gridlore | Entries tagged with writing

When I'm writing, whether for TTRPGs or my fiction, I use a couple of simple tools in the early stages of building scenes and characters.

The first thing is something I stole from the FATE system. I define three aspects of the setting of each scene or for each character. The advantage here is you have these three touchpoints when you fill out the background or person to build on. These can be notable physical aspects, emotional drivers, or anything.

For example, the main character in my current work-in-progress, Senior Assault Leader Petros Makrakis, has the following three aspects.

Devoted to duty but tired of being responsible for people's lives.
Prone to PTSD nightmares.
He wonders if he's even human anymore.

The same can be done with places and things. The biotech warsuits Makrakis and his team wear are:

Crab-like in appearance.
Intrusive into every orifice and the eyes.
Can generate appropriate ammo on command.
Users say it feels like being in the womb.

Yes, I did four. But the point is you can use the aspects to define broadly places, people, and things in your roughest drafts, so when the writing gets moving, you already know what the bartender at Elfedge is like or what the bridge of the ICV King Richard looks and sounds like.

For characters, I go one step further. I define their motivation in three questions. For Makrakis, it is:

What does the character want? He wants to return to each and resume a peaceful life.
Why do they want it? Petros left Earth thirty years ago and has been fighting ever since. He's exhausted. Done. He sees Earth as his place to live out his life.
What's stopping them from getting it? The Chorus Directors have declared Makrakis and all the other personnel, as well as the rotating habitat they live in, surplus and to be destroyed if they don't leave. No official transport is being provided, so Petros and what's left of his team will have to find transportation and make the long journey back to a world, not even knowing where it is.

The working title for the book is The 13th Month, which any US Marines reading this should get.

Up above an arctic storm was lashing the towers of Dwumfords Hive. Sleet and freezing rain was attacking the soaring edifices and bridges of the upper city; coating the homes of the rich and powerful in ice that would only melt when the distant summer came. Down where I was guiding my bicycle through yet another souk, the storm manifested as an endless series of drips and rivulets of dirty water sluicing down from above. I had been told that once the storm passed, I should make my way to an upper level to view the dawn lighting up the ice-encrusted spires. Beautiful and inspiring, I was told.

Sod that. With any luck, I'd be off this world and long gone before the rain stopped.

So there I was, my dinner of fish stew in the basket and a dying glo-globe lighting my way as I maneuvered around the edges of the end-of-shift mob in the souk. All around me people were haggling over prices, shoving, arguing, and then coming to an agreement and shaking hands like old friends. Dozens of bikes like mine competed with pedicabs and even a few draft carts for space to move. It was a typical evening in the not-quite Underhive. I was surrounded by thousands of people.

And I was being watched.

I've lasted this long by developing a sense for this. Someone was following me. Looking around, making sure it looked to any observer that I was just trying to find a faster lane of travel, I spotted three likely candidates. Not moving, not haggling, conspicuously inconspicuous. Three was too many. I picked an exit from the souk and pedaled hard, sending up a spray of oily water in my wake. My three watchers reacted instantly, going from "trail" to "pursue" so seamlessly it was almost a thing of beauty. If only I wasn't the one being pursued.

Three random turns, and I dumped the bike and scampered into a narrow alleyway. I stopped several feet in and ate my stew. Somehow, I figured that eating now was going to be a good thing. As a slurped down the overly spicy meal, I tried to think who these guys could be. Arbites? Not likely, since I doubt the Merchant House families I had just scammed would want news of their gullibility to enter the official records. House assassins? Possibly, but why hesitate? They could have gunned me down in the souk easily, and to hell with the innocent bystanders. The local authorities would just pass it off as gang violence. It was possible they wanted me alive, to retrieve what I had liberated, but that made the whole operation clumsy. They'd know that my only options for leaving were the port or the maglev, easier to stake them out if they wanted me at their leisure.

The bike was stolen within minutes, of course. Fitting, since I had stolen it myself. At some point, I imagine every bicycle in Dwumfords must have been purchased legitimately. But in the centuries since then, they've passed from owner to owner by the simple act of taking one when the previous rider was inattentive...

...I froze as one of the three I had spotted moved down the narrow street. I could see now that it was a woman, and she moved like a trained fighter. I tried very hard not to look at her, but to instead focus on the wall and let her remain in my peripheral vision. Like I said, people know when they're being watched. My hunter stopped in the middle of the broken pavement, stared directly at me for several seconds (or so it felt) then touched a jeweled stud on the collar of her long rain coat.

"Wind meets Rocks. Fond Hearts. Reunion."

Without moving a muscle, I relaxed. So that's who was chasing me. The bastard!

(This was mostly written a year ago and updated.)

I’m writing this in a Santa Cruz, CA, hotel room a few blocks from the famous Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. First opened in 1907, going to the Boardwalk has been a rite of passage for Bay Area teens for decades. Going “over the hill” (the hill being the Coast Range) to spend long days enjoying the beach, the rides, and attractions at the Boardwalk - and let’s be real here, scoring weed - was a big part of my teenage years.

But the Boardwalk is also known as one of the more critical settings in 1987’s The Lost Boys, the best vampire movie ever made. I know that’s a challenging statement, especially given the long history of vampire films going back to 1922’s Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens and including such classics as Bela Lugosi making the definitive mark on vampire movies in Dracula (1931), or the even better Spanish-language version filmed at the same time as Lugosi’s film using the same sets. Look it up. It’s amazing.

But I’m going to make the case that while the character of Dracula defined the modern vampire, it is a definition rooted in Victorian mores and concerns. Dracula draining the blood of his victims leaves them pale and listless, similar to the end stages of tuberculosis, a pale beauty also celebrated in La bohème and other works of the era. Also, Dracula cemented the idea of the noble vampire, a character of means and refined manners. Again, this was a Victorian take on culture, allowing the threat to grow because a Count would never be suspected of such murders!

