Different Strokes of the Pen

NaNoWriMo is in full swing.  A month full of writers summoning forth characters from the endless worlds that occupy their imaginations.  Lives are created.  They begin and end with the stroke of a pen or press of a letter on a keyboard.  Worlds are created and environments come into being.  There are adventures to be had and enemies to be defeated.  Broad fields of story and plot lay before the creative mind.

There are any number of obstacles that must be hurdled when writing a story, whether it be a short read or a multi-chapter novel.  How do you define characters and give each of them a unique voice?  How do you choose a time period for your story and how does it affect the plot and lives of the characters?  Do you reveal histories at the beginning of the story, in little pieces as the story moves along, or leave some mystery for later stories?  How do you get the proper impact of various events across to the reader so it effects them the same way it effects you as you write?

One of the biggest challenges for me is writing just one story at a time.  Over my lifetime I have been struck by the thought of many ideas that would make good stories to tell.  Some of them are similar enough that they can be molded into one story.  Others are so vastly different they must each have their own tale.

For my current NaNoWriMo attempt I am writing a sequel to my first published book.  There are story elements I have been wanting to use in these and other sci-fi stories.  Relationships to develop, locations to discover, and things to happen in general.  Also taking up space in my mind is a story that comes from a world of magic and spells more than one of spaceships and lasers.  In order to clear out some of the extra clutter, I'm going to put some of the opening of the fantasy story here.  Maybe it will be my 2015 NaNoWriMo novel.

A robed figure slowly moves through a dark cavern.  The only source of light is a gentle glow from a large crystal in the center of the room.  The figure's features are hidden under the shadows of a deep hood.  He walks with a tall staff clutched in one aged hand.  Ancient runes seem to glow up and down the staff, reflecting the clear light from the crystal.  As he walks by the crystal, he reaches out his other gnarled hand to caress it as one would a longtime lover.  His voice, despite being as rough as a poorly maintained gravel road, clearly carried a degree of affection.  He speaks with certainty and conviction to the otherwise empty space.

"It is nearly time for us to rise again.  For centuries you have been building your reserves, growing in power, collecting the raw energy of life itself.  The eight recipients have been selected.  When the time is right they will be given access to you in order to bring about a new age.  They will be the beginning of real power returning to this world.  Power that is based on strength of mind and will instead of simple brute force and conniving manipulation.  Power the use of which can drain the user for a short time or eternally, depending on how it used.

"The chosen eight will gather others together and teach them to use this power.  Its use will quickly spread around the world.  Some will have a great talent and use their power for great things, others will only be capable of impressing small audiences with their simple flashes of skill.  Like other powers humanity has come across, some will use it for the betterment of those around them and others will use it only for themselves.  Some will us it for good, others for purely evil purposes.

"The power you have inside you was used many centuries ago.  Now it will be used again.  Magic will rise again on the Earth.  The modern age of electronics and technology will see the return of sorcery and magic.  Spellbooks will take their place alongside e-readers.  Teleportation will join driving and flying as a method of personal transportation.  The Digital Age will give way to The Age of Power"

The crystal's glow shifted as the man spoke.  It gives off a bright flash of light that fills the cavern as the man slowly ends his caress and removes his hand from the crystal.  He raises the staff and speaks an ancient word.  The robed figure vanishes from the cavern with no sign he was ever there.


With that piece of story out of the way, I have more room in my mind for my current tale.

That Time of Year

It is just over a week until the annual National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, challenge begins.  The challenge is to write 50,000 words in 30 days.  Every November 1st writers across the country do their best to hide from the outside world and write their next, great novel.    

Phone calls go unanswered, emails go unread, FaceBook and Twitter posts drop off, DVRs get filled with unwatched episodes.  At the same time characters come to live, worlds are created, events occur on personal and interstellar levels, and stories are told.  Editing is ignored as writing is done in a near stream-of-consciousness method.  All of this in an effort to reach that elusive word count before time runs out.

The National Novel Writing Month website has many tools to help prospective authors wishing to undertake the challenge.  They have forums that allow authors to connect and share advice, story ideas, and offer up abandoned plots for someone else to run with.  There are also schedules with write-ins where writers can meet other local writers in person.  

The most important tool is the word counter.  This tool shows the total number of words written so far, the number of words remaining to reach 50,000, and how many words per day must be averaged to reach the target number.  Word counts can be submitted manually at the start of the month.  For full verification, an automatic counter is used by pasting story text in a counter on the site.

