Distant Sun Snippet

Three or four ships popped up on radar. The fourth blinked in and out, as if enticing us to come closer. I snorted. Wasn't falling for that trick again. The last time I'd encountered something out of the ordinary we'd been blessed with the opportunity to see two crispy bodies. I wasn't about to suffer the indignity, because next time instead of the ship playing decoy I might end up as someone else's afternoon snack. Plan A seemed to work. Guided by radar we made our way around the tag-team of vessels who were probably waiting to ambush us. With our shields up, we were invisible to their radars unless they chose to ask Control. Passing those four ships took us straight from twentieth to sixteenth, bypassing a helluva lot of trouble and time consuming battles.

"Learnt from last time then?" Bex said scathingly. I attempted to ignore his comment. Bit back the snarky reply that had surfaced and came up with a logical, well thought out response.

"Can you try getting rid of some of this condensation?" I asked of him. Asked, but didn't expect the waspish reply.

"What d'you think I'm doing?" Bex snapped. "When I'm not baby-sitting you, making sure you're not puking your guts out and generally keeping you out of hot water, I'm damn well trying to get a visual."

O-kay. Someone needed a chill-pill. In times of high stress, racers and navigators must keep their cool. We were pushing past the speed of sound. Safe in a world with its own atmosphere, when faster than light speed might not be appropriate. I kept the damn ship going in the right direction, didn't I? I controlled the weapons, the shields, and everything else. Bex was supposed to navigate, but ended up having the rest of the controls that I managed to forget. Flying wasn't that easy, y'know.

"Ah, the cameras are operational," I played Captain Obvious for a bit and managed to swerve a mountain at the last minute. Good thing too. Looking like roasted chicken splattered across a mountainside along Diamede's wouldn't pay off any debt I'd ever heard of, nor would it skyrocket our names to stardom. When the condensation cleared, a bright, glaring Jump Gate made its grand entrance. Time for the rollercoaster ride from hell.

The Jump Gate had spat us out into an ocean. Quite literally. Out here there were those same rocky outcrops. Except the rocky outcrops here weren't entirely stationary. The gas bubbles were a dead giveaway that something wasn't quite right. As we flew over the seascape, up fast became anyone's guess right down next to the Abominable Snow Man. Speaking of Abominable Snow Men, it appeared that the underwater seascape had whiskers. Long, electric whiskers that lit up even the depths. I swallowed.

"I don't think this was in the travel itinerary," Bex hazarded one of the best guesses I'd heard from him since we'd become friends. "Because if it was, there would be a helluva lot more tourists here to see..."

Bex was cut short by a thunderous noise. It sounded like an explosion. And suddenly we were looking at two unblinking golden eyes. Eyes that could've belonged to any goat or sheep back on our home-world. Here though they were plastered onto the face of a giant sized sea slug.

"Shit," I blurted. "We're screwed."

There were so many ways I would have preferred to die. Being buried alive had rocketed into my top ten, while burnt alive shot to first place. Sea slug? Right down at the bottom, because it didn't look like I could avoid it. I slammed the Beast into reverse and attempted to zap from the speed of zero to sound in exactly point one of a second. Didn't end up happening that way. Instead I ran into what turned out to be very helpful protestors, whose lights were on at full boom and distracted the slug enough for us to make a  getaway. A bit of an anti-climatic end to that battle, but I wasn't taking any chances by playing rescuer.

"I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist?" Bex said as we placed our vessel on cruise control. The seascape still had that same, rocky outcrop that we'd seen before. It occurred to me then that one slug might not be a problem. Outrunning and outgunning several would really test the Beast. I scoured the sea floor, my eyes fixed for any sort of movement. My hands shook. "Damn that was close."

"Duh, one more minute and we would've been –" The hovercraft dropped out of cruise speed so fast that I swore the engines had started to fail. I frantically checked the controls and mirrors. Nothing squealed, whirred or protested that it wasn't working. Radar showed a vessel behind us, but we couldn't see it. Suddenly it dawned on me what the vast array of brown had been. More goddamn slugs.