The Lost Boys subverts that meme and does it in the best way. Set in the fictional town of Santa Carla, the movie follows Michael (Jason Patric) and Sam Emerson (Corey Haim), who, with their newly-divorced mother (Dianne Wiest), are forced to move in with their eccentric grandfather (Barnard Hughes). A rebellious and sullen teen, Michael soon falls in with a group of dirt bike-riding punks who terrorize the Boardwalk. His younger brother Sam encounters the Frog Brothers, self-proclaimed vampire hunters who push horror comics on Sam to educate him about the threat.

I’m not going to go into detail about the plot, except to say that it is both funny and scary at the same time. What amazes me on every viewing is that while the visuals are terrifying, much of the dialogue is amazingly quotable and funny. It keeps the viewer engaged and interested in the characters.

“My own brother, a goddamn, shit-sucking vampire. You wait ''til mom finds out, buddy!”

The IMDB quotes page is filled with golden nuggets like these. The dialogue keeps the film from bogging down and reminding us that these kids are the main characters. What’s the worst threat you can make as a younger sibling? Telling mom! That’s not why this is the best vampire movie. So far, it’s a great vampire movie, so what makes it the best?

The vampires.

The Lost Boys is one of the first big-budget movies not to portray vampires as suave upper-crust types or mindless monsters. No, this movie shows vampires to be what they should be: predators. The vampires in this movie don’t seduce their prey or depend on deception or guile. They attack isolated targets and kill to feed. They are predators, and we are their prey. The empathy, the human connection you get in Dracula films, is missing here. They are only reasonably kind to Michael because he’s a recruit. Everyone else is either potential food or a threat to be removed.

Even in recruiting Michael, they show a sadistic glee in tormenting him, pushing him both physically and with mental games. Until he joins them, he is just another amusement. Kiefer Sutherland’s David is a magnificent example of what an immortal hunter would become. He’s scary in the way Bela Lugosi never managed. Not even the more blood-infested Hammer films with Christopher Lee managed to portray the casual dismissal of mere humans the way David does. He is a monster. He is an apex predator who cares only for his fellow vampires.

The movie ends with a fantastic battle against the forces of darkness and not one but two twists. As we fade to the credits, Echo and the Bunnymen’s cover of The Doors’ "People Are Strange" begins, and it’s one of those films you sit through the credits for, not because of the promise of additional scenes, but because it was so good.

Every year the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk has a summer film series, with movies screened to an audience sitting on the beach. The highlight every year is, of course, the night they show The Lost Boys. Every year people dress up in their 80s-fashion best for the movie. Cast members have been known to show up for the event. This summer, we will travel over the hill to watch this movie with the lights and the sounds of the Boardwalk behind us.

And after the movie is over, we’ll hurry back to the car, fearfully looking up to ensure we are not the next items on the menu.

As I pointed out in my last post, the Earthdawn Barsaive setting is a close match to modern Ukraine. The designers have made it clear this was their intent. I approve because it gives a huge area for exploration and sweeping grand campaigns.

But there is a major issue. On the campaign map, the Black Sea has been replaced by a gigantic volcanic caldera. It is explicitly stated that this Death Sea fills the Black Sea's basin. Which creates huge problems when doing worldbuilding. Look, I'm as ready as anyone to accept huge magical effects in this setting, but this is just too much!

The Black Sea has a surface area of 436,400 km² (168,500 sq mi) (not including the Sea of Azov.) Lava, the proper term for liquid magma that reaches the surface, has a temperature that runs from 800 to 1,200° C (1,470 to 2,190° F). Normally, lava quickly cools into various fun forms of igneous rock. But here we're told the liquid state is constant. This is going to have extraordinary effects on every land that borders the Death Sea.

For starters, there is going to be a dead zone extending many miles from the coast. The heat, poisonous gasses, and just the ground being baked into fired clay pottery will kill everything. But that's minor compared to the climatic nightmare this would cause. As we all know, hot air rises. The air over this huge area will become superheated and rise quickly, creating an ungodly low-pressure system over the entire area. A book on climatology I read described Earth's atmosphere as desperately seeking to achieve equal pressure across the globe, but being constantly foiled by uneven heating and terrain.

Imagine the massive, constant hurricane-force winds rushing to the Death Sea. The collision of this relatively cool air and the already-heated air over the lava we'll create endless storm fronts that spiral off spawning tornados and world-shattering dry thunderstorms. The near-vacuum at the center of the sea will be a fountain of superheated air that will spread out and fall as it cools, creating storms hundreds if not thousands of miles from the sea.

Seen from space, the Death Sea would be akin to Jupiter's Great Red Spot, a never-ending cyclonic storm covering a huge area. Oh, did I mention that? Cloud cover that blots out the sun for years at a time. Given all this, most Kaers in Barsaive would open their gates, take three steps outside, and say "Well, this sucks" before resealing the gates and going back to work on 101 Ways To Spice Up Your Mushroom Stew.

Later retcons reduced the lava area to a few hundred miles around the Crimean Peninsula. But still, you have the same issues. Kīlauea showed an impact on the weather of the Big Island during its decades-long eruption. So we need a better fix.

I, of course, have one.

Let's put a Kaer on the Crimea right where Sevastopol exists. During the Time of Horrors, the Sorcerors maintaining the defenses also developed a doomsday device, a magical retribution strike that brought E=mc² into play. When a Horror did breach the defenses, the spell was triggered. Kaer, Horror, and a huge amount of territory vanished in an instant. What was left was a massive volcanic rift system that has grown to Mt. Doom proportions. The seabed cracked for hundreds of miles, releasing natural gases that ignite when they reach the surface.

