suddenly, he hears it. The sign. The moment. All barriers shatter. His anger finally has direction, focus, purpose. He releases it all in an orgasmic burst.
"WHEN ARE YOU PEOPLE GOING TO GET OUT HERE AND FIX MY DAMNED CABLE????" Current Mood: bored
tagged be speaker!
He reached out to touch my incorporeal cheek. "What is such a beautiful anomoly as your self doing out here? And what was that you were muttering? Something about... 'Catch the Banana?'"
I blushed (yes we can blush) and...
Suddenly a gunshot rang out in the woods. We both ducked instinctively; his arms flung out as he moved to the ground, and I flet his hand swipe through my chest. I was definitely bummed. I hoped--I longed
--for him to really touch me, but instead it was just like the others: they could pass right through. Not only that, but some idiot with a gun disturbed what seemed like a promising moment.
"What the...?" I heard him mutter, and he looked around frantically. He pulled out his own gun.
"Why do you have a--" I began.
"Sorry, beautiful, but it looks like someone's after me. We'll have to run." And he reached to grab my hand, but realized he couldn't. He stared wide-eyed at me and I blushed again, but more out of embarrassment. Being dead was certainly a stab to one's love life. tagging Jez!