"Elliot, its a ..."

"I know!" I shouted down the earpiece. "I fucking well know, Bex. Screw this. We're going to try distracting it. Throw out the best light you can, see if it'll play fetch."

Bex turned our lights onto full blast. It pierced through the darkness like a knife through butter. This would have been an improvement if the ship hadn't decided to be involved in what would've been described as an earthquake on land, but here could only have been described as several massive jolts.

"I thought we lost them?" Bex whined. "Elliot, do something!"

"I just did!" I exclaimed, near tears.

"Control!" Bex wailed into the earpiece. "We're under attack. What do we do?"

"From what?" Sam's voice rippled through the earpiece, barely controlling his laughter. Great, just great. We were going to die by sea slug, and he's laughing? I was going to slap him silly if we got out of this alive.

That's when our craft went spinning towards the nearest rock. I leapt at the ship's controls, pressing every button I could to get the vessel steady enough to fly. Several lights were now shining in the direction of the slug, confusing it. It gave me enough time to check my radar and notice that not one, but at least fifty, ships were surrounding the creature.

I was gobsmacked. What were they all doing here? They could have just left me as bait for the slug and escaped themselves. Instead they're all around us, and we're surrounded.

"All right there, Armstrong and Moss?" The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. Bex had more luck than me.

"Yeah Trellis, thanks." Trellis. Didn't Trellis fly the Quasar alongside Macmillan? They were top racers, among the best in the galaxy. Having won several Sectionals and made it through to the Finals several times, they were among the most envied players in the world. An all male team had rallied this many people to our side? Why? When Gage had mentioned we'd made ourselves suspects I'd assumed...

"Why?" I blurted. "Would you have missed me that much?"

Laughter burst through the frequency. "Like hell, Moss. I'm just saying that we're not losing another racer because of some dumb shit animal rights activists, when they were the ones to wake the monsters in the first place. Now let's get going, before we change our minds."

We kept pace with the crew of the Quasar throughout the race, jumping from world to world at top speed. When we crossed the finish line we were miles ahead of those that'd saved our lives, but close enough to the end for a photo finish. With a soaking wet craft and our lives very much in tact, we dashed across the finish line in what the Officials called a rare, "photo finish." Shared first with racers who were ten times better than us and had the gull of twenty men. And I owed them a thank you.

Creation Myth .. So Far

Navid, O' Navid,

he's first, he's second,

He lived and breathed,

He lived and breathed,

The Chaos Seed.

Ninety nine a thousand,

The counts ran high,

Red soaked the greens,

Injustices unchecked,

Were the Chaos Seed and Navid,

Were the Chaos Seed and Navid.

When the red sky rose at night,

Navid and the Chaos Seed,

Howled their battle cry,

And the people gave up the ghost,

The people gave up the ghost.

Its up to Brogan now to tell,

As his hammer rose,

Whom to send to the Nethers,

The red sun broke to fall,

The red sun broke to fall.

From the red dawn came Adela,

Straight from the Nethers did She.

To break the Chaos Seed,

To break the Chaos Seed.

Hence came the Trinity Three,

As His Hammer struck forth,

As His Hammer struck forth.

Justice, Injustice and the Judge,

Justice, Injustice and the Judge. 

Update & Rant

Well it has been an interesting week, to say the least.

Not only have I proven myself geographically retarded -- a word I don't use lightly, considering I can't tell you where certain countries are without said map -- I have been through one of the biggest moves I will ever make.

This means that I am no longer living at the house I've always lived at. It feels kind of strange, and now I'm wondering how I can transfer that information to my writing.

My writing is going through a dry spell. There's nothing like them to dampen down the mood a little, but I suppose I could always drink a few spirits and get that sweet alcohol to do it for me. But I digress. I rather like being happy, so I think I'll stick to making my character's lives a living hell.

As for how to make it hell, one usually does throw conflict after conflict at them.

My muses currently have a few plot threads, but where I am in the story now? Not so great. Distant Sun is chugging along and hitting the middle is a big and scary place filled with mystery for a writer like me.

