The State of the Writer by Sarah and Sunday Vignettes by Mary Catelli, Luke and ‘Nother Mike.
So, what is the state of the writer?
Having caught con crud at Cosine because the room was unheated for over 24 hours, while it was 18 degrees outside, we’ve been battling it for about two weeks. It’s possible it was the flu or something weird. At any rate, I’ve been almost well twice, then the disease did a u-turn and I was suddenly almost dead.
For the last two days I’ve been ALMOST well enough to write, which is the most frustrating part of this. Yesterday Dan tempted me from dozing on the recliner (you can always tell when I’m ill because not only do I stop long enough to sleep, but naps seem like delightful ideas. Normally you have trouble making me think of sleep. I’m like those babies who fight it, it’s always less interesting than whatever is going on) to go see the mummies exhibit, on its way out at DMNS. But when we got there it was so crowded I told him I couldn’t, in good conscience go in, for the same reason we’ve been avoiding restaurants and parties: I wouldn’t give this to my worst enemy.
So we went for a stroll in city park. Objectively it should have made me MUCH worse. There was a cold wind blowing which if nothing else should have kicked up my asthma. Weirdly, it cleared my head and seems to have made me feel much better. Still sick mind, but more on the level of normal head cold than “oh, my heavens, I know this won’t kill me but it feels like it would.”
Right now I’m feeling the need of a nap (I’ve been up 2 hours) but believe it or not that’s an improvement, and there’s some expectation I CAN write after the nap. OTOH for the first time in 20 years we’ll be missing “the old grope”‘s Superbowl Party, which will break Dan’s heart.
I hope so. I have delivered Darkship Revenge, and so far the comments from the betas is that it’s very, very good. I thought what came next was Darkship Defiance, but I started getting this other book dictated to me. And it goes between the two darkships. (Sigh.) See excerpt at bottom.
I have the Magical Lewis and Clark (look, bunnies, if I felt better I’d write out the whole title. Fargin mouthful, trust me) to finish with KJA. I should be able to have a draft to him sometime next week (supposing I stop actually turning back into severe illness.)
Witch’s Daughter, the follow on to Witchfinder is getting edited and made readable.
Then there’s Guardian, with Larry (It’s already scheduled for Jan. next year.)
And THEN I should be able to get to this. Which would be good, since the stupid character is dictating in my mind, every time I start to fall asleep (Oh, and this is not the book of someone impaired. Not for the entire book. In Darkship Revenge, Fuse is in the process of being healed. Which means his troubles have JUST begun.)
Hacking the Storm
Sarah A. Hoyt
Book 3 of the Earth Revolution
In the beginning there was darkness.
In the darkness there was chaos.
Flashes broke the chaos, randomly, blindingly, with the force of revelations visited onto an unsuspecting world.
My name is Ajith Mason. But really, that’s my father. Good Man Mason. I’ve been called Fuse as long as I can remember. I don’t know why.
Darkness. I was lying on something soft. My wrists hurt. I pulled at them, and felt straps. Straps at my ankles. At my middle. I heard a moan and realized it was mine.
How did I come to be here? Where was I before?
There was a memory, bright and clean. I needed materials for a boom. There had been a negotiation for materials to make a big boom. I had got a tip from a broomer lair. I– I couldn’t get anyone to help me. There wasn’t Athena. Athena had left. I went by myself.
I fought against the bonds, and dark took over. Another flash,
“His mind is coming back. He’ll remember.”
“I don’t think he’ll remember. Not yet. Takes time.”
“He’ll remember. I want him sedated.”
The second voice. My mind sought and found a word for that voice Father.
I couldn’t remember a face, nor a name, nor who my father was. But one thing I was fully sure of: he was trying to kill me.
There was something over my eyes. I couldn’t see, but I could hear. I’d always been really good at hearing. I heard two sets of breathing in the room. One was still, the other was moving around the room, touching something that sounded like glass. A vial. Father wanted me sedated. They were going to sedate me. And then Father would kill me.
Oh, hell, no. That wasn’t going to happen.
So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.
We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.
If you have questions, feel free to ask.
Your writing prompt this week is: