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Clarion Write-A-Thon Week 1 Excerpts
Jul. 2nd, 2012 03:05 pm
Hello all!
Here are a couple of excerpts for the stories I've been working on. The first pair are from "Sleepwalkers", the Changeling: the Dreaming-inspired setting I've been mucking about with for years. The third and final excerpt is the first page of "Bird" in rough-draft form. Nervous about all of these, and I'd appreciate feedback.
As always, if you'd like to pledge a bit of money for the Clarion Write-a-Thon, my author's page is here.
Sleepwalkers Excerpt #1
It was so exacting, was the problem. Math was limiting in a way she could not accept -- it reduced the world to hard, fixed numbers, narrows a reality of endless possibilities into one right answer. Finding it was a maze, a thicket of dead ends and cunningly laid traps that felt better than the truth. And what did you get after all of that work? A set of numbers or letters arranged in just the right way, meant to represent something else. It just didn't move her. What could you do with that? Knowledge was only as useful as its application, and knowing the right answer only seemed to apply in a single specific situation. With everything else, knowledge opened up the world. And that was what she had so desperately wanted.
Abby sighed and focused. The numbers and italicized letters stared up at her, an alien language that she saw no use for translating. She began trying to work out an equation in her head when she felt a buzz crawl up her spine. That was her signal that he was here. He was early.
"You're going to need to solve for x tomorrow." His voice was high but proper, each syllable rolled in a way that made plain how much he savored them. Abby called him the Gnome, and she had no idea where he came from. He would simply appear, and she would argue with him about things she could never remember the next morning. He would tell her when to get to bed, and promise to keep her safe. When she woke up, he was gone.
She never questioned whether or not he was real, because it didn't really matter. He made her feel safe; that's what mattered. At 16, she was a little old for imaginary friends, but she didn't care. She needed all of the friends she could get.
Abby turned in her chair took look at him. He was short, around three feet tall, with an oversized head with exaggerated eyes, ears, and a potato-shaped nose. His skin was earth brown, his eyes were the color of amethyst, his hair clouds that he made the attempt to fashion into shapes. He wore the clothes of the peasant class in the Middle Ages, but they made him look all the more dignified somehow. His enormous glasses perched over his nose, magnifying a concerned expression. The Gnome stared solemnly at her. Then he looked out of the window.
"He's coming," he said. "I...know that usually means bedtime. But I think it's best if you and I took a little walk tonight. We'll leave through the window."
Sleepwalkers Excerpt #2
He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror, glancing at his bright red hair and pale face before shifting it. The back seat was taken up mostly by a hulking blue man with small horns jutting from his forehead and small, sharp tusks jutting from his upper lip. In what space was left squirmed a giant bipedal rabbit. He grumbled as he tried to make room for himself. “I always hate this part.”
“Quiet.” The driver spoke softly but firmly. Both the blue giant and the rabbit turned to look at him through the mirror. “We have to make sure we know our jobs. We’re only going to get one shot at this.”
He looked away from the mirror. “I’ll go in as a visitor, saying I’ve come to see Aunt Mim. Prescott, you’ll hide in my pocket until I give the signal. Vitaly, you’ll be waiting at the courtyard entrance for the alarm. When it sounds, break down the door and go to the girl’s room. Fourth door on the right down the hall. Smash in, grab her, get out. Leg it into the woods and wait for me. It should take us an hour or so to get out, but we’ll come. In the meantime, see if you can get the girl to talk.”
The giant shot him a look that was both dubious and long-suffering. The driver sighed. “I know. But do your best. You’re a good listener, Vitaly. Use that.”
The rabbit grunted and elbowed Vitaly, who seemed not to notice. “I don’t fancy being stuck in that place with you for any longer than I have to be. It’s not like we’ll learn anything new by being on the inside.”
The driver smiled at Prescott. “Exactly. We can use the time we’re in there to scout. Should make it easier to break in next time.”
Vitaly glowered. Prescott grinned. “Right, because they won’t change their security measures once they found someone’s smashed through the back door and taken one of their patients. It’s brilliant.”
“If you have a better plan, I’d love to hear it. The place is surrounded by iron. We’ll be lucky if Vitaly’s strength holds out long enough to break down a couple of doors.” The driver turned in his seat to look at them. Vitaly was a plain man, big but not overly so. He was dressed in a scuffed pair of blue jeans, a flannel shirt and leather jacket. Prescott was a thin man next to him, dressed in a suit that would look dashing on most but just looked rakish on him. His hair was a mane of sandy blond. His overbite made his oversized front teeth stick out over his lower lip. “I don’t need to tell you what would happen if we leave this girl trapped in this place any longer. We could lose her.”