This year will be my third attempt.  During each of my previous tries I broke through 40,000 words, but was unable to reach 50,000.  This year may be no different, however I will still do my best to tell my story as completely as possible.  Here is a sample from my first NaNoWriMo attempt which I self-published as a book titled Dangerous Stars.

Hours later, Christian was returning to his quarters after another uneventful shift in the pilot's cabin. As he lay down on his bunk a light, tapping comes from his door. Samantha is standing there wearing only her jumpsuit and none of the usual clothing under it. In a sultry voice she asks, “Might I come in? The majority of my clothing is being cleaned and these halls are a little cold. Your quarters as so much closer and warmer than mine.”

Christian steps to the side of the doorway and gestures for Samantha to enter his quarters, excited anticipation lighting up his face. “By all means, please enter. We certainly can't allow the guests on our ship to become cold and uncomfortable.”

Samantha slinks into the room, Christian detecting a hint of an exotic perfume as she passes close to him. Christian is unable to take his eyes off Samantha as she slowly settles herself into his work table chair, her sensuality obvious in every movement and gesture. “I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important.”

Christian then returns to his bunk, stretching out leisurely, and picks up the printouts he had been studying when Samantha knocked on his door. He feigns interest in the pages before him, his mind clearly wandering to a figure other than the one represented by the numbers in front of his eyes. “Nothing important, just reviewing some notes on a personal project.”

Samantha speaks in a sultry voice as she gets up from the chair. “Then maybe you wouldn't mind a little bit more of an interruption. Recent ...occurrences have the ship in a dreary mood and I have an urgent desire to feel alive and full of pleasure.” One hand slowly unhooks the shoulder straps of her jumpsuit and allows the top to fall slightly. Only smooth, bare flesh is revealed underneath. She covers the short distance between the chair and Christian's bunk with two seductive strides. The motion of her hips causes the top of her jumpsuit to fall further, coming to a rest around her waist. Her entire upper body is now bare, the notes Christian had been studying gradually falling forgotten from his hand.

Samantha slowly climbs on top of Christian, her legs straddling him to either side. Leaning down and pressing her chest to his, she breathily whispers into his ear, “There is something I've wanted to do to you since I saw you on the research vessel.” He simply lays there, grinning, as she uses one hand to start pushing his shirt up his chest. She stops removing the shirt after his head is out but his arms remain in the short sleeves, effectively pinning his hand behind his head and leaving him at her mercy.

In his relaxed state, Christian fails to notice the sharp knife in Samantha's other hand as it emerges from behind her back. Once she has the blade pressed against his throat, he can no longer help but be aware of it. He is unable see the entire blade, but can see enough to know it is a simple knife stored in the galley for the rare times someone cooks by hand. Christian is very aware of the sharpness of the knife's blade, a deep swallow on his part would draw blood. He isn’t truly afraid, but he has never been quite this nervous in his life.

You can find Dangerous Stars in digital and print formats on Amazon.

Another Point of View

Story ideas seem to come out of nowhere.  During a typical day I was struck by the lightning bolt of a unique thought.  A story from an unusual point of view that I hadn't explored before.  It was a fun experience writing about the life of this individual.

I enjoy my life. Granted, I work hard every day, but so do the majority of those around me. Some of them are diggers that spend the majority of their daily lives with their faces down in the dirt. They dig out passages for traveling and clear out the chambers we use for storage and living quarters. Others spend all day and night caring for the young. Feeding them, cleaning them, making sure they are in a safe area, and carrying them from one place to another if absolutely necessary. The worst job around is sanitation. Those poor folks wander the hallways looking for the wastes other have just left lying around. They have to pick it up and carry it to the dump, an area that the rest of us avoid as much as possible.

I consider myself lucky to have one of the better jobs. I'm one of the ones responsible for our food. I get outside to sample the fresh air and light of the sun. When I look up, I see all the natural beauty this world has to offer. I am also one of the fortunate ones that gets to get the first taste when a new type of food is found. While I still have to share the food, I like to think my opinion of the taste shapes how many others will eat it and what they will think of it. If I don't like something, I let others know and almost none of them will get food there again. It is a heavy responsibility to have sometimes. It is also my privilege to carry particularly wonderful foods to the big boss and share it with her. That is the part of my job I enjoy the most. Getting to interact directly with the woman responsible for all of us being here.

Like I said, the majority of those around me work as hard as I do. It's the ones that don't work as hard that really upset me. It's the folks responsible for our security that do very little on any given day. They do hardly anything. They just stand around watching us work or strut up and down the Just because they are bigger, this is supposed to garner them more respect. They spend most of their time getting in the way of the rest of us working. We have to move around them and their larger size makes it that much more difficult.