So the Sea of Death becomes the Sea of Blue Fire. Life along the shoreline is still stunted and twisted, and the entire area stinks of rotten eggs and death. Sailing the affected areas is dangerous, not just because of the constant threat of fire (remember, these flames are still magical even if they come from a natural source) but because every so often a huge bubble of gas comes to the surface and explodes. Just being caught by the bubble can break your keel.

Closer to the site of the destroyed Kaer, the threat of volcanic activities rises. Plus, vengeful ghosts, Horror-touched monsters drawn to the inherent magical aura of the area, and a dragon. Because I need at least one Greater Wyrm in this place. What might be really fun is to drop clues that the Sorceror-Kings of that Kaer also built the magical equivalent of an aircraft's flight data box, holding their greatest secrets, including how to replicate the spell that destroyed the Kaer.

Current Mood: chipper
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Anthrax - Caught in a Mosh

While engaged in a discussion of Cyberpunk tropes everyone is tired of in TTRPGs, one person mentioned the pervasive Asian Chic feeling, with Japanese zaibatsu dominating the world, ninjas, and the entire manga/anime feel.

I agree heartily. What I want to see, and may have to write for the SWADE Cyberpunk system, is a setting where the African Renaissance is full speed ahead and the US and China have been greatly reduced in influence. African corporations are the big influences, African music is hot, and the current First World players like the US and China are collapsing.

Having a campaign set in Mombassa would be really cool, as you have a totally different feel and all of the Continent to play in. You could even ignore the US. Scandanavian mercenaries, Ukrainian bankers, Arab and Indian factors, and a dozen languages are spoken in the new Sprawl as Mombassa (and the space elevator just offshore) have made this city ground zero for intrigue.

What would make this setting unique is Mombassa is an old, old city. It dates back to at least the 14th century. It has ancient mosques mixed in with modern areas. I love the idea of Old Africa meeting New Africa.

And you have all of Africa to play in!

Yeah, I need to write this. I'll be using Sprawlrunners, a cyberpunk Savage Worlds rule set for this. Does anyone want to help?

Current Mood: creative
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Wazen Zevon - Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner

Captain commander of the Rube Goldberg. A native of Derinkuyu, Erim has been gene-modified over several generations to withstand the 2.9 g (28.42mps^2) gravity field of his homeworld.

He is a dwarf, standing only 148cm, but built on a very sturdy frame and is deceptively strong.

Captain Erim is a dedicated, meticulous officer who has risen through the ranks on merit. He is aware of prejudice against "gene freaks" but up until now has depended on his record to shield him.

His one failing is his lack of political awareness. He has simply ignored this on his rise to senior commands and is unprepared for the reality.

Teker Erim is dark in complexion, keeps his hair buzzed close to his scalp, but cultivates a large mustache, that he spends time styling.

Erim is from a very wealthy family, a fact that embarrasses him. He would never think of using his family's influence to get ahead. This has put him at something of an impasse with his father.

Erim had an older sister, Albani, who proceeded him into the Peacekeeper Fleet. She was killed in a border Skirmish with the Dà tiānguó (the Great Celestial Empire.)

Teker begins the book depressed and feeling betrayed. He comes around and decides to make the most of the assignment if for no other reason than to piss off the forces that sent him here.

Current Mood: drunk
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA

This, after much research, is how I see the bridge and the surrounding deck area of the FFS Rube Goldberg which is a very important setting in my project. I really want to hear from Navy and Coast Guard veterans.

Deck 3 of the Rube Goldberg is home to the main bridge. The bridge itself is an octagonal space. At the center is the command chair, used by the Captain or the Officer of the Deck whenever the Captain is off the bridge. This station has a control panel on a swing arm if the OIC (Officer in Charge) wants to examine a specific detail of the ship's operations directly.

Directly in front of this station is a fairly large holographic display. Normally, this is used to track the position of the Rube Goldberg in relation to its assigned battle group. In combat situations, it can be used to monitor threats and the Captain can direct the ship's escorts based on this information. The display can also provide information on the ship's status, updates on replenishment or repair operations on other ships, as well as a variety of live camera shots, both from fixed cameras and remote platforms.

To the left of the display is the Maneuvering station. Here the two pilots (normally an experienced Petty Officer and a rating) work in concert, controlling the ship's movement along the three axises as directed by the commander. Also at this station are an engineering PO who monitors the performance of both the six main drives as well as the maneuvering thrusters. Supervising them is the Maneuver Officer.

To the left of that station is the Environmental Control station. Manned by a Petty Officer and a Rating, they monitor the interior status of the ship, everything from gravity control to O₂ levels and the health of the ship's solid waste recycling plant. Most of their job is watching, as the actual work is spread out through the ship.

To the immediate right of the display is Sensor Analysis. Manned by a junior officer and Chief Petty Officer, this station takes in all the information coming from the various sensors, as well as updates from the Battle Group, and organizes it for the main display. They have a team on Deck 4 That does the initial filtering and analysis.

On their right is Communications. Responsible both for exterior and interior communications, this station is manned by the Communications Chief (a CPO) and two operators. They work closely with the sensors crew so message masers are aimed correctly.

Behind the Captain's Chair is Operations Management. As the Rube Goldberg is a Fleet Repair/Supply Ship, this station is a repeater for the one in the Operations Master Control Center on Deck 33. When the ship is engaged in any evolution involving the transfer of materials, repairs, or anything else where OMC is active, a team from the repair and logistics crew will be on the bridge, updating schedules and answering that commander's questions. This station is a holotable, about 1x2 meters, with workstations built in. This is the one station not equipped with seating, although emergency acceleration couches can be rolled out from the back wall.

