Facebook Status Updates, Part II

And a few more status updates; one friend jokingly thought the first should be a t-shirt :)

“You know how, when you were walking along the beach?”
“Yeah?”
“And there was only one set of footprints?”
“Oh, come on --.”
“God was piggybacking.”

Short story in 6 words: See? I told you they’re friendly.

If Jehovah's Wtinesses don't believe in blood transfusions, can they become vampires? Discuss.

"Magic is not the negation of science, my child; on the contrary, it is where all unified theories take us in the end."

I looked at the ghost who had been my wife. She was thin and taut, bones jutting out under pale flesh; everything about her was hard. She wore white, probably to tick me off. Her anger was a cold wind in the room and her fingers crooked like claws. “Being dead changes a lot of things, Nathan. Not enough of them that matter, though.”

What, you think you are children of Light? That your species will enter the age of Acquarius to become stars? Are you truly that stupid? You destroy the planet, murder each other, leave half your world starving to death while the other half finds new ways to avoid noticing that. Fool. This world you’ve made, with oil spills, wars, pettiness: that is the limit of human potential.

We all make lines we will not cross, in our hearts. Some will never murder, never love: it’s not about morality. And it’s not arbitrary, as much as it can seem like that. It’s - identity, choosing who we are in the world. As long as you can do that, you can call yourself sane. the danger in such things is that there are no lines we’ll never cross, not truly: people are capable of anything.

Everything changed when Tyler realized there was no such thing as twins.

Dear Grey Alien: If you really must mutilate cattle, try to avoid the ones with testicles.

Thought of the morning: the world needs redneck superhero teams.

What kind of person watches clown porn? Discuss and provide examples (politicians not permitted).

"I hate you sometimes," He said.
She shrugged. "Hate is a force of attraction as well."

They teach things, in the school that isn't a school. They tell stories, because all stories are lies, but never laugh (it could be cheaper than the medicines) and smile in the way that never touches the eyes, all surface without depth. When they speak truths, their voices are gentle and unkind. And when they fold the world, trying to make someone anew, there is always a corner left crumpled.

What if only one Siamese Twin gets raptured?

"Of course I adore The Secret," the Devil told Mike Wallace. "It tells you that the victim is always to blame, and makes you all so very smug. No wish changes the world that remains a wish, no dream that is only ever but a dream. Wonderful stuff."

"Of course I backed the Skynet project. Once the Terminators come, we'll finally be alive again, have an honest war with fighting for. Once Mr. gates gets on board, the time travel project will proceed as well. I can't see anything going wrong with this plan, can you?"

“I'm not going to be a hero,” Boy said, and there was silence under the mountain. “If being a hero means I have to kill a dragon – to kill you – then I won't ever do it. If it means thinking of others as monsters, it's wrong. Just because things have a price doesn't mean it has to be paid.”

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't care how many calories you burn: a zombie apocalypse is NOT a valid diet plan."

Dangers of having an very active danger sense: Cigarette smoke. Transfat. Misleading advertising. Artificial food colouring.

"Look at them, hiding out in their gated community with security to keep out the riff-raff -- for their false sense of security and putting happiness above freedom and -- ..."
Charles interrupted my have/have not rant mildly. "What do you think Heaven is?"

Vampire facebook:
"Delia bites Joe"
"Joe stakes Deliah"

Whenever I read that the Prime Minister has shuffled the cabinet, I wonder if it is really a living tarot deck.

"Really, being a sociopath is probably the best choice for stable morals."
- Moi. Context is everything, though ..... right?

The children adopted by Angelina Jolie and Madonna form their own nation by 2030. Discuss.

The most boring job in the world be improved by mentioning "sting operations"

"I want to be free."
"You are social?" the teacher said. "A herd animal, yes?"
"Humans are."
"Then I am sorry. You would be alone, and confuse that with being free."

When the aliens abduct me, I'm going to demand to see if they really do have a gift shop on the UFO.

Ah, plotting...

Falling to the Sky proceeds interestingly via writing group. Current scene semi-works (aka the swamp needs more detail as does the naming of things) but at least I know where it broke and how to fix it. Currently I write 1-2 sections ahead of what I submit, and the submissions are basically first-second drafts, altered based on comments about previous sections and plot changes from the new sections added in. Since I have the overall story arc mapped out, it works pretty well in allowing critiques to influence certain aspects of the plot (like having a certain item be a stone and not a glowing hand) as well as helping me figure what things are intrinsic to the plot and can't change.