Bird Excerpt #1
It’s a verifiable fact that most of the people in this world are too stupid to live. Really. All it takes to prove my point is watching people when they don’t know they’re being watched. Where do they look? Most of the time it’s at a point right in front of them. But they’re not actually seeing anything — they’re looking past that little spot of air they just happen to be resting their eyes on. They’re really just thinking about something. What? Something small and immediate, I’m sure. Whatever’s right in front of them.
You can tell if someone’s worth being interested in by watching how often they look up and around at the world around them. The more they do it, the higher they look, chances are the more they think of the world outside of themselves. And those are the people you want to have conversations with. Because they’re thinking expansively. They know they’re not the center of the universe. Heck, they’re probably not even the center of their own lives. They’ve made room for something bigger — an idea, a goal, someone or something else that they’re willing to move over for. And that’s pretty cool.
What do you see if you look at me? Eh, about half and half. I’m not ashamed to admit that I spend as much time being selfish as I do thinking about something that’s worth thinking about. The difference between me and most people though is I admit it. I know when I’m being stupid. And I strive to be better. When I graduate and spend eight or ten years in college getting my doctorate, I hope I come out the other side something like my dad.
It’s mushy, I know. But my dad is one of those people who’s always looking up. He’s made himself such a small part of his own life that he gives himself over completely to what he’s passionate about. His job, Mom, me. Not a lot of people have parents they can be proud of — let alone ones they can like — but my dad…he’s my hero. He’s the guy that I was born to be. And screw you if you think that’s lame.
The thing is, I have a long way to go. I’m a junior in high school, and yeah, I’m a straight-A student but that doesn’t mean anything yet. My dad’s smart and likable. I’m just an asshole with a perfectionist’s mind for getting the best grades. If I could encourage my study group to pull an all-nighter making the best chemistry presentation Woodside High has ever seen, then I’d consider myself a success. Most people see me as some high-functioning autistic. I’m useful for what I know, and not much more.
The problem is, I don’t mind being unpopular. Most of the kids in my class are deeply, deeply stupid. I don’t have the patience that my father does. I can’t lead them from where they are to where I am, and I’m not sure they’d like the view once they got there. It’s work, giving yourself over to something greater. It’s sacrifice. And most guys my age just want a car and a girl that they can ruin both of them in some secluded spot called “Make-out Hill”. Is that still a thing? I don’t know, but my point still stands.
Life is not something you waste just by living it. You have to examine it, smooth out the rough edges, make it something better. It’s what my dad believes, and it’s what I used to believe until just this evening.
Now? Screw it, I say. Nothing matters anymore. We’re all going to die in three months.
Here are a couple of excerpts for the stories I've been working on. The first pair are from "Sleepwalkers", the Changeling: the Dreaming-inspired setting I've been mucking about with for years. The third and final excerpt is the first page of "Bird" in rough-draft form. Nervous about all of these, and I'd appreciate feedback.
As always, if you'd like to pledge a bit of money for the Clarion Write-a-Thon, my author's page is here.
Sleepwalkers Excerpt #1
It was so exacting, was the problem. Math was limiting in a way she could not accept -- it reduced the world to hard, fixed numbers, narrows a reality of endless possibilities into one right answer. Finding it was a maze, a thicket of dead ends and cunningly laid traps that felt better than the truth. And what did you get after all of that work? A set of numbers or letters arranged in just the right way, meant to represent something else. It just didn't move her. What could you do with that? Knowledge was only as useful as its application, and knowing the right answer only seemed to apply in a single specific situation. With everything else, knowledge opened up the world. And that was what she had so desperately wanted.
Abby sighed and focused. The numbers and italicized letters stared up at her, an alien language that she saw no use for translating. She began trying to work out an equation in her head when she felt a buzz crawl up her spine. That was her signal that he was here. He was early.
"You're going to need to solve for x tomorrow." His voice was high but proper, each syllable rolled in a way that made plain how much he savored them. Abby called him the Gnome, and she had no idea where he came from. He would simply appear, and she would argue with him about things she could never remember the next morning. He would tell her when to get to bed, and promise to keep her safe. When she woke up, he was gone.
She never questioned whether or not he was real, because it didn't really matter. He made her feel safe; that's what mattered. At 16, she was a little old for imaginary friends, but she didn't care. She needed all of the friends she could get.
Abby turned in her chair took look at him. He was short, around three feet tall, with an oversized head with exaggerated eyes, ears, and a potato-shaped nose. His skin was earth brown, his eyes were the color of amethyst, his hair clouds that he made the attempt to fashion into shapes. He wore the clothes of the peasant class in the Middle Ages, but they made him look all the more dignified somehow. His enormous glasses perched over his nose, magnifying a concerned expression. The Gnome stared solemnly at her. Then he looked out of the window.
"He's coming," he said. "I...know that usually means bedtime. But I think it's best if you and I took a little walk tonight. We'll leave through the window."
Sleepwalkers Excerpt #2
He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror, glancing at his bright red hair and pale face before shifting it. The back seat was taken up mostly by a hulking blue man with small horns jutting from his forehead and small, sharp tusks jutting from his upper lip. In what space was left squirmed a giant bipedal rabbit. He grumbled as he tried to make room for himself. “I always hate this part.”
“Quiet.” The driver spoke softly but firmly. Both the blue giant and the rabbit turned to look at him through the mirror. “We have to make sure we know our jobs. We’re only going to get one shot at this.”
He looked away from the mirror. “I’ll go in as a visitor, saying I’ve come to see Aunt Mim. Prescott, you’ll hide in my pocket until I give the signal. Vitaly, you’ll be waiting at the courtyard entrance for the alarm. When it sounds, break down the door and go to the girl’s room. Fourth door on the right down the hall. Smash in, grab her, get out. Leg it into the woods and wait for me. It should take us an hour or so to get out, but we’ll come. In the meantime, see if you can get the girl to talk.”
The giant shot him a look that was both dubious and long-suffering. The driver sighed. “I know. But do your best. You’re a good listener, Vitaly. Use that.”
The rabbit grunted and elbowed Vitaly, who seemed not to notice. “I don’t fancy being stuck in that place with you for any longer than I have to be. It’s not like we’ll learn anything new by being on the inside.”
The driver smiled at Prescott. “Exactly. We can use the time we’re in there to scout. Should make it easier to break in next time.”
Vitaly glowered. Prescott grinned. “Right, because they won’t change their security measures once they found someone’s smashed through the back door and taken one of their patients. It’s brilliant.”
“If you have a better plan, I’d love to hear it. The place is surrounded by iron. We’ll be lucky if Vitaly’s strength holds out long enough to break down a couple of doors.” The driver turned in his seat to look at them. Vitaly was a plain man, big but not overly so. He was dressed in a scuffed pair of blue jeans, a flannel shirt and leather jacket. Prescott was a thin man next to him, dressed in a suit that would look dashing on most but just looked rakish on him. His hair was a mane of sandy blond. His overbite made his oversized front teeth stick out over his lower lip. “I don’t need to tell you what would happen if we leave this girl trapped in this place any longer. We could lose her.”
Bird Excerpt #1
It’s a verifiable fact that most of the people in this world are too stupid to live. Really. All it takes to prove my point is watching people when they don’t know they’re being watched. Where do they look? Most of the time it’s at a point right in front of them. But they’re not actually seeing anything — they’re looking past that little spot of air they just happen to be resting their eyes on. They’re really just thinking about something. What? Something small and immediate, I’m sure. Whatever’s right in front of them.
You can tell if someone’s worth being interested in by watching how often they look up and around at the world around them. The more they do it, the higher they look, chances are the more they think of the world outside of themselves. And those are the people you want to have conversations with. Because they’re thinking expansively. They know they’re not the center of the universe. Heck, they’re probably not even the center of their own lives. They’ve made room for something bigger — an idea, a goal, someone or something else that they’re willing to move over for. And that’s pretty cool.
What do you see if you look at me? Eh, about half and half. I’m not ashamed to admit that I spend as much time being selfish as I do thinking about something that’s worth thinking about. The difference between me and most people though is I admit it. I know when I’m being stupid. And I strive to be better. When I graduate and spend eight or ten years in college getting my doctorate, I hope I come out the other side something like my dad.
It’s mushy, I know. But my dad is one of those people who’s always looking up. He’s made himself such a small part of his own life that he gives himself over completely to what he’s passionate about. His job, Mom, me. Not a lot of people have parents they can be proud of — let alone ones they can like — but my dad…he’s my hero. He’s the guy that I was born to be. And screw you if you think that’s lame.
The thing is, I have a long way to go. I’m a junior in high school, and yeah, I’m a straight-A student but that doesn’t mean anything yet. My dad’s smart and likable. I’m just an asshole with a perfectionist’s mind for getting the best grades. If I could encourage my study group to pull an all-nighter making the best chemistry presentation Woodside High has ever seen, then I’d consider myself a success. Most people see me as some high-functioning autistic. I’m useful for what I know, and not much more.
The problem is, I don’t mind being unpopular. Most of the kids in my class are deeply, deeply stupid. I don’t have the patience that my father does. I can’t lead them from where they are to where I am, and I’m not sure they’d like the view once they got there. It’s work, giving yourself over to something greater. It’s sacrifice. And most guys my age just want a car and a girl that they can ruin both of them in some secluded spot called “Make-out Hill”. Is that still a thing? I don’t know, but my point still stands.
Life is not something you waste just by living it. You have to examine it, smooth out the rough edges, make it something better. It’s what my dad believes, and it’s what I used to believe until just this evening.
Now? Screw it, I say. Nothing matters anymore. We’re all going to die in three months.
