Finally free of the WIP...

I finally finished my WIP. I've been working on it since October, so it's taken me the better part of five months to write this thing. That's unusual for me. It's called Airborne at the moment and it involves a new cast of characters, a new universe, tackles new genres (for me) and wanted to be told from a new POV (for me).

Having said that, maybe five months isn't so bad after all.

"Omniscient" POV
I posted a sample scene from Airborne and got a little feedback on it. One of the aspects pointed out to me was that the POV is omniscient. The critiquer mentioned that omni needs to be done "really, really well" to work and didn't care for it in this sample.

OK, she didn't like my omni voice. That's fine. What nagged at me was that is has to be done "really, really well" -- for some reason, I've heard this un-useful bit of advice a thousand times -- and avoided like the plague otherwise.

How in the heck are you supposed to learn to write omniscient if you "can't" unless it's "really, really good"...? We all need to practice. We all need training wheels. And it's not like you have to sound like a 19th-century author if you're going to use an omniscient POV. What does 21st-century omniscience sound like anyways? (I'm willing to bet it sounds like social media.)

I have shelves of "how-to-write" books just like anyone else, though I'll admit I haven't cracked one open in years. The questions of what omniscient is and how it's done is sending be back to the shelves. Should I have done that before I wrote Airborne? No, I don't think so. Better to revise a shitty first draft than to analyze yourself into paralysis before writing it.

Misrepresentation?
The critiquer also pointed out that I billed Airborne as an "urban fantasy medical thriller" but there's nothing medical or thrilling going on in the scene. True. Guilty. But it is urban fantasy, at least. I'm fairly sure I got that part of the novel right though the rest is open to debate.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure where this scene should go in the story but it does need to be somewhere near the front.

Writing exercise #2: character via setting

Continuing my writing exercises, this one goes to the other main character in my sci-fi WIP. 

This exercise comes from Fiction Writer’s Workshop (ISBN 1884910394) by Josip Novakovich. Chapter 2: Setting. #12: One page. Make a character visible through her surroundings. (he lists some examples of how) Objective: to learn the power of setting as a means for character portraits. Bits of environment are your tubes of paint. 

Lena dropped into her VR recliner with a sigh. A few crumbs from the morning’s coffee cake lingered on the arm. She flicked them off one by one. Then she picked up her jack and plugged it into the socket under her left ear. Virtual reality slid down over what her meat eyes saw.

Green and amber status lights on her rig winked. Custom-built, of course. A steel rack of quantum processors, another of wireless hubs for various frequencies, the third rack for her secret-ingredient hardware, and a private bubble fusion plant so the draw on the station’s power grid wouldn’t give her away. Everything was cabled to reduce snooping and the extra wire color-tagged, neatly looped, and zip-tied.

The rest of her apartment’s front room was a tangle of dirty laundry waiting for the multi-washer and boxes from the grocery delivery service that she hadn’t broken down for the recycling chute yet. She had two tall stools that stood before the kitchenette counter — or at least two mountain peaks in the field of clutter.

Front door had a clear swath in front of it, though, and a second, vertical deadbolt that Lena had added well above the standard one. Wouldn’t stop anyone determined to get in, but it’d give her time to get out the fire door.

Writing exercise #1: inner peace

I've been writing this blog for over two years now and I find myself short on things to say... partly because I hate repeating myself and I've never liked short blog posts that don't say anything meaningful. So let's try something different this week.

The internet's full of writing prompts and exercises, and I've never used them. It hasn't been how I write: for me, it's a very deliberate process where the spontaneity is limited to the moments that I'm standing beside my characters writing down what they do. I thought I'd try a few in the context of my current (hard sci fi) WIP, which has been giving me some trouble. 

This writing prompt comes to us from Poets & Writers: Fiction writers know that conflict drives plot. Tension and drama imbue life into our characters and propel their stories forward. Human nature, however, craves tranquility and clarity. Write five hundred words describing your protagonist at peace—truly one with the universe, even if only for several seconds. Perhaps your character is sitting on a park bench and staring at a bruised cloud, or on a crowded subway car listening to the rails below, or walking out of a cemetery with a beer in hand. Peace is unique to everyone.