I'm not used to trying to finish stories. I am determined to finish this one. Because I actually have people interested in them, and this time around I have crafted an old idea into a brand spanking new one. There are even other books in the works, although this story needs to be told first.

What I've worked out is that writing crap really doesn't help my story. Not one little bit. So I can't add on it. If I'm not happy with what I've written, I don't create new words. I have to go all the way back and that takes up time. As a panster, this must seem pretty annoying. But there's not much I can do about it. It is my process.

I've recently decided that my process pretty much sucks. I've taken suggestions. Tried nearly everything to get a decent outline finished, but I keep losing interest in the outline. My urge to write the story -- actually write it -- is too strong.

So when I wrote my essay for school work, I was pleasantly surprised when one worked. Suggested by a friend from forward motion, it is simple enough. Make a list of all the headings, and the points that go under them. Brilliant for non-fiction and including everything that needs doing in an essay.

Yet the newest plan is to try it with a full length novel, including all the points but with some serious leeway. I think I can do it. But not with the story I am working on at the moment. It is far too soon. Maybe if this works and I have a decent idea, I'll be able to complete it. Right now... one thing at a time. Another thing I struggle with.

Don't worry if you don't understand the rant. I've just let this flow as I'm thinking about it, but if its any consolation I'm sure my insanity won't translate into the written word. However, I intend to prune and preen where necessary in my wip, until it is nice and shiny for Indie Publishing. I'll touch on that in my next post, maybe make it less ranty and more about what made me make the decision.

Revised Snippet: Slipstream Racers

"Engine four is down," Bex informed me in the tiniest of voices.

Right. Engine four is down. Not a total loss. "We can fly on three. We're not dead yet, mate."

"I'd like to think we're not dead," Bex said haughtily. "It increases our chances somewhat."

"By?" I refused to look at Bex's equipment. It might tell me something I didn't want to hear. Contrary to popular belief, I was allergic to bad news.

"Oh, about zero point five instead," The corners of Bex's mouth twitched. The slightest of smiles, but enough to tell me that he wasn't spending the last remaining minutes in race with his knickers in a twist. "I'm not sure how long we're going to keep it at zero point five, considering that two enemy vessels are now within range."

Range of what? I peered out my windscreen at spaces vast expanse. I could just make out their faint silhouettes. Crap. 'In range' must've meant in range of the radar, rather than firing range, which would've meant an easy defence. As it stood ...

I wasn't going to voice the thought aloud.

"Um ... " I stopped and made the mistake of glancing into the rear-view cameras.

Shit. Had he meant the two closer vessels, bearing down on  us with some speed? Because they certainly weren't cloaked. With their shields down, they were as visible to us as a rainbow on any water-world.

"Four ships," Bex confirmed a moment later.

Well that was good news. I wasn't imagining things. My body began to shake slightly. Crumbs. There wasn't a driver in the Outer Sequence that shouldn't have been able to handle pressure. Four ships shouldn't be a problem.

Not really. The Saints guns were good. Especially at full power. Except we were down an engine, running on auxiliary power and gunning for the finish line at the same time. There were three Jump Gates ahead of us that we had to rendezvous with. My jaw ached. A moment later, I realised I'd been clenching my teeth.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Five," I added to the total with a hint of dismay. Since when had tag-team racing been part of the War Game Division?

However it did give one of the freakish, once in a life-time opportunities. Pass all five of these crafts and I'd rocket into fourth place ahead of anyone who came by. So, what did I fear most? The opportunity, or the disaster to follow?

"Six," the number sounded as though Bex had taken a long gulp of water and then splattered it against the windscreen.

Definitely tag-team racing. But it would allow us to acquire third place. Hang on a minute. The sixth craft wasn't doing anything. It certainly wasn't getting ready to fire at us.

And as I thought the last line the ground shook beneath us like a magnitude 5 earthquake on a habitable world. Violent and sudden, we hadn't had time to do anything but react.

Curse these opportunists.

"What were you saying about our chances?" I murmured, hoping that Bex hadn't caught that last sentence.