The space is crowded, with multiple monitors, control panels; and the walls have multiple emergency air hook-up stations, firefighting equipment, and plaques filled with operational procedures and warnings. every station has a binder with printed checklists and troubleshooting guides. The lighting is usually kept dim to reduce eye strain and make the holotank easier to read.

There are two entrances to the bridge. The one to the left of the holotank as you face it is known as the Captain's Hatch and opens onto his office and underway cabin. The one to the right leads to the lift area, a security station, the midrats galley, and the "crash room" and space outfitted with bunks for quick naps during extending operations. Also on this deck are the Navigation Center (Real Space) and the office of the ship's feared head of the FIS, Fleet Internal Security. It should be noted that there is an entrance to the Captain's Office off the main corridor and that Internal Security is posted both at the Lift Lobby, and at the hatches to the Bridge and the Captain's office, as they are quite close to each other.

These are hatches heavy, manual, and designed to hold pressure.

So, what did I fuck up? What did I miss?

OK, what did I miss?

Current Mood: creative
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA

So, I've been playing with this idea. Take The Odessey, set in space, and make my protagonists drug-addicted bio-sculpted soldiers discarded when they were no longer needed. This is my start. Please, let me know what you think beyond "good job!" I need feedback. What worked, what was clunky, and how y'all see this being better with a few changes.

( Untitled NaNoWriMo Project )

Current Mood: creative
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: More Customs videos!

Considering my original long-term survival goal was living to see 2000, I take every new year as a win.

So, what's coming up for me and Offhand Manor in 2022? Well, my health is going to dominate things for at least the next few months. We need to find out the cause of the inflammation seen in my eyes and now in a lymph chain in my chest. I had a head MRI yesterday, and still need to schedule a PET scan and a lumbar punch. Ow. Plus there's now a cataract in my right eye that needs to be dealt with. There are plenty of appointments coming up. Just to make things more fun, my hemo-oncologist retired and I'll be dumping this all on a new doctor.

Fun times, folks.

Alongside that, I'm going to keep working on physical and mental health. My job makes getting my daily steps in easy, but I really need to get the TRX bands out at least three times a week and work on getting back to the gym when possible. Mentally, I was able to recognize that I was setting myself up for failure in a situation and back out of it, which was a win, but I need to set aside time for mindfulness. 30 minutes a day of quiet meditation really helps center me.

One big thing coming up is our July roadtrip to Tonopah, Nevada for Westercon 74.

kshandra has really wanted to get me away from the warzone our neighborhood becomes over July 4th, and besides the con, there are some cool things to see in Tonopah. Like the The World-Famous Clown Motel !

We won't be staying there. But we will kill the camera batteries in the 19th-century cemetery across the street. It'll be a fun trip!

What's really cool is Burning Man is coming back! After a two-year hiatus, we're going back to the desolate, dusty, sun-blasted Playa we love. Planning is already in progress, as I was born to be a staff officer. Speaking of which. . .

The Free Trailer Beowulf is dead, long live the Far Trailer Marava! After five years, the homemade kludginess of the Beowulf is showing. Rather than fight a long battle to keep it road-worthy; which we really lack the skills, tools, and funds to do right; we've decided to take the plunge and buy a real trailer.

We're getting an Outbound Extreme Standard Model. Scroll down a little to see the model. Ours is the base white with black trim. We did go for a few necessary options (which you can see on the Order page.)

Exterior Options
100 Watt Solar Panel, 30-Amp LCD Display Solar Charge Controller with Battery Temperature Sensor.
15" Spare Trailer Tire
Front Cargo Rack
Front Diamond Plate
Rear Support Jacks

Interior Options
Roof Fan, 3 Speed
Memory Foam Mattress
Front Storage Cubbies
Electric Package (basically a surge protector power strip with USB ports mounted inside the trailer.)

We'll need to pick up a new marine battery, battery box, trailer lock, and a few other things. If you're in Northern California and want a trailer that is in decent shape but needs some work, contact me or Kirsten for details. We'll throw in the solar power panels we've been using.

Also, I am determined to spend the time to make Sideways Solutions work. So I have a schedule to make sure that when NaNoWriMo kicks off on November 1st, I will have everything ready to roll. The total word count goal for the 1st draft is 90,000 words. Expect to see a lot of drabbles and ficlets in this space, and folks, I need your feedback. Not just "that's cool!" but tell me what works, and where I'm weak. I'm a former infantryman, I can take harsh criticism!

The only other big thing on the schedule for the year is we have vouchers for a couple of San Francisco Giants' games, and in September, the long-delayed Rammstein show in LA may finally happen. Crossed fingers.

Hell, crossing my fingers for all of this! Happy New Year!

Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Green Day - Jesus of Suburbia

After a lot of thought, I'm not doing NaNoWriMo this year. The whole eye saga has cut into my ability to do my research and plotting, there may be more appointments coming down the road that could make things much worse, and I'm going back to work on the same day the writing starts.

Not the best way to handle this. So I'm opting out. Apex will wait a year while I get everything set up, characters set, all three sections absolutely mapped out both in location and action (and I'm going for Tim Powers levels of 'OMG, I've BEEN there!'), and can start writing with confidence on Day One, 2022.
The way the Giants season ended also is a factor.

But, to get an early start, the book is about a world where vampires are solitary apex predators and concerns the vampire who has taken San Francisco as his hunting territory since 1945 finding himself being hunted by another vampire. It's mostly suspense. I'm using Apex as the working title as it describes where the vampires sit, but can you think of another title?

Current Mood: melancholy
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Avatar - For The Swarm

Well, I'm not working until mid/late August when the school year starts, and me being me, I'll keep right on waking at 0630 despite turning the alarm off.