The only time they actually do anything is when someone invades our territory. Then they mobilize and attack the invaders. Of course, they go back to doing nothing once the invaders are taken care of. Of course then my coworkers and I have extra work to do. We have to handle any corpses that may be laying around as well as our regular duties. The least the big guys could do is clean up their own messes. I realize they are important because they protect all of us. However, they could also help out with some of the rest of the work when they are not doing anything else.

All things considered, my life is good. I have a job I like and work with many others like me. I get to interact with our majestic leader. I get to experience wonderful sights, sounds, smells, and tastes all the time. Despite the routine nature of my job, no two days are exactly the same. Even though there are thousands just like me, I enjoy who I am.  Who ever would have thought being an ant could be so wonderful?

"Screen Scream"

The idea for a story can come from anywhere.  An offhand comment in a chat during an artist's streaming video can lead to an idea for a narrative.  This story comes from reminiscing about working with older computers and hearing the signature whine of an older monitor that is on.  

While forming the story a challenging thought occurred to me.  Develop a story without revealing the gender of the main character.  The easiest way to do this would be to simply repeat the character's name and not use any pronouns.  To me, that would be a cheat.  It takes more skill and thought to craft a tale without any he/she or his/hers.

Julian was one of those employees that bosses loved. Quiet, efficient, first one in last one out, getting work done enough before a deadline to pick up the slack left by other workers. Julian's body sat so stiff and erect at the desk, the office motion detectors would shut the lights off under the assumption that everyone had left for the night. It was a common occurrence for the night cleaning staff to happen across Julian writing code in a dark office, the only light coming from the computer screen and reflecting off Julian's face. Tonight was exceptional only in that the cleaning crews had finished all the offices scheduled for that day gone home.

Julian was nearing the end of this particular subroutine at an hour closer to dawn than dusk. A few more keystrokes, a couple clicks of a mouse, and a press of the ENTER key made with a sense of completion signaled the last of the necessary code being completed. Julian sat back and stretched, the lights blinking on as there was finally enough movement to trigger the sensors.

Julian initialized the compiler and set it on the new code to check for errors. Julian knew there wouldn't be any, but the executives upstairs insisted a compiler report accompany every piece of programming. It was a necessary task with some of the programmers that worked for this company, but Julian had yet to make a single error. Too much time and attention to detail was spent for that to happen.

Julian gave the room a look around as the code was crunched and checked. Every piece of equipment was the latest technology on the market. Top of the line monitors connected to network terminals accessing enough processing power to make the guys at NASA drool. The only exception was a single piece of equipment that sat on a pedestal in the middle of the office. It was a throwback computer that belonged in a museum, not the main work floor of a modern technology company. Its presence was a reminder of where the company had started. Julian found it a lot less creepy than some oil painting on the wall of some creepy dude leering at everyone while they worked.

Julian stood as the computer beeped that the compiler was finished. As expected, there were no errors with the entered code. A few clicks of the mouse emailed the necessary files to the executives upstairs. Then it was a simple matter of powering down the terminal and heading home for a long weekend of rest.

Turning towards the door to leave, Julian heard an odd yet familiar sound. It was a high-pitched electronic whine. The last time Julian heard that particular tone was during early computer courses. It was the sound of an old monitor that remained on after the attached computer was shut off. Julian had always thought of that sound as “screen scream.”

Julian looked around the room once again, searching for the source of the sound. All of the modern monitors automatically went to sleep when the terminal was shut down. That only left the classic computer that was on display in the middle of the room. However, Julian could clearly see the back of the display, and there was no power cord to the computer or monitor. Still, the screaming sound continued.

Julian walked around the old system without losing eye contact with the plastic case. Coming around to the front, Julian saw the monitor giving off the green glow that matched the sound of the screaming whine. The sight of a monitor glowing with no source of power made Julian begin to seriously consider taking an overdue vacation.

Julian noticed that the glowing screen wasn't blank. Blocks of shifting and changing pixels dominated the majority of the display. Underneath that three lines of programming code flashed by so fast Julian couldn't see enough to make any sense of it. After a minute Julian's eyes wandered up to the shifting picture above the lines of code. The random shifting pixels seemed to periodically form pictures for a second or two. Faces seemed to resolve in the green glow of the monitor before changing into random images again. The low resolution of the screen didn't allow Julian to recognize too many of the details of each face, but none of them looked particularly happy.

After a minute of hypnotic staring at the monitor and its strange projections, Julian slowly reached out to press the power button. A strange feeling came over Julian before any pressure could be applied to the switch to stop the display being shown. It was a feeling as though every hair on Julian's body was being lifted. They weren't standing up like on a chilly evening or during an emotional song. It was more a sensation like every hair was being pulled up by some external force.