"I think we can kiss the point five goodbye ..."

END SNIPPET 

So what does everyone think?  

An Update: The Slipstream Premier League

Today has been one of those rare days when I've made the most progress on this particular WIP.

HOWEVER

I have made plenty of changes.

Firstly I have been having fun shuffling scenes around. Which means I've edited the first race. While it is longer, it also brings my characters to life more effectively.

Some things are happening earlier. Now there are more deaths. The death of one important older gentleman; the two original deaths of the girls that push Elliot into the Sectionals, and the deaths of the two racers, who by all accounts would surely have won the Sectionals if their ship hadn't suffered a drastic mechanical failure in the first race of the Sectionals.

All plot related deaths, all within the first few chapters. I might space out the events in the second draft.

 A new point of view has been added, ala Agent Cameron Gage. He ties things in together nicely, with his point of view helping along the investigation.

Introduction to one of my Big Bad's happens later. Elliot has seen him, but hasn't spoken to him. Nor has he made a proposition to her ... as of yet. And she's not going to put  two and two together and make five quite as easily as she did the first time around. Let's just deepen the mystery first. So back at 12k, we're well ahead but ... ! It is starting to make some kind of sense.

So without further ado, I'm starting to run out of old materials that I can safely transfer. But I am becoming clearer on who the real villain is ... though its several someones. Not just a someone. Hehe. I love writing.

And that is the update for now,

Cheers!

Bookstore Closures

Around the world, bookstores are in trouble.

It started with the bookstores in the US, from sources from the Writer Beware Blog.

But here in New Zealand, Whitcoulls and Borders have gone into administration. In New Zealand that leaves two major chains, Paperplus and Dymocks. That's not counting the second-hand bookstores, which only sell older books instead of the new materials.

Now I've had to do a few things. I have to shop online to buy the product I want -- Dymocks is just too expensive, so they'll have to get there prices right before I start shopping there again. So I'm left with my online choices.

Those choices are: http://www.bookdepository.com/ , which offers them at a cheaper retail price. The only downside to that is that they don't have the New Zealand currency. But if anyone knows the conversion rate of the AUD Australian dollar, they'll be okay. It certainly beats what Whitcoulls and Dymocks have been offering in their stores for years -- and who knows how long Dymocks will be around for?

Then there is www.ziwi.co.nz , which is an online bookstore. Just sells books and doesn't offer ebooks as well, as the book depository does. This website has New Zealand currency and ships around New Zealand quite quickly.

Another option on the ebook side of things is Smashwords, which I think is www.smashwords.com. Now these are authors breaking into the market. I've got some very good reads from these websites downloaded onto my eReader, but unfortunately Smashwords do not offer good, solid books in hand.

What else? Mightape helps, because they have a great range of books but they're more expensive than Smashwords, Ziwi, and the Book Depository combined. However, their service is really good and its something to consider if you're buying books and looking to shop for general items.

So where does that leave me? Am I not going to physically be able to walk into a bookstore anymore to browse, as I like to do sometimes? I'm probably going to have to go to the Library a lot more. Trouble is, that's an hour away by public transport. While PaperPlus is nearby, it doesn't have the selection. It serves as a Stationary/Book/Lotto counter for shoppers everywhere. And today their shelves looked empty. Alarm bells ringing, anyone?

Ferry over your comments, let me know why you think the bookstores are failing.

Cheers,
Nyxix

Rant: 1

Hey

So I decided to have a minor rant about writing.

One of the toughest things for me right now is writing new tracks. That's right -- writing tracks for Elliot and her team to compete on, sometimes with the bells and whistles a hovercraft needs to keep spacial disorientation at bay. A real threat when the racers have to fly through a magnetic field.

But what else could there be? Well, I can't use all my ideas too early. I should consider adding a new point of view. Agent Gage needs to make an entrance at some point. I might go through and read through to see where the appropriate points would be. It would take me well over 20k -- again.

Did I mention I'd hit the 20k mark on my first draft? Probably not, since I don't know enough about what's going to happen next. Its all stored neatly in my mind, with the scenes floating around in search of something to connect with. Blame the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy for my new love of Science Fiction and chalk it up to fate that I'm writing a female protagonist in the style of a paranormal fantasy novel.

There's the fantasy influence right there. I have to go through and check my technology. But then if I invent something light years ahead, it might not matter. I just have to know its possible, or do I have to research? Probably, if I need to offer an in depth explanation ... but what my character doesn't know, my readers can't know, because she won't know to relay it. The joys of first person. So I need a general idea of how it works. The show and tell portion? I've already run into some hard knocks, with problems raring their heads on all sides.

Maybe I should start the rewrite already to include the second POV? It might sound a little extreme, but it'd be quick ... sort of.

I'll figure it out. Eventually.

In the meantime I'll keep writing.

Love, Nyxix

The Slipstream Premier League, Mark Two

The Slipstream Premier League is a three book trilogy with quite a few exciting changes from the first time I outlined the series. With a new set of descriptions and characters, its quite possible that with each new word added a little bit of the story will change no matter how hard I try to summarise it. So let's start at the beginning, and Book One: Distant Sun.

When Elliot Moss limps into the Sectionals with her hovercraft's technology on the fritz, its the beginning of a trilogy filled with romance, intrigue and mystery.  With the possible deaths of two team members in the Regionals, Elliot knows there might be an element of match-fixing in the mix. What she doesn't know is that match-fixing is not all it is. Bookies are literally killing to make a quick buck, with racers disappearing faster than last night's dinner. Then there's an added challenge: can Elliot stay alive as each track becomes exceedingly more dangerous than the last? If Water-Worlds and giant sea slugs aren't enough, then there's a comet's tail, anti-gravity and much, much more to combat. Poor Elliot doesn't have a chance in hell, unless her saviour is in the hands of an intergalactic Federal Agent, determined to bring down the killers alive and arrest the person(s) responsible. 

:: That's pretty much the summary of the first book, with the summaries of the second and third soon to follow when I make up my mind what happens in them. ::

Fun Scene (to be edited later)

((Another little snippet. Part of the usefulness of having one of these blog things handy. My MC is having a few issues after a hard night partying and making a general fool of herself. :D ))

Mornings are not fun. When one woke from an alcoholic coma it did not do the head the slightest bit of good. Of course every time I swore I'd never drink again, I went back on my word. So I kept the thought to myself and cursed the ground that bookie walked on. It made a helluva lot more sense than the memory flashes from last night.

"You silly girl," Detective Cameron Gage. Halleluiah. Should I be pleased that he had graced me with his presence? With my head over the toilet bowl, it probably wasn't the most attractive prospect. I couldn't even muster enough strength to kick him. "Did you really think that confronting him would solve your problems? We were making progress and then you go and make yourself a suspect."

"She's not a suspect," Bex said promptly. There's my loyal Saint Bernard, always there to back up my alcoholic rages, whenever and wherever they took place. Just because the memorial service hadn't gone off quite as I'd expected it didn't mean that there would be anything to gain by it...

"There's evidence," Gage said tiredly. "The racers, Beckett and Heat were equipped with faulty part. We lifted serial numbers for the parts. They were traced back to your inventory, supposedly to be installed on the Beast. Someone swapped out their good one for your bad one."

My head whirled. I knew it. I knew it. Something wasn't right with this whole situation. While I didn't know the parts had been swapped out, it did make my guilt over the affair feel justified. But it also brought up another problem. At the memorial service it had become clear that I shouldn't have a debt to pay to the dead. They weren't relatives. I hadn't owed them anything in life. They hadn't given me anything, done anything for me or made sure I'd survived. But the fact that the bad part on the Beast had been installed on their craft? That meant I had to pay service to the dead. I gulped. Not good.

"That can't be right," I mumbled. "No one would be that stupid. They swap out my bad parts, knowing it is going to have some kind of impact on the vessels recovery. I wouldn't have done anything like it, Gage. I'm not stupid. Do you know how long it takes to pay off a life-debt?"