Which means I'll be awake, dressed, and coherent by 0700 most days. Now, there are a ton of things to get done around here; delayed cleaning, getting Darby's 60k service done, things like that, I have a plan to better utilize those hours where I'd normally be standing on a corner with a stop sign.

0730-0900 and 1100-1230 are now my writing times when I put everything else aside and do something related to producing written content. It could be playing with Scrivener, doing actual research for a project, writing stream-of-consciousness pieces, or producing actual works that I want people to feel are worth paying for.

Getting that rhythm is important. and once school is back in session, I can adjust the hours to conform with my (hopefully) longer breaks between shifts in the 21-22 school year.

So look for some content in the next week. And please, PLEASE, give feedback for good or ill. The only way I grow as a writer is by hearing what works and more importantly, what doesn't.

Current Mood: determined
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: TOOL - Pneuma

One of my focuses in doing the SFBA:RED thing is to make San Francisco noir again. The wharves are revitalized as shipping goes back to smaller cargo ships. The general SOMA area is a maze of bars, tiny shops, and sailors hostels. The streets are clogged by food carts and bar runners. Sailors from around the Pacific Rim rub shoulders with longshoremen and slumming Execs.

Most of the Sunset and Richmond are combat zones. In the inner sunset and Richmond massive defensible hives have grown up, called Kowloons by the locals. They house the lower class workers who ride downtown on the over-stuffed N train every morning to their menial jobs.

Chinatown has become a foreign territory, controlled by the Tongs who rule the smuggling trade. The Finacial District is revitalized with an influx of NewCorps challenging the last few Megacorps.

Yeah, I've got a lot of writing to do.

Current Mood: creative
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Live coverage of the impeachment.

Barely Alive
(ttto: Dead or Alive by Jon Bovi)

It's all the same, only the doctors change
Every day, it seems I'm wastin' away
Another lab where the exam room is so cold
I drive all over just to get sent back home

I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, barely alive
Breathing, barely alive

Sometimes I sleep, sometimes I sleep for days
Phlebotomists can never find my veins
Sometimes you tell the hour
By the medicine that you take
And when the fevers hit, all you do is bake

I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, (sort of) barely alive
Breathing, (coughing) barely alive

Oh, and I ride
Oh, and I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, barely alive

I lay in bed
Loaded IV's in both arms
I'd watch TV, but only Sister Act is on
Been seen by everyone, but they still don't know what's wrong
I've seen a million doctors
And I've confused them all

I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, (Low O2) barely alive
I'm a patient, the guy beside me just died
I'm breathing, (Code Blue) barely alive
And I abide, barely alive
I still thrive (sort of thrive) barely alive
Barely alive, barely alive, barely alive, barely alive. . .

(Guitair outro to flatline sound.)

Current Mood: blah
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Bon Jovi - Dead or Alive

Time Out
- or -
The Critical Importance of Always Wearing Clean Underwear

The world, as we knew it anyway, came to a shuddering stop on February 12th, 2019. Which for me was a bummer, as I was this close to my Ph.D. with my thesis on the people of North Sentinel Island nearly ready for printing. That and my gig managing a Starbucks were my tickets to mere survival.

It was on that day that the aliens showed up. We all learned a lot of science in the next few weeks as scientists tried to explain what had happened. The alien ship - calling a sphere nearly the size of our moon a “ship” feels wrong - didn’t just suddenly appear in the sky. No, it came to a complete stop after moving at 99-point-a-lot-of-nines to get to our L-4 point. Another thing we all learned; that’s a place where the gravity of the Earth and the Moon cancel out.

So it shows up and just sits there as the planet goes nuts. People were claiming that it was Jesus, others were screaming we were being invaded, and others were packing their bags because they were going to hitch a ride. There were riots in a few places, and nations that had a history of clamping down clamped harder. North Korea announced it was Kim Il Sung, come back to lead the people to victory and True Communism.

But after one of the longest days ever, after everyone on the planet had a chance to see this weirdly purple orb hanging in the sky, the First Message was received by humanity. And I mean humanity. Everything that had a speaker carried this message, and it was broadcast in all the local languages. It was one word.

“Ten.”

The voice was clear and unemotional, unlike the talking heads on every channel who began debating the meaning of the message. Me? I turned on the Classic Cartoon Channel. Underdog was on.

Exactly one hour after the first message, a second one was sent. “Nine.” At that point, there was a global consensus. It was a countdown. But to what? Preppers took to their bunkers, churches were filled, and the president was tweeting about how he had been right about needing a Space Force. I decided to get stoned and grab a nap. I thought about calling my ex and reminding her that I told her leaving me would be a disaster but resisted the impulse.

It wasn’t a good nap. Turns out, switching off the radio didn’t stop the countdown from coming through. So there I was, watching the planet go insane as the final hour ticked away. At five minutes to go, there was a sudden calm. Even the idiots on CNN stopped yelling. The final seconds melted away and all of humanity leaned forward to hear what was coming.

There was a pleasant chime. Then a very different voice from the countdown.

“Are we on? Yes? OK! People of Earth, humanity, whatever you call yourselves these days, hi. As you’ve probably guessed, we are representatives of sapient species from other star systems. Yes, we’ve been buzzing Earth in UFOs, and did, in fact, kidnap some people. We did put everyone back, and we do apologize for the anal probes. We’ve been examining you for about, oh, 200 years now, and our mission time is up. We’ve got to head back and present our findings.
“I’ve got good news and bad news for you, humans. The good news is . . .” There was a triumphal flourish of horns. “You are not alone! This globular cluster you live in is just teeming with life! Thousands of intelligent races of us have come together and formed a society that has endless energy, no want, no war, and pretty good civic light opera. Most of us think planets are pretty passe and live in structures much like our little ship here. In fact, and here’s a big spoiler for you, what you call Tabby’s Star is my home system, and those are giant megastructures orbiting it! The universe, even our small part of it, is filled with wonders and things beyond your imagination!