Julian could no longer look away from the faces coming and going on the screen. As a matter of fact, the faces seemed to be getting larger and closer. All sensation seemed to be leaving Julian's body. Just an odd sense of floating remained as the faces that flashed on the screen became clearer and the high pitched scream from the monitor got louder.

Julian started to scream, the tone and pitch starting to blend and match with the scream of the screen. In a bright flash of green, both screams suddenly went silent. The office lights automatically shut off fifteen minutes later since the motion detectors hadn't sensed any movement during that time.

Julian couldn't see or feel anyone around. There was only a sense of many people crowded into a small space. There was an overwhelming darkness. All that was visible was random pieces of code that flittered around the air. Julian felt the desire to get someone's attention, to get some help leaving this other place. Maybe a loud enough scream would work..

Leave a comment below letting me know what you think of my first attempt at a suspenseful/horror story.

Work in Progress-- Post Exodus

There are many books available about the Apocalypse.  Some predict what will lead up to the end of mankind.  Others chronicle the struggles of humanity after the majority of civilization has been wiped out.  A few even tell the stories of those attempting to prevent or avoid the End of Times.

What if all the nations of the world came together to avoid a planet-wide tragedy that doesn't happen?  What happens to those that remained behind?  How will humanity survive and change for the next few generations?  

These are the questions I ponder on my current work in progress, Post Exodus.  A young man leaves his family farm lands to travel the country.  He visits small villages and towns delivering messages and carrying packages in exchange for supplies and a single night's shelter.  

 The piked heads on the road and the fact the vehicles were deliberately headed to this dead end told me that these people knew more about the area than I did. Some inner instinct told me that me being a messenger is something that would only be discovered after it was too late to save me from a fate similar to those back up the road. A sense of fear mixed with a degree of curiosity about the people that could perpetrate such violence and not wipe themselves out within a couple of years. I felt the need to see these people more closely yet do so from a discreet distance. I picked up my bike and carried it as I ran to the edge of the road. There were numerous trees on each side of the road, plenty of places for me to hide until the oncoming vehicles left. I managed to get myself and my bike out of sight before the roaring engines changed into visible vehicles. I could still see the disconnected ends of the bridge and areas around the opposite side from my hiding place. As long as nobody in the vehicles looked directly towards me, they wouldn't know I was even there.

As the vehicles came into sight I could tell they had been modified. The three cars and one pickup truck looked nothing like the abandoned cars and trucks I had seen around my hometown and parked on the sides of some of the larger highways I had ridden across. These had sheets of metal neatly attached over the windows. There was also a person armed with a machine gun sticking up out of the roof of each car. There were two guys standing carefully balanced in the back of the pickup. Each of them was armed with a machine gun in their hands and what appeared to be a shotgun holstered to their backs. Everybody I could see was carefully looking around. Their hands weren't gripping the triggers of their weapons, but they were held close enough to quickly fire off a few rounds at a second's notice. It was clear this was no simple group out for a leisurely drive. They clearly had violence in mind. What I couldn't figure out was who they intended to be so violent to. They were the only people I had seen in a week, there was nobody around for them to victimize.

I kept myself absolutely still as the vehicles approached the end of the road. A large individual got out of the lead car. He was both tall and stoutly built. He didn't so much step out the door as he extracted himself from the side of the car. He walked to the very edge of the road. The river was flowing strongly far below his feet. After a few seconds of staring across the water he turned to the vehicles, looked stonily at them, and turned back to the opposite side of the river. He bellowed in a voice that seemed to come from deep within the Earth itself. I could hear his words echoing off the far bank as clearly as though I was right in front of him. He was calling for someone named Jack to get his hands out of his pants and raise the God-damn bridge. The threats being made to Jack's person if he didn't get moving were enough to make my skin crawl. If I hadn't been doing my best to keep still and avoid notice, I would have cringed with each word on Jack's behalf.

Where were the Noah?

A few weeks ago I posted the beginning of a story inspired by a Tweet from artist Lar DeSouza.  This is the continuation of that story.

Many millennium had passed since the Noah had first visited this system. An unexpected communication from their home world forced them to return as soon as they had finished seeding the healthy planet with life. An unfortunate war with a violent reptilian species forced the recall of all exploratory vessels in the Noah's fleet. The reptiles grew to large sizes compared to most intelligent species. They had broad wings they used for gliding in some atmospheres. They had a unique ability to spray an acidic combination from their mouths that burned into most types of flesh. They used this talent for “breathing fire” sparingly and effectively.