"Life-debt?" Detective Gage's brow furrowed.

"Tell me you know what a life-debt is. Or rather an afterlife debt," Bex moaned. "Because you've got to be sure what you're telling us. If that part was responsible for bringing down that craft ..."

Bile rose in my throat. Thank god the toilet wasn't far away. The words out of Gage's mouth would've been a godsend had I believed in such things.

"There is no concrete proof yet," Gage said. "We know the problem began with a faulty part. A part that was supposed to be installed on the Beast, but they were swapped by the pit-crew. They say they didn't know where the new part came from. It had been long overdue and..."

"But we bought the Beast brand new," I told him. Oh goddess, there goes the last of my breakfast. Probably some of last night's dinner, too. "The parts shouldn't have needed replacing. We'd only flown it once before in a practice run. Previously we'd flown the Saint. Now I could understand one of the parts from the Saint bringing down their craft, but not the brand new one."

I managed to say this between deep breaths and a dash to the sink to rinse. Last night's dinner does not taste great on its way back up. Nor does it taste any better on the way back down. At least most of it was out, though. Soon I would surely have nothing left to bring out.

"I'll get you something for that ...." Gage indicated the toilet. I nodded gratefully. Maybe it would make the morning pass quicker. If what Gage said was right about their hovercraft, a life saved for a life paid wasn't a deal I could get out of in this life-time. The only reliable way out of it was to figure out who had killed them and why. At least then I could start repaying what they'd given us. One look at Bex told him we were thinking the same thing: someone had set us up. Big time. 

Funeral Rites in Fiction

Everyone always seems to assume that traditional funeral rites are formed solely in the many Christian and Catholic denominations, not realizing that other cultures have their own, very real practices.


So it should be in fiction. I just realised that I needed to have a unique funeral rite on my space-ship, thousands of years into the future. No way would the "traditional" western funeral exist in a world where Christianity may never have existed.


Writing a funeral is the hardest thing I have ever done. I'm still only  a few paragraphs in, with a favourite new poem insert. The first few bits are from what I remember of a Maori welcoming. This welcoming is usually used to welcome people onto sacred ground. While I used that, I changed the words, and made my own specific poem: 

"Hello to you my trusted friends,

Together we've loved and lost,

Together we'll play the host,

Now that we gather here,

Two lives can come to their rightful end,

                                                           Goodbye to you, my sweet friends."


That's not all of it, sadly. I don't and wouldn't have time to write it all in my book. And my MC isn't feeling well so its probably a good idea if she doesn't hear the whole thing. Now the next stages is a little harder. I've come up with a number of possible ideas, but only one is plot related. Except I have a small problem with that, because I'm combining Maori and Japanese cultures -- in the strangest way possible, during a funeral.


Except I'm not borrowing the funeral rites. Oh no, just the concept of a debt to be repaid. The link is here, http://animewriter.wordpress.com/2009/09/18/death-in-japan-japanese-funeral-customs-practices-and-a-story-of-obligation/ the debt is quite an interesting concept and I'm not sure how to apply it to someone in an Science fiction world, whereby the people involved doesn't even know the victims that well. But it'll provide the sole motivation for her to figure out the plot.


Interested? 


I am. Let's see where this takes me. 

Distant Sun: Dream Sequence

Bed should have been one of the best time of the day. I used to love curling up in  my blankets. Back at home, I'd spend half the morning in denial. The sun wasn't up. It wasn't time to go and look for a job. I had everything I needed beneath the covers. Soft pillows, a comfortable mattress and plenty of money. If my parents hadn't cut me off, I would've still been living in their rather large basement. I felt the blankets warmth about me and slipped into one of my greatest fears.

            The Beast gave a happy hum. All systems were working to their  full efficiency, with nothing at all to worry about. The flight plan of this race wasn't high stakes. Bex had said something about it being a practice run, and had jabbered on a good length about how they were important. Especially when it came to checking the safety of the equipment and technology that made the hovercraft important. But nevertheless, I'd make sure we won the race simulation, whether Bex liked it or not.