“Now the bad news. You’re not invited. Honestly mankind, we’ve been struggling to find an excuse for your behavior for centuries! We get war when it’s about resources, we’ve all been there, but you guys fight over stupid things! Variations in skin tone, outdated governmental styles, even insults between members of inbred ruling classes!

“And you’re so tribal! Yes, being a successful technological civilization usually means evolving from social animals, but you, you take it to extremes! You fight and loot when your team wins! That is not normal, mankind! Sport is supposed to be relaxing and enjoyable, not an excuse to beat each other silly for wearing the wrong color!

“I could go on, but I’m getting stern looks to cut it short. So, while you aren’t being invited, we aren’t leaving without a few parting gifts even though we really shouldn’t. First, we're deploying a cloud of satellites. They will both continue to monitor you and report back to us on your progress but are equipped to neutralize any nuclear weapon they find. All of you are now out of the mass destruction business. These satellites can defend themselves, don’t even think about it. They also serve as excellent GPS transmitters, amazing weather sats, and will be broadcasting HBO for free to everyone. Just kidding about that last part. We’ll also be removing the 206 million pieces of junk we’ve found in orbit around your planet. Clean up after yourselves next time!

“Secondly, along with the extensive, painful, and detailed list of your utter failings as a planetary society being sent to your so-called leaders, we will be sending data to various organizations and people on ways to look better next time. This includes pan-immunity, effective birth-control that women control by thought and spreads like a virus, a couple of hints on fusion power, and the formula for Coca-Cola.

“Kidding! But look for a lot of answers to the past so you can focus on your future. Seriously, we’ve come to like you humankind, but you just aren’t ready for the big leagues yet. See you in a few centuries! We are Eastbound and down!”

With that, the alien ship vanished, leaving over 2,000 new satellites orbiting Earth.
What followed was pandemonium. If not knowing was bad, being snubbed was worse. A few quiet tests showed that the alien wasn’t lying; every nuke on the planet was inert. A Russian attempt to inspect one of the alien satellites ended with a very surprised crew back on the ground while their shuttle was eventually spotted leaving the solar system at close to the speed of light. A rogue lab released the birth control bug, and suddenly women had control of family planning in a way never imagined. Coupled with pan-immunity, condom manufactures went broke around the world.

But now, five years later, there are bright spots emerging. Almost all of the Americas have joined into an economic union, defense spending has dropped worldwide, and the message along with “Kim Il Sung” vanishing, led to a revolution inside North Korea.

But there is one thing that is bothering me.

A few days after the aliens left, I finally decided to get back to work on my thesis. The mystery of the people living on North Sentinel Island had fascinated me since I was a kid, and now I was betting a doctorate in anthropology on my being able to offer new theories into that isolated tribe. But when I opened my work folder, I saw three new file folders.

- ENOUGH TO GET YOU BY
-THE BIGGER PICTURE
-THE WHOLE STORY

The first folder held references to sources I hadn’t known existed. They confirmed some of my ideas and forced me to change some conclusions. I eagerly made use of those resources, easily earned my degree, and landed a teaching post at Colorado State. I’ve peeked at the second folder, but only skimmed a couple of items.

That last folder, the one promising the whole story, was huge: nearly 2.4 terabytes, with dozens of sound and video files. I have to wonder if that last file is a test. Am I greedy enough to just take the information? Or do I really want to work for the answers? Is one of those alien satellites monitoring my decision?

It’s 2:37 AM. I have to be at work in four hours. My pointer has been on that last folder for two hours just waiting for me to click it.

What do I do?

Current Mood: curious
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA

I don't like the word resolutions. In conjunction with the new year, that word has become laden with a heavy sense of obligation. I prefer goals, things to aspire to, and reach. So, here are my goals for 2021:

Write. I have an unfinished novel, a great idea for turning the Bay Area into a Cyberpunk setting, and a thousand other concepts flying around my head. Buckle down and write. Which leads into. . .

Study the Craft. Having books on writing do you no good if you don't read them, study them, and do the exercises. The same goes for my copy of Scrivener and Scrivener For Dummies. If I really want to improve my writing and my use of that great writing tool, put in the grunt work!

Exercise! I have been terrible about even trying to make my daily step count, and I'm angry that the bike we bought for me has barely been touched. I also have the TRX band and the push-up paddles. Devote time each day to doing some form of exercise. It's not only good for my general health, it improves how well I digest things. Which brings us to. . .

Eat Better. A Little. Look, I'm never going to be bellying up to the salad bar, but I can try to improve my diet. Even little things like reducing my reliance on microwaved chimichangas in favor of fresher food will help. Eating three meals a day is also a goal.

Work On Getting New Dentures. This is a biggie, but I'm not getting some coverage under kshandra's new insurance, so I might be able to get the work done so I have teeth that work. Be warned, we may run a Go Fund Me campaign to cover the costs. Being able to chew properly will be a boon to my health.

Talk Less, Smile More. To quote Hamilton. I get drawn into too many pointless online arguments. It wastes my time and causes stress.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame. . . Try to make six ballgames this year. San Franciso or San Jose, either flavor of Giants is good for me. The schedule will be posted, all are welcome to watch me get tortured.

Run A Game! Face to face or online, I need to shake off my Gamemaster dust and run a game. I'd love to run a game of Bulldogs! which is a really fun FATE-based space opera game. Finally. . .

Breathe. Take Time To Be Mindful. I need to spend more time centering myself. Using the skills I learned in therapy to relax and refocus.