Despite the extreme suffering on both sides, the war with the Drag'korns continued to this day. The reptiles had scouted the majority of the Noah's research stations and colonized worlds. The scaled advanced teams had left their mark on many worlds and developing civilizations. It seemed that the goal of the Drag'korns was to obliterate the entire Noah race and every other species they had encountered, the residents of this small remote planet included.

A craft very different than the one that had rescued all the life of a single planet now stealthily approached the planetary system's largest gas giant. This craft bristled with fewer protrusions of scientific equipment and more weapons pods and missile ports. The crew featured more battle hardened warriors than curious seekers of knowledge. Moving through the solar system, the ship less like a stray star and more like a darker spot hiding in the blackness of space.

The Noah had left behind a number of automated sensing devices and signal relays to keep them apprised of the growth and development of their unaware beneficiaries. They had made a number of technological advances. Despite this, they had not progressed far enough to break the bond to their adopted planetary home. They had sent probes beyond their solar system and remote vehicles to neighboring planets, but had no homes outside the moist atmosphere under which they resided.

The Noah's interstellar battleship rounded the gas giant and worked its way through the asteroid belt that sat between the fourth and fifth planets. They decided to make their presence known by broadcasting a message translated into a multitude of the languages their remote devices had broadcast back to the Noah's home world and scientific stations.

The message was in two parts. The first part assured the peoples of the planet that the Noah were peaceful and meant them no harm. It mentioned a number of places where evidence of their previous visit and benign nature could be found. The second part of the message warned of the approaching Drag'korns and that race's violent intentions. The reptilians would be arriving in a about the same amount of time it took the blue planet to orbit its sun two times. The dominant race had that time to decide as one if they wanted to be evacuated once again or stand and defend their home. The Noah would aid them in any way possible. However, major battles in other star systems and the remoteness of these planets from the galactic core limited the Noah to the single ship now present.

Once again, to be continued....

Challenge Accepted

A few days ago I posted a writing challenge on Twitter.  Being a fair-minded person, I felt I couldn't make a challenge without undergoing it myself.  Here is my simple story.  The words from my game with a friend are highlighted.

It was the greatest day of the solar cycle. The entire village was celebrating. The thumps of dancing feet mingled with the pounding of ceremonial drums. Musicians blew into their flutes and strummed their strings in a joyous ballad that lifted the hearts and raised the spirits of everyone around the large campfire. Hunters marked their chests and faces with bold colors drawn in intricate designs. All of this was to call forth the ancient gods to judge us and see if we were worthy of continued existence. If we were deemed unworthy, how quickly or extended our deaths would be depended on the god that decided we were no longer worth their attentions.

The bleating of goats was silenced as they were sacrificed on the altars of each of the gods. The village's shaman entered the light cast by the ceremonial fire. The glow from the flames reaching deep into her hood only when she drank from her tea. Ceremony and tradition demanded a brew that was made from haws that she alone could harvest and dice fine enough for this one night. The musicians reached their envoi as the village chief greeted the shaman to the ceremony. As the shaman passed the half full cup to the chief, her hands appeared to shrink to the size of a baby's as they nestled inside his large palms.

The shaman stepped up to each altar and offered a prayer to each god separately. She asked the mother god whose ova spawned us and the stars above for continuing new lives to be born from the women of the tribe and the species of the animals we hunted. She asked that our heavenly protector heft his axe above us in order to protect us from those that would harm us. Her request to the god within the mountain below us was simple. She requested that he keep his sloping grades gentle enough for our hunters to remain surefooted and his soils fertile enough for the trees in which we lived to continue to grow.

The final altar was for the god we all respected as well as feared. It was a god that we all wished to never meet, but were also aware of how necessary his presence was. She prayed to the god of death. She asked that he keep his scale balanced. She asked that he not let it tilt too far in his favor and kill us all. She also requested that he not let the balance go too far the other way. Too little death would put a drain on the resources around us and force the herds we relied on for food to move to more plentiful feeding grounds.

Finished with her pleas and requests, the shaman returned to the chief to collect her emptied cup. Only time would indicate whether or not she had been heard. Only when the sun once again rested on the tip of the correct peak four seasons form now would we know if this ceremony had achieved its goals.

Most of these words were easy enough to incorporate into a story.  I will admit that I had to look a couple of them up in order to know how to fold them into the narrative.  Ultimately I look on this as a way to expand both my vocabulary and flex a few more creative muscles.

If you happen to hear about or know of any other writing challenges, please let everyone know in the comments or drop me a note on Twitter.