“Hang me, this time,” Shen said as he dropped to his knees. “Like you hang Radovan.”

Jezebel tossed down two of the skeins of rope and unwound the third slowly. She measured out several long loops before answering. “Are you ready for that? I’d have to bind your wrists.”

His nerves skittered under his skin. The snug embrace of rope, though, and the freedom of the air… it had been too long since he’d been in null gravity and felt that. “It’s the closest to zero gee I can get.”

The rope softly hissed, sliding through Jez’s dark hands. She nodded. “We’ll try it, then.”

Shen spread his arms and closed his eyes. The first loop of rope settling across the back of his neck released a sigh from him. First time Jez had bound him, she’d put a loop around one wrist and fear had lashed up out of him. Animal fear. Primal need to escape. He’d suffered too much while zip-tied by his wrists.

But the familiar progress of snug coils of rope looping around his chest and knots drawing them snug eased Shen’s mind. The gentle pressure evened out his breath and dropped his heart rate. His skittering nerves, still antsy at the thought of binding his wrists, slowed.

He could trust Jez. She only tied him as he asked. Checked on him to be sure he was comfortable. Freed him before there was any risk of limited circulation. It would be the same with his wrists. He was strong enough to let his hands be tied. Didn’t fear his own helplessness anymore.

Jez had never beaten him, even when she first bought his indenture and he was just “a pile of broken glass and frayed wire,” as Radovan had said. Shen trusted her.

When she reached Shen’s waist, Jez dropped the remaining rope and fetched a set of D-rings. Those had to be worked into the harness, one at the small of his back and one between his shoulder blades. Jez ran the ropes under the crotch of Shen’s shorts and up his back, lacing them into the coils there and anchoring the second ring.

“Let’s try a dragonfly sleeve, rather than Radovan’s arrangement,” Jez murmured. “Arms before you.”

Shen held out his long arms, fists touching. Jezebel began with loops over his shoulders and worked slowly. Fat knots anchored pairs of loops at precise intervals. The loops bound his upper arms together. Then his elbows.

He closed his eyes when a broken-glass blade of fear slid past him. Felt Jezebel hesitate. He held steady, safe in his snug harness, and she continued. Two more knots and loops, one for his forearms and one for his wrists.

Jagged bits of memories rumbled inside him. Pain from kickings, from tasers. The grind of hunger and fear. The rope stifled those bits. Dulled their edges.

Distantly, Shen felt the carabiners click into the two D-rings on his harness. A motor purred and lifted him off his knees. He rocked to horizontal, facing the floor, and swung gently with his bound arms hanging downward.

Zero gee, or close enough. Close enough to free.

P: Pages (of my writing)

I have a few writing samples scattered around, but maybe it's time for something bigger. You've listened to my blathering about my science fiction and my fantasy, so I should post some. Put my pen where my mouth is, as it were.

They're in the Page tabs above. Links below, too.

SF: Course Corrections query

Maggie McBride lost five years laying low, nursing her anger. She was just a kid when Jupiter’s police force cracked down on the McBrides’ independence movement. Maggie escaped, but the void took most of her family. Her one surviving cousin got arrested and packed off for realignment “treatments” to fix those obviously faulty thinking patterns.

Now Maggie’s hacking together a team — the few who survived the rebellion, a couple sympathizers, a chuck who just needs the money — with the skills to break into the remote asteroid Correctional Facility where her cousin’s being “treated.” To get the cash for all this, Maggie signs a contract with a vicious old pirate, selling her future into slavery if she fails.

It’s millions of kilometers to the little rock, across open space with nowhere to hide. But she’s going to get her cousin back.

COURSE CORRECTIONS is a 79,000-word hard science fiction adventure.

Read the first scene here. (~700 words)

Fantasy: Disciple, Part I query

The saints favor her, else-wise a peasant girl like Kate Carpenter would never be apprenticed to the kingdom’s master healer. But her patron saint also marks her ready for the duty of tending to a mission that must cross the ice-bound mountains. Their little kingdom faces invasion by a vast empire and desperately needs allies; across the snow-filled pass, through the deathly thin air, is a country that’s held off the empire and may be willing to lend an army.

