It turns out getting your home ready for an open house takes time. That’s why I haven’t been posting as regularly as normal. I hope I never end up selling a place I’m still living in again.
The Star Trek and Doctor Who online fandoms have gotten really toxic. I don’t consider myself a Star Wars fan but I’ve read enough comments to see the toxicity there too. To be clear, you can like or dislike a show, and express your like or dislike, without being toxic. There are certainly fans in that category. But when looking at the loud and toxic mess, on one hand there are people talking about how liberal virtue signaling Social Justice Warriors have destroyed these beloved franchises and on the other hand there are accusations of racism, sexism, and Trump support against those who aren’t fans of the current iterations of these franchises. It gets so tiring and depressing to see and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.
I want more fun in my fandoms.
On an unrelated note…
It was the dining room table that destroyed our “friendship,” if you can call it that. She put it in far right hand corner. I centered it in the room so that my friends and I could all sit around it. After this, she declared war. Of course, I didn’t know that until weeks later.
I wasn’t surprised. When I heard Ellis say those cold, cruel words to Hannah, I wasn’t surprised. I wanted to be, even tried to be, but I wasn’t. After all these years, after knowing him for all these years, I’ve mostly moved beyond surprise. It’s only natural.
I’ve seen him do more spontaneous, insane, thoughtless, and just plain stupid things than I can, or even care to, remember. I’ve seen him be arrogant and unkind to the point of near viciousness
I’ve also seen – and been on the receiving end of – his unwavering dedication. Though I can have trouble reconciling his seemingly contradictory behavior, it rarely surprises me anymore. I’ve simply known him for too long.
He is wild and unpredictable. He always has been.
So I wasn’t surprised.
“You stand accused of disregard for human life, blood rape, and murder. How do you plead?”
“I plead guilty,” Elijah replies firmly to the matron of the proceedings, noticing the subtle shift in the stances of those assembled around him. A human wouldn’t see but his enhanced senses detect the indication of surprise. “I ask that I be allowed to argue not in defense of what I did, but in defense of what I’ve done since. I have changed. I would like to call a witness who can attest to it.”
This is not something those who stand in judgment must discuss. They consider themselves to be fair above all things. “We will allow it. What is this person?”
“He is human.”
Another near imperceptible shift. “Have you broken the conventions of secrecy?”
“No. He knew of our kind before I met him.”
“What’s the use in working for the king if you can’t afford to save mom?”
Nolan is at a pub with a couple mates when he feels it. A chill in his blood, a pulling. It frightens him, but never one to be put off by fear, he says goodnight and sets out into the cold. He walks past his flat, down streets and past stores, past any part of the city he knows. His iPhone buzzes time and again; he ignores it.
Nadette doesn’t like seeing Lana this way. Diminished, self-conscious, unsure. She doesn’t think Lana knows how diminished she is, and she doesn’t know what Lana’s brother said to her, except for the end. “You always were such a disappointment to father.” But the end is enough.
Christmas related days are definitely my weak point. I had a fun trip visiting family and friends. Now I’m back and getting ready for work tomorrow after a five day weekend. I’m happy to be home.
Here’s a new First Sentence:
The room is dark and empty when I enter. King Omark is still at the reception with Queen Isandra. I hope he returns alone tonight. Interrupting their endeavors to produce an heir would be unpleasant, to say the least. Worse, I don’t trust her to keep my secrets.
The Christmas presents are wrapped and I’m mostly packed for my long weekend in Fresno with my family. Well, as much as I can be when it’s Thursday night and I’m leaving on Saturday morning. Tomorrow, I’m having a pre-Christmas with a Sacramento friend. We’re also going to see Mary Poppins Returns, which I’m excited about.
So the upside is that I’ve gotten things done that needing doing. The downside is that I haven’t worked on my novel today at all, and now it’s time to wind down for bed.
Taking a break from novel related snippets, here’s a First Sentence:
It’s gone all wrong. If we continue our ‘rescue’ they’ll kill all the prisoners before we can get to them. They’re ruthless, and why not? They’ve already demonstrated the manacled men and women are nothing more than chattel to them. What’s the harm in slaughtering chattel? It’s disgusting.
Gallek’s stilled his fire, realizing the only outcome of pushing this stalemate, but the others haven’t.
“Stop,” I say. I single command, not shouted, but they’re well trained. The shots cease, leaving us to the laughing jeers of the Sect as they kick the bodies of the prisoners they’ve already murdered.
Jaled’s face lights up, following the sound of my voice. He can’t see me through the darkness and trees but he looks right at me as if he could. There are bruises all up and down his arms. His face is pale and drawn. His steel entrapped hands shake. It’s
In reference to yesterday’s post, sometimes days in general don’t go the way you plan (though of course it’s fun to point at Mondays). I’ve done a lot of thinking about my novel today, and some brainstorming, but no actual outlining. I do have – as a general idea – a fix for the issue in question, but there are all the scene-by-scene details to figure out. Thirty three scenes, to be exact.
I got another idea for a short story this week. When I’m done with this novel I’m going to have so many things to choose from for my next project. Here’s my first attempt at a First Sentence for this potential future short story:
I follow her through history before I follow her through the night. It’s harder than it normally is. She treads more lightly than most of her kind. From what I can determine, she’s between 125 and 150 years old and hasn’t often strayed out of the United States. She’s never joined a pack and is most reliably found in the journals of witch covens.
I probably never would have discovered her if she hadn’t spent the last twenty years living in one city – the same city I’ve called home for the better part of a decade. She’s averaging one disappearance per month. It’s an unexpectedly low body count but I still have to stop her, and to do that, I need to learn everything I can about her habits. That’s why
I’m determined to figure out how to fix the trickiest issue left in my novel this weekend. Not necessarily to actually get done the fixing, but to outline exactly what I will be doing when I embark on my next (and last) set of (somewhat) significant changes.
There will be at least two outlines to complete when it comes to figuring out how to fix this issue – an outline of how things would play out if I fixed it using option 1 and an outline of how things would play out if I fixed it using option 2. Neither option is unflawed but the process of outlining will help me think of new ideas that I will in turn outline the ramifications of.
I’ve done a lot of reviewing of all my novel-related material recently. This is how an idea for a short story set in the same universe presented itself to me on 10/26/2017:
When the police come to arrest me, I expect them. I didn’t set out to break international telepathy law, but sometimes Mondays don’t go the way you plan.