I haven't mentioned Burning Man as that is out of my control. If we're on for this year, we'll go. If not, we'll plan for the next year.

Happy 2021, y'all!

Current Mood: optimistic
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Law & Order reruns

It is the distant future. Humanity spread to the stars, founded a glorious empire, and long ago that Emire fractured. Now, the Successor State squabble and fight border wars, while Earth has become a backwater. People make quasi-religious pilgrimages there, but it's not really that important.

Four centuries ago, a rapidly expanding alien empire took Sol almost without a shot. As they allowed travel and trade to continue unimpeded, no one really cared. Life went on. But in the last twenty years, things have changed.

A new faction has emerged, preaching a New Empire of Man, and regaining Earth is a matter of manifest destiny! Seeing the opportunity to gain more territory, and possibly claim the new Terran Throne, the Successor States are mobilizing for war! But they still don't trust each other.

In case you don't recognize it, this is the start of the First Crusade in 1096 set in shiny space opera. Plenty of space (no pun intended) for different governments, epic personalities, strange tech, and an alien menace more concerned with trade and spreading their faith/philosophy than fighting, but they are more than capable as warriors.

I've dedicated the rest of this year to working on my long-neglected novel Sideways Solutions, but this might be an idea I play with.

Current Mood: peaceful
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: The Grateful Dead - New Minglewood Blues

This is the background write-up for my new D&D character.

Igan drained the last drops from the flagon, then slammed it onto the table in appreciation. "Damn fine mead, I've not had such since I left Daggerford!"

The lady publican smiled as she refilled Igan's flagon. "You're from the North? How interesting! You are very far from home, my lord." Igan noted that his host was a quite stunning example of the fair sex. Her long black hair framed a face so fair he suspected she might be a halkf-elf.

Igan carved a healthy slice from the roast capon. It was as fine as the mead. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before speaking.

"Oh, I've been farther, I suspect. Although to be honest, I'm not really sure where I am at the moment. But my trade has carried me all across the Realms. You see, I am a Hunter of Men." Igan laughed, "Men, elves, dwarfs. . . I'm in it for the game and the gold. I'd track down a Celestial for the Lords of Hell if the price was right."

"I see." the publican settled down at the table. "You are filled with pride for one so young. Tell me, when you hunt men for gold, do you work with others?"

"Rarely, m'lady. I've been on my own since my father, he was a fur trader, was murdered and I had to drag the men who did in for the bounty. I've learned that my liberty is best pursued by myself. Every man for himself and Malar take the hindmost! Life is a game, and never tell me the odds!"

"Young and bold. Excellent qualities, and what I look for. But, did you know you were dying, Igan Pavlovich Kulnov?"

The Inn dimmed and Igan was struck by terrible agony. He looked down to see his tunic shredded and soaking quickly with blood."

"Am I dead then? Are you some servant of Kelemvor? Am I truly to be judged now?" Igan could barely conceal his panic.

"Calm yourself, Igan Pavlovich, I am not a judge of the dead, and you are dying, but not yet dead. I bring you an offer. Service to the Shadowfell and the Raven Queen. In exchange, your life and powers undreamt of, if you are strong enough."

"And what do I owe for these boons?" Even on the edge of death, Igan couldn't avoid his fear of entanglements.

"You will be asked, from time to time, to perform a task. Many of them will be what you already do, tracking down people and items. Our touch is light unless you cross us. There are shadows everywhere, and we are in all of them. The offer would have been made anyway, your current situation forced our hand. Either way, we will heal you."

The room darkened until all Igan could see was his hostess' faintly glowing eyes.

"Do you swear to obey us?"

"I do, on my soul."

"It is done."

Ivar awoke in the alley where his quarry had surprised him with two assassins. They lay dead on the urine-soaked cobblestones. His quarry, a Waterdeep merchant wanted for embezzling, was neatly tied up. As Igan was hauling him to his feet, he heard a rustle of wings and voice in his head "Go to Waterdeep, you will gain your first grants from us along the way. The mark on your arm, show it always."

Igan ripped his sleeve off and stared and the large complex tattoo, the mark of a Hexblade. Sighing, he led his captive back towards the mule cart he had bought, and the long ride to Waterdeep. Igan was already wondering if he was just as much a prisoner as his captive.

Nearby, a raven cawed. It sounded like mocking laughter.

Current Mood: creative
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Avatar - Paint Me Red

I just finished a very successful game of Civilization VI. Playing Rome on King difficulty, continents map, and I was using the Secret Societies game mode.

This is fun, there are four secret societies, the Voidsingers, the Owls of Minerva, the Sanguine Pact, and the Hermetic Order. Each has benefits and adds a new level of play. Early in the game, I was offered a chance to join the Voidsingers.

The Voidsingers follow a dark religion of ancient gods and sow chaos to control adversaries. Joining them unlocks the Old God Obelisk, which replaces the Monument. It has all of the Monument's base effects and provides additional Faith and Great Works slots. The Voidsingers also have a unique unit, the Cultist. Purchased with Faith, Cultists can spend a charge to recruit followers in enemy cities, reducing the target city's Loyalty by calling its citizens to madness.

The fun part is that every city Rome builds starts with a Monument, so all my new cities started with the Old God Obelisk already in place, which meant a quick +4 Faith from each city even before I built a Holy Site! When I did, I used a custom religion called the Eye of Madness. I also didn't stint on the research. As a result, I won a religious victory in 1560 after conquering 6 or the 11 rival states and converting the others. In the end, I was pulling in over 300 Faith a turn!

As I won the victory, all I could think of was the vine-choked Imperial Palace in Roma, past the hollow-eyed guards and the gibbering priests, to where the withered husk of Trajan, the Imperatoris Aeterna, rises from his throne for the first time in centuries, his dry voice echoing with eldritch force.

"The stars are right."

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Avatar - Hail the Apocalypse

I'm cleaning out some old files and found this one. Enjoy!

( Joshua )

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA
Current Music: Avata - Colossus (Music Video Edit)

I'm cleaning out old files in preparation for the new computer and the brain transplant. I kind of like this one.

“Brother! Come quickly, our sister has found something and we must go see!” Brother looked from where he had been piling stones. Big Sister was at the top of the bluff, hands on hips, looking down expectantly. “Come quickly!” she shouted before turning abruptly and walking away. Abandoning the half-finished fort, Brother began limping up the slope. “I am coming,” he said to no one in particular, “but I cannot move too quickly because of my knee.”

Little Sister was on the south beach, not far from the shelter the children had erected long ago. By the time Brother made it, Big Sister was already listening to Little Sister's tale. “I was looking for my bear. I thought he might be on the beach because bears like fish. So I came to look and found this.” Little Sister pointed to a clump of seaweed that had washed up. There was a white ring tangled up in the plants, along with something lumpier. The trio moved closer to inspect the find.

“The ring is a life-ring. People on boats used them to help them swim.” Big Sister looked at the mass of seaweed closely. “There is a body in the ring. He must have fallen off a boat and his people couldn’t rescue him. Bodies are dirty and we shall not touch these things.” After several minutes Brother spoke up. “I think he was a pirate. He was thrown off his ship for not telling where his treasure was buried. We should hunt for the treasure and make swords to fight the pirates.”

Little Sister clapped her hands and said that sounded like a good game. Big Sister agreed that it was a good game so long as no one got too dirty. The discussion of pirate treasure was interrupted by the rumble of distant thunder. “Oh, the rain is coming! We need to go back to the shelter!” Big Sister declared, setting off with her determined stride. Little Sister followed, skipping merrily. Brother set off after them. “I am coming, but I cannot move too quickly because of my knee.”

The shelter was a large, tattered tent on the island’s highest hill. A fire pit held the long-dead remnants of a bonfire. Discarded tools and toys lay all around. The rain began as the children reached the top of their trail, passing the carefully constructed stone cairn at the edge of the encampment without a glance. Once in the tent, Big Sister looked around with a big smile on her face.

“What a good day we had! We all had fun, and we learned so many things! Just think! Tomorrow is a whole new day! Who knows what new games we’ll play! Now it is time for sleep. Goodnight!” At that Big Sister ceased moving, her eyes closed. Brother and Little Sister soon followed Big Sister’s lead. The next day the body and the life preserver were gone. No one ever mentioned them again.

The children continued in their routines. Brother planned for battles against pirates, Little Sister searched for her missing bear, and Big Sister chided them about the disgraceful state of their clothes, ignoring the fact that her clothing had all but disintegrated. Each night ended in the same way, in the tent with Big Sister telling them how wonderful tomorrow would be.

It was during one of the island’s periodic big storms that the pattern changed. The tent had developed several leaks. Big Sister and Brother were discussing repairs when Little Sister suddenly leaped to her feet and cried out “My bear!” Brother looked at where she was pointing. “Little Sister, I do not see your bear. Do you remember where you left it?” Little Sister ignored him, running out of the tent into the storm shouting “Bear!” over and over. Brother began struggling to his feet when Big Sister stopped him. “We cannot go after her in the dark. She will come back on her own, or we will look for her in the morning. “ That being settled, Big Sister announced it was time for bed.

The next morning dawned bright and clear with no sign of Little Sister. Big Sister decided that she would search the southern half of the island, while Brother took the northern half. Using a tree branch to steady his increasingly bad knee; Brother limped off, calling for Little Sister. He crisscrossed the island, checking meticulously for any sign of his missing sibling. It was while checking some sea-caves that his knee completely failed. Unable to keep his balance, Brother tumbled off the edge of a cliff and fell onto the sharp rocks. Seeing that he had been run clean through by one of the ricks, Brother opened his mouth and let out a piercing klaxon wail.

“Please help. I am an International Robotics Childhood Companion robot. I have been damaged beyond self-repair capabilities. I require immediate repair. I can access most phone systems for a toll-free call. “ Again, the klaxon. “Please help. I am an International Robotics Childhood Companion robot. I have been damaged beyond self-repair capabilities. I require immediate repair. I can access most phone systems for a toll-free call. . .” Brother continued to repeat his plea as the tide rose around him. When the tide receded, there was nothing but silence.

-

The clearing had almost returned to its wild state. The tent had long past blown away. What was left of Big Sister sat in the mud motionless. She came to life with a jerk, scaring off the birds that had been harvesting her hair for nesting material. She grinned with a half-frozen face.

“Wh-wh-what a good day we had!”

Current Mood: relaxed
Current Location: Santa Clara, CA

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Douglas Berry

October 2023

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Douglas E. Berry

Are we getting ugly or are we getting old?

Entries tagged with writing

My tools for writing.

A bit of a ficlet that might grow into something.

Reflections on The Lost Boys

More fiddling with Barsaive. We have a slight problem on the map.

I'll probably use Sprawlrunners for this.

Captain Teker Erim, the protagonist of my novel.

This is for my NaNoWriMo Project, criticism and suggestions wanted!

Getting back on the writing horse

Looking forward with slightly improved vision. Here comes 2022!

NaNoWriMoNO

Trading one work schedule for another.

San Francisco in the Time of the Red

Barely Alive (ttto: Dead or Alive by Jon Bovi)

So, what would you do?

Setting Goals Is A Good Thing.

As usual, I am inspired by history.

Enfolded in Shadows

Ave Apocalypsin!

Boy, does he have some explaining to do!

Thursday's Children