Kate knows about frostbite and the everyday injuries of wilderness travel. She can heal those.

She’s not ready for the attentions of a ne’er-do-well knight and the kingdom’s only prince, though.

And she isn’t ready for the monsters that harry them night and day, picking off their archers first, wearing the party to exhaustion, pushing Kate beyond the limits her healing abilities.

She must keep them alive, or her blood will be on the snow too.

DISCIPLE, PART I: FOR WANT OF A PIGLET is a 42,000-word gritty fantasy, the first part of an epic in progress. (3 parts of a projected 6 written, 160k and counting...)

Read the first scene here. (~900 words) (NOTE: This link now leads to my book blog for Disciple)

Going to hide in a corner because I left comments open on the pages...

Lucky 7 plus a red pen

There was an open tag for the Lucky 7 meme and I need some blog filler, so... (CAUTION: violence ahead)

The rules:

1. Go to page 77 of your current MS/WIP
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines, sentences, or paragraphs, and post them as they’re written.

4. Tag 7 authors
5. Let them know


From Disciple, Part III: Embers on the Wind

Parselev spun the charm through me, sending it down my arm and into the captain. I watched his windpipe knit shut and the slash close before my eyes. Loshadsky went limp as the pain faded, eyes falling shut. My teacher pulled me to my feet by my hand.

“It was good work, nonetheless,” he told me.

“Let him keep his head,” Kiefan announced, turning to his father. The Arceal envoy sat on his knees before the king, hands spread and empty, disarmed. “He can return this one.”

Kiefan put his boot on Dennode’s ruined chest, bones crunching further, and tore the man’s head off with a hard twist and a pull. He slung it and the envoy caught it in his belly, falling back onto his ass from the impact.

King Wilhelm gave him a kick for good measure. “Get out of my city. You! What did you know of this?” He pointed with his drawn sword, at the remaining Suevi.

Sir Theo had pulled Bídon aside, leaning close with urgent eyes. The king’s demand turned them both, at attention. “He knew nothing, Majesty,” Sir Theo answered.

“You would say so.”

 
That's completely raw, unrevised text and I cringe at the sight of it. I can't help hitting it with some red ink.


Parselev spun the charm through me, sending it down my arm and into the captain. I watched His windpipe knit shut and the his slashed throat closed before my eyes. Loshadsky went fell limp as the pain faded, eyes falling sliding shut.

¶ My teacher pulled me to my feet by my hand. “It was good work, nonetheless,” he told me said.

“Let him keep his head,” Kiefan announced, turning to his father [do something more interesting/relevant]. “He can return this one.”

The Arceal envoy sat on his knees before the king, hands spread and empty, disarmed. [add something to fill this out] “He can return this one.”

Kiefan put set his boot on Dennode’s ruined chest, bones crunching further, and tore the man’s head off with a hard twist and a pull. He slung it and the envoy caught it the bloody thing in his belly, falling back onto his ass from the impact.

King Wilhelm gave him a kicked him for good measure. “Get out of my city. You! What did you know of this?” He pointed, with his drawn sword, at the remaining Suevi.

Sir Theo had pulled Bídon aside to one side, leaning close with in urgent eyes discussion. The king’s demand turned them both, at attention. “He knew nothing, Majesty,” Sir Theo answered.

“You would say so.”


That's a start. Copy/paste into Scrivener and it will get more work as I revise Part III.

I'll make this an open tag, too. Everybody reading, consider yourself tagged. You don't have to revise what you post -- that was just me being self-conscious. Though it might make an interesting addition to the meme...

Hard Fantasy

If you'd like to read some snippets of For Want of a Piglet, I have two up on Unicorn Bell: first page here and the first meeting with the antagonists here.

One of the critters at Unicorn Bell asked what Hard Fantasy is. Fair enough -- it's not a well defined genre. Once could argue it hasn't been defined at all. I'm going to refer you to this article at Tor again because I think it's a good place to start.