The Master Said, “See? They Don't Seem To Notice?”

The silence stretched between them until finally she broke it. “Your trip?”

“I don't want to talk,” he said, “about it,” and then did. “They took me to the cold place, the place that smells of death and the end of hope.”

“It is not always bad,” she said, though to him it was faith rather than hope that underscored her words.

She snuggled closer to him, their warmth enfolding; he did not pull away. This time his body was silent for him.

“What have they done to you?” she said, voice steady for the children. For them, she could do anything.

He tried not to think about that. “No more, never, never. That is what they did, what they are,” he said, a howl rising under his voice but he throttled it back. They could take him back. They could do worse things. He knew this in his bones.

“But --,” she said, and nothing else.

“I can still guard,” he said. “I still have my job here.”

“But.”

He could feel her wanting to draw away, but she did not. He wondered who this was for: the masters? the children? him? Herself? “They fed me,” he said. “And I never bit their hand, not once. I was loyal, and brave and true and --.” He stopped, courage failing for a moment.

“They made mockery of our love.”

“I should have been the one to say that.”

She stood, her eyes hard, a growl under her voice. “You did nothing wrong, and they made you not a man.”

“Sit,” he pleaded, but the speaking of truth seemed to have drained the strength from his voice.

“We should hurt them,” she said, and for a moment he saw the wildness he had fallen in love with and wondered if he'd ever see that flash of her again.

“No,” he said. “Our children would be taken to the death place or the river.”

“And you would not fight them,” she said, not making it a question.

“What do I have left to fight for?” he said. “I will not risk our children.”

Her tail thumped the floor feebly, trying to assure him and they curled up together on the mat by the door, trying to keep each other whole.

nanowrimo 2010

Well, have a plot idea. As my previous "Oh, here is a nano plot idea!" things have led to ... never doing it for nano, I shall see where it takes me. (Seriously; I did 3 nanoes last year, none of which was the story I plotted out.) So all I will say it is is horror and involves gnosticism like a lot of good horror does.

And it's about how global warming and nuclear holocausts are good for the human species. Really.

Things I have ready today on the internet

Or, signs the net is awesome:

Family circus parody.
Other theories of Intelligent Design.
The use of zyklon-B in world war two. (And failures of attempts to trademade zyklon since then.)
An episode of Look Around You, a british comedy series making fun of old science videos.
Information of brothers Loki may have had.
Article on Prop 8, leading to comment: "and the terminator approves of that. Gay marriage: bringing skynet one step closer...."
Information on the co-founder of google.

And other things, all a result of links and random other connections from links. (The Family Circus of Values led to Zyklon-B. Because the internet works like this.) Of course, I haven't got that much actually writing -- or anything else -- done this evening yet :)

Creating worlds

A curious factoid: I run roleplaying games online, often a couple of nights a week. Sometimes I throw in novel ideas to test them, but mostly they exist as their own things. However, years of creating settings that existed for mere months became tiring, so I made a promise that games, especially small one-player side games, would involve much less writing and time spent from working on novels and stories.

Despite this, I have written over 3K in notes for a side game in the past couple of days and have vague future plans involving horror and gnosticism running about in my head wanting to be written down. End result? Despite intentions, I always put more into such projects than I initially plan to.

The Court

He came dressed in black, and the Court was silent when he entered. Some things are so deeply forbidden no one need ever actually forbid them; but since no one had, he continued to walk in slow, measured steps to the throne. The King sat on it, listless, unmoving: the Bishops hovering about moved quickly, buzzing about to offer advice and keep others away.

They did not stop him, because he was beneath their notice.

The Queen looked down upon him and her smile was as brittle as the paint on her face. “Why are you here?” she said in her great and terrible voice that could be felt over the whole of the kingdom.

“I bring word from the front lines,” he said.

“The Knights do that,” she said.

“The Knights are dead,” he replied, and the court was hushes for a moment.

The King roused briefly to murmur something only his wife heard.

“All of them?” the Queen snapped.

“Yes.”

“And you, peasant; why do you come here in the colours of the enemy?”

“Black is also a colour of mourning,” he said.

