The exercise:
Write about: the chief.
Taking a break from the Wastelands today. Still on my mind, though.
Max and I helped Kat's parents clear out tumbleweeds from their fence line this morning, as they're having a deer fence installed this week. That basically involved raking them into piles and then setting said piles on fire. You may be surprised by how hot that stuff burns, even when there's not much of it.
This afternoon we were back at soccer class, which was its usual good time. I could tell Max was tired, but he hung in there pretty well.
And now I am about ready to zonk out myself, so I'll get to my writing now.
Mine:
He has not left his tent in days. They say he is consulting his advisers - both earthly and spiritual. That they expect us to believe the latter says much of what they think of us. Few among us still trust the guidance of our ancestors, especially in matters such as these.
How could they have ever faced an enemy such as ours?
They say he will emerge soon, carrying a message and a purpose and a direction. That he will have found a path through this wilderness and he will guide us to it and along it. I wonder if they believe this nonsense themselves, or simply wish to.
Every passing day is costing our people dearly. Our numbers dwindle, as do our provisions. This is not leadership. This is timidity. We do not need to find a trail through the darkness.
We need to blaze one.
I know he is in his tent. I know he is not consulting. I know he is not meditating. I know he is not seeking a solution to our problems. Instead, he searches for a solution to his own.
For he is dying.
Clinging to his life while his people lose their grip on theirs all around him. Does he not know? Does he not care? He was not always this selfish. The fever, perhaps, has made him this way.
I hoped for his recovery too, once. No longer. This has gone on too long. Our people need a new leader now. Not in a week, or two weeks, or a month. It will be too late then. Now. Now is the time.
So I sit in my tent, whetting my knife, and I wait and watch for my opportunity to put an end to this impasse.
Sunday February 28th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the dark season.
I'm going to pretend that today will be the end of my steampunk writings for now. We'll see what tomorrow brings, I guess.
But for now, I'm bringing things back to a scene that took place before my opening on Thursday. Because, apparently, that was not where this tale began.
Mine:
It's coming was spoken of, but not by those who had a reputation for sanity that they wished to maintain. Old men in tattered robes stood or sat on street corners and warned passersby of what was to come. Toothless hags screamed from their bedroom windows at anyone who came within earshot.
The dark season will soon be upon us, they said. Get yourselves ready.
Ready to do what? a few bothered to ask.
To leave, they replied. Every last one of them said it. To leave.
When it came at last we thought it was just another winter. The grey clouds arrived to cover the sky at their usual time. Warmth seeped slowly away. There were no early indications that it would be a winter without end.
Captain Miranda was one of the first to start assembling a flight crew. When I agreed to be her helmsman I didn't know where we were headed or why. I was in need of a job, that's all. My desire to leave the city had nothing to do with that itch at the back of my neck that kept telling me that something was deeply wrong.
Nothing at all.
We launched at night. While it was certainly unusual, it was also not unheard of. At any rate, no one tried to stop us. No crew member left word of where we were headed. I don't think any of us had anyone to tell, really.
When we reached the edge of the Wastelands two days later there were some murmurings among the crew but it never neared mutiny. We trusted Captain Miranda. She had told us we were going to find the sun again and we believed her. Each of us would follow her orders to the very end, there was no doubt of that.
Even if it meant flying over the most dangerous, inhospitable terrain our planet had to offer.
Write about: the dark season.
I'm going to pretend that today will be the end of my steampunk writings for now. We'll see what tomorrow brings, I guess.
But for now, I'm bringing things back to a scene that took place before my opening on Thursday. Because, apparently, that was not where this tale began.
Mine:
It's coming was spoken of, but not by those who had a reputation for sanity that they wished to maintain. Old men in tattered robes stood or sat on street corners and warned passersby of what was to come. Toothless hags screamed from their bedroom windows at anyone who came within earshot.
The dark season will soon be upon us, they said. Get yourselves ready.
Ready to do what? a few bothered to ask.
To leave, they replied. Every last one of them said it. To leave.
When it came at last we thought it was just another winter. The grey clouds arrived to cover the sky at their usual time. Warmth seeped slowly away. There were no early indications that it would be a winter without end.
Captain Miranda was one of the first to start assembling a flight crew. When I agreed to be her helmsman I didn't know where we were headed or why. I was in need of a job, that's all. My desire to leave the city had nothing to do with that itch at the back of my neck that kept telling me that something was deeply wrong.
Nothing at all.
We launched at night. While it was certainly unusual, it was also not unheard of. At any rate, no one tried to stop us. No crew member left word of where we were headed. I don't think any of us had anyone to tell, really.
When we reached the edge of the Wastelands two days later there were some murmurings among the crew but it never neared mutiny. We trusted Captain Miranda. She had told us we were going to find the sun again and we believed her. Each of us would follow her orders to the very end, there was no doubt of that.
Even if it meant flying over the most dangerous, inhospitable terrain our planet had to offer.
Saturday February 27th, 2016
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the inscription.
Steampunk obsession continues. For reference, imagine mine carved into a stone that my narrator encounters after wandering aimlessly through the Wastelands for two or three days.
Spectacular late morning to mid-afternoon here today. We had lunch on the deck for the first time this year, and I was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals when I went into town shortly after that.
Of course, it still gets wickedly cold in a heckuva hurry once the sun starts to go down. But my goodness, is the sun ever glorious when it's hanging out in a clear blue sky.
Mine:
There is a town filled with beautiful women,
That only serves ice cold beer;
But concern yourself not with this place my friend,
For it is far, far from here...
Write a four line poem about: the inscription.
Steampunk obsession continues. For reference, imagine mine carved into a stone that my narrator encounters after wandering aimlessly through the Wastelands for two or three days.
Spectacular late morning to mid-afternoon here today. We had lunch on the deck for the first time this year, and I was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals when I went into town shortly after that.
Of course, it still gets wickedly cold in a heckuva hurry once the sun starts to go down. But my goodness, is the sun ever glorious when it's hanging out in a clear blue sky.
Mine:
There is a town filled with beautiful women,
That only serves ice cold beer;
But concern yourself not with this place my friend,
For it is far, far from here...
Friday February 26th, 2016
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about something that takes place: at the break of dawn.
I, um, may be getting caught up in whatever it was that I started yesterday.
With Kat's parents still feeling ill, I had Max this afternoon. We ran