"Shields activated," Bex parroted, his usual cheerful self. I blinked. Where were our enemies? I couldn't see them on radar and as Bex had said, this wasn't a race we were supposed to be 'winning' in the direct sense of the word. "Get ready to fire in three..."

Wait? What was I firing at? These people were goddamn insane. It was like trying to figure out what a schizophrenic was thinking. I know what most people thought about them was just another urban legend, but in all seriousness Bex shouldn't be preparing to fire when he didn't have those controls. As the onboard navigator, he knew what every little detail of the ship meant. He had control of the controls and equipment. I just drove the Beast and  fired weapons. I'd fire a weapon if I figured out where my target was, at any rate.

"Bex!" I shouted through the earpiece. "What the hell am I firing at?"

 It was too late. The ship had winked into full view. Through my windscreen I could tell that it was in position for a direct hit. My heart leapt to my throat. For a practice run it looked pretty serious. I hoped our pods were up to scratch. They'd be taking us to Control, should something go wrong. I slammed my fist down hard on the trigger. That's when the system started squealing at me. In the old timer jet planes, all the bells and whistles would go off as warning signs before imminent death. The pilots would be given the smallest of chances to battle it out against whatever force was pulling them down, and the in-flight data's bells and whistles would do little to help. Within a hovercraft, those same bells and whistles were telling me that something was wrong. Only instead of things like altitude we were running out of a little something called fuel, oxygen, and the very stuff that made me able to breath the artificial air. Within minutes the initial shut down phase began to set in motion. The life-preserving sequence burst into life as all technology that needed power to run disappeared one by one. This had happened to me only once before, on the Saint. Except the Saint hadn't decided to let me down this badly, with the attack brief and the technology alive just enough to get us to the finish line. My breaths became harsh and ragged, struggling to find even the tiniest drop of oxygen that a human being could safely breathe.

"Sam, Control, someone ..." But barely did I get the last word out when the last piece of oxygen left the ship. 

January

Hey

I've been away for a while. A lot of things have happened within the few months I've been quiet. The short and long of it is that I have become a statistic, one of the vast number of people who are unemployed this year. Only I hope to rectify that problem soon, while working on several writings this year. Luckily for me, I will not be "unemployed" for much longer, needless to say I can head myself under the "student" banner and hope that stops all untoward questions about where I may or may not work. Hopefully.

As this is both a personal and writing blog, don't expect writing things all the time -- I'll learn from my mistakes, just as  the average person would.

Obviously I'm having a little trouble on the writing front. I've gone past 10k on my work in progress, and thusly am having trouble (I just like the word thusly, whether it is in correct grammatical use or not). I figure that this might be because of the size of the beast. I think that there might be a mental block preventing me from writing the romance between Detective Cameron Gage and his lovely love interest, Elliot Moss. Even though Elliot is a male name, I prefer it for use as a  female name, having borrowed it from Scrubs. I do watch television, just not often. Haha.

Once I figure out what this block entails, I will do my best to work past it. Part of it belongs to the fact that I know further back in the depths of the wip, I have never wrote this far and still found myself floundering about in the beginning of the novel. Its new territory for me. Usually the beginning is over by oh, 5 - 6k words, then I'm in the arms of the middle. Which goes to show that the middle might arrive by the time I get my head around the fact that I really hate chapter six, and am considering revising it now out of pure spite.

This will take the word count down, but enevitably I can still save the words in another word document, which will mean that I can access the general idea of what I want to do in a later chapter. Perhaps I have started later plot points too early, and have made things much worse without thinking it through properly. I had intended for chapter six to happen later, and mugging my character really didn't help thicken the plot. So with that reasoning in mind, I'll take it out.

I suppose all that remains is to figure out the cause of this block. Hopefully taking out chapter six doesn't do too much to the wip and doesn't rewind the wordcount too far, but an update to this blog will determine what's going on, why, how, and when Elliot and Gage will finally fall in love and put their differences aside, while trying not to get themselves killed. :D