“There are always more Knights; we can promote from the ranks,” she said casually.

“Not without cost,” the peasant said.

The Queen gazed down, her pale face gleaming in the light from the floor. “You have a problem, peasant?” she said, drawing up her office around her.

“The enemy slipped through our lines too easily, and left without being harmed,” he said, the words tumbling out in a spasm of guilt and desperation.

The Queen raised her pale eyebrows. “Sabotage?”

“Treason,” the peasant said. “Someone broke the laws, worked out a deal. Or was jealous,” he added, and knew himself damned.

“Jealous?” the Queen said.

“In all the land, there is only one Queen, and you are a Power of our land. You can do anything your bishops can do, even what the towers that guard the kingdom can; you see it all, but there is one thing a Queen cannot do.”

Her smile vanished, and her face was colder than winter as she stared at him.

“I am only a pawn in the games of the Court,” he said into the terrible hush that gripped the court. “But Knights can move in ways even the Queen cannot.”

“Guards,” the Queen said.

The peasant smiled then, mirthlessly. “I will not serve a kingdom whose honour has been tainted. I do not just wear the black!” he cried, and the court froze as he lunged towards the King and stabbed him once, in the heart.

For a moment, as only the peasants could, as only a pawn in the game could, he briefly was the queen and then the king, and the world fell away as the Queen screamed her rage down into the swirling void of white and black and silence that engulfed them all.

Plotting Oddities ...

I am currently ~30K into Falling To Sky (formerly titled Boy and Fox). The write, edit, submit to writing group, alter future sections based on that etc. method is proving interesting. Definitely a better story, though it takes longer to write. At present there is about 15,000 words that have been deleted, became irrelevant, or were redone entirely from scratch. Whole scenes and characters no longer exist, which is always fun.

The current oddity is that the novel now has an Antagonist of sorts for Boy, which was never intended at all. As Shing doesn't show up until this point regardless, it doesn't change what has come before, but will alter future plans enormously. At some point, Boy will realize that Shing isn't a Villain, if only because people so seldom are and I've no intention of writing a simplistic Good vs. Evil story but the main character needs to THINK the story is like that at this point in his development.

Or so I hope. Shall be interesting to see what the writing group makes of it.

Horrors.... ?

According to I Write Like my current WIP is written like James Joyce. I shall go off in a corner and snuggle stuffed animals and weep now.

Rituals

“Why am I here” Father Black said. “I left the order years ago.”

“You are still a priest,” a man says roughly to his left, fingers holding his arm tightly.

The bag over his head is tight, but not enough to choke: he can't see, but it isn't restrictive. It occurred to Father Black that the two men walking to either side had put bags on heads often, easily dragged people from their lives and to.... where?

“Are you with the government?” he tried.

“After our fashion,” the man on on his right says; they both sound alike.

“Why am I here?”

“A baptism is needed,” the man on his left said.

Air hisses, cool and sterile, and Faqther Black finds himself guided into a room andn brought to a halt. The hood comes off, and the man to the right tells him not to look around, says something about security, but Father Black doesn't here. He's busy staring at a silver incubator devoid of tubes, and a small figure is lying in it. Not wrapped in clothes, but naked like a doll, with skin the colour of a dead body and wide black eyes that didn't blink at all. Small, long fingers reached up towards them

“I was asked a question?” Father Black said.

“They can't talk; most of the time we get images,” the man to the right says.

“This is an alien.”

“Yes,” one of them says. Father Black doesn't hear any weapons, see any movement, but the dark eyes of the creature in the incubator grow wider.

“What – what I am supposed to do?” he asked.

“You are a priest,” the man to the left says. “We have water.”

“What?”

“A baptism,” the man to the right said, without a threat of humour in his voice. “The aliens rarely produce children, but those they do must be blessed so they will not burn in hell. Baptism is a kind of exorcism, you know.”

Father Black nodded numbly and took the water from them, saying the words. The alien did nothing in return, and the water sank into that strange skin as though it were more sponge than flesh.

I'm sorry, he thought, not sure who he meant, or who he was speaking to; if the alien could hear his thoughts, it didn't react. The bag was placed on his head again and Father Black led from the room.

“Do – do you plan to wipe my memory?” he whispered.

“Who would believe you?” the one on the right says, and sounds almost sad.

Father Black said nothing else.