I was going to write a post I was, but life went sideways, as it will in 2020. Only maybe not, as it’s not bad, precisely. It’s just annoying.
You see, I had a sequel to Have Spacesuit dictate itself to me in my sleep. All of it.
So? says you.
So, of course I can’t sell it, so it’s sunk costs. I resisted as much as I could, but it was broken sleep, and I finally woke up enough — kind of — to roll to the computer by the bed (I being displaced form my office, just now, since it needs painting and flooring) and write the first three paragraphs. After which, I decided to mow the lawn till the urge to just write the whole — unsalable by virtue of being unauthorized fanfic — mess out passed.
The lawn took very long because I had to deal with some issues.
And now we have a get together to go to, kind you don’t postpone.
And when I come back there will be a post for PJM to finish.
So. I’ll post tomorrow.
Meanwhile, beginning below with the caveat that I get details wrong on my own worlds, and I’m sure I got some wrong on this one. Meh.
It’s not for money and it’s three paragraphs. Call it an homage. As I said, I know it’s not something I can sell. Will I write it? Lord only knows. Probably not because I hate wasted effort. If I do, no one will ever know.
Now, if I could just download it onto electrons? Well…. it’s already all in my head.
BUT we don’t have the tech.
So how it happened was like this: Mother-thing needed help.
Wait, I’m telling it all wrong.
I had this workshop in the Mojave. There was a house too, attached to it, but most of the time I ate and slept in the workshop. So, as you can imagine it was pretty well locked.
Mother kept saying someday girls would find me. I didn’t know she meant it literally.
I was very shocked when the door popped open. I mean, I’d made those locks. So shocked that I jumped, so I had my hands on two of my guns.
Then stopped. She was tall and red headed and mammalian, and wore this simple, molding jumpsuit thing that made her legs look like they went on forever, particularly atop those platform boot things that all the ads shows women in these days.
Mother says it’s expensive to look that cheap.
I looked up to her face, where her lips were slightly parted, and her big eyes looked at me in shock. She had freckles across her nose. She panted a little at me, and said, “Stop it, Kip. Mother-thing needs our help.”
The picture fell into place like one of those puzzles you look at and know suddenly where every piece goes. I let go the guns and said, “Peewee!”