We all agree on what Hard Science Fiction is, yes? Hard SF adheres to known laws of physics (and solid theories) as much as possible. It accepts those limitations and works with them -- no convenient "artificial gravity" and no "inertia dampeners" to let people accelerate at bone-crushing speeds. The genre has a history of spending more time on the gadgets than the characters (which is unfortunate.) Exceptions are sometimes made for alien technology or harnessing wormholes. The line between Hard SF and other science fiction genres is blurry -- all genre lines are.

Realism doesn't have to be a liability.
Courtesy of the SCA. Photo by Ron Lutz.

Hard Fantasy is the equivalent. I would argue that Hard Fantasy adheres to the known laws of physics and whatever exceptions are allowed for magic have their own rigorous laws, limitations and (importantly) consequences. I would also argue that magic will probably keep a low profile in the story. There may be magical animals, but they will obey the rules too.

Hard Fantasy is also aware of economics, anthropology, sociology, and psychology, and is built accordingly. These are, admittedly, far more flexible than the laws of physics. Geology, climatology, and ecology should come into play too.

When I was thinking about this post, I went and looked up Poul Anderson's "On Thud and Blunder" (which everyone should read.) It was written a long time ago and I think that in general writers have gotten better about doing their homework -- with the internet at everyone's fingers there is little excuse anymore. But it's still an excellent evisceration of tropes and an argument in favor of Hard Fantasy, I think.

Examples of Hard Fantasy: like all genres, it's going to blend into other genres around the edges and there's nothing wrong with that. A fantasy novel could be "fairly hard" except for those fire-breathing dragons or whatever major exception the writer made. (A hard-science fire-breathing dragon is tough to build. I've only seen a few attempts.)

George R.R. Martin' Song of Fire and Ice comes to mind, of course -- dragon exception and all. Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel series comes to mind. L.E. Modesitt's The Magic of Recluse has been mentioned, but I don't think I've read that.

Brent Weeks' Night Angel trilogy is on the hard side, though magic does come into play.

What comes to mind for you?

First Campaigner Challenge

Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open” These four words will be included in the word count.

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!

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Flash fiction is not usually my kind of thing, but this snippet of backstory from my WIP (For Want of a Piglet) fit the bill so I've taken a stab at it. And I managed to hit all three conditions! I hope you enjoy it. Don't forget to vote for your favorites on Rach's linky list. I've voted for a couple already.


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PIGLET


The door swung open and sudden silence made me look up from stoking the fire under the kettle. Father stood silhouetted by morning sun, the piglet hanging dead in his hand.

His growl chilled me. “Kate, did you do this?” Mother and my siblings’ eyes joined his on me.

“No.”

“I spent weeks arranging your betrothal.”

My tightening throat choked my voice. “On my life, Father, I didn’t.”

“It was the dower that finally convinced Schwartz to agree!” Father threw the piglet down. He slammed the door, rattling our hut. “What am I to do with you now? No — why shouldn’t I throw you out on the street if you’re so willing to betray me?”

“Show me the wound.” My voice rose even as it quavered, fearing he could show me a stab or a bruise. “Show me, or do you think me able to strangle a pig?” I held out my hands, strong for a girl but not big enough for such a job.

Father was many things, but he was ever a logical man. He glowered and picked up the piglet again. “May as well butcher the damn thing.”

I sighed in relief as the door swung shut.

Getting to Know your MC Blogfest

Another blogfest! This one is hosted by Elizabeth Mueller on behalf of Jeannie Campbell. Goal is to answer three questions in the persona of your main character.

If you're wondering: Brad Pitt in Kalifornia... early in his career.

So here goes: Tanner Sheppard, you're up. I'll put your ref photo over here...yes, I know, you trim the beard closer than that...

Question 1: What is your greatest fear?

When I shot my Pa, wasn’t one tear shed for the old bastard. Just a sort of relief, a “thank God he’s gone.” Don’t want that when I go. Don’t have to cry over me — a few good words’ll do. But something.

Question 2: What is your biggest accomplishment?

This (the events of the story), no question. Maybe you don’t like how I did it, but cutting a couple million people free? Touching off this fight to win our freedom? Stand by that to the bitter end.

Question 3: What is your biggest regret?

Those I turned on, back before… well, everyone knows the court didn’t make anything up when they called me a pirate and a killer. Can’t change that. Can’t fix it. If there’s more to pay for that, I’ll do it. Not going back to that life, that's not me anymore.

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Tanner's co-MC of my hard science fiction WIP, Orbital Shifts. He's not the most talkative guy. Dark past. I may send him over to Jeannie Campbell's Character Therapist just to be sure I'm getting him right -- don't want to misrepresent.

Check out the other blogfesters and put the questions to your own MCs!

Made of Awesome blogfest!

Title: Course Corrections
Genre: Hard SF thriller
Word Count: 77,400

First 250 of Chapter 1:

Five years ago

Neal was cooperative, even docile, until he saw the chair and the halo scanner at its head; then he planted both bare feet and backpedaled. His two guards had him by the elbows, his hands cuffed in front of him, and they picked him up easily in the low gravity.

“No. No, please!” Neal twisted in their grip, and with a bootstrapper’s instinct for low gee shoved one foot down hard behind him. He spun, facefirst, wrenching his elbows out of their hands. Shoving his palms against the floor, he zipped back a meter, put his feet down again and was bolting for the door when they tackled him.

“No!” His voice cracked, ragged, as they dragged him back to the chair. “Don’t do this! Don’t take her away!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the doctor said, sitting lightly on a stool beside the halo scanner to check the data on his handheld display. 

“Don’t wipe me,” Neal pleaded, tears coming. He flinched when the nurse touched an injector gun to the crook of his elbow, just below the uniform’s sleeve, and dosed him. “Don’t wipe me, please. Don’t take her away. I don’t want to forget.”

“Neal McBride,” the doc said as his patient was strapped down. “I’m Dr. Seitz and I’ll be seeing you through the first stages of therapy.”

The guards stepped back once Neal was tied to the chair and his head clamped under the halo scanner. Seitz nodded to them and they left the doctor and nurse with their patient in the white therapy lab.

Would you keep reading? :D All feedback welcome.

Blogfest hosted by Shelley Watters -- read more entries from the list here!

Sunday Edits -  tweaked the first paragraph according to comments... did my best to describe balking. :) Thank you everyone, and good luck!

Power of Tension Blogfest

Check out the Power of Tension Blogfest at Cally Jackson Writes and Rachel Morgan Writes! I'm entering an excerpt from the middle of my hard SF/horror short story "The Rookery":


Danika pointed to something in the wall, looking at me pointedly over her shoulder. I recognized the crescent shape, the smooth bit of dome. Portion of an eye socket and skull. Human. And then we heard the noise and she snapped the bolt rifle up, ready.

I know. Hard vacuum. Sound’s impossible. Past the end of the wall and the opening it created, a hallway led off the great room toward a lonely emergency light by the airlock. Then a shadow moved in the light cast by the opening, and the noise started again.

A series of clicks, followed by a chorus of soft, crooning calls. Kee-ah, kee-ah. Two clicks, and the crooning stopped. Danika touched the stone with one hand and glided slowly toward the end of the wall. Her toes dragged, bringing her to a stop as she peeked around the corner, over the rifle’s sights.

“Payge,” she whispered over the intercom, “see where the hall is, there?” Indicated the next emergency light. “Gap’s about two meters. Come up here and on my mark, go. Don’t look, just go.”

Claire shot me a wide-eyed look. I crept alongside Danika and gathered up my feet underneath me, waited. When her hand moved, I kicked hard and shot across the gap between the brown wall and the stone hallway the ‘steaders had cut. I couldn’t help it, I looked as I went.

Too much to see in the second I saw it: a mass of slithering limbs, three small bat-winged flyers eagerly hopping and flapping, their reptilian, toothed jaws open in anticipation. Their tentacled master held a treat just out of their reach: a human arm, torn off at the shoulder.

Feedback welcome!

Got the Made of Awesome blogfest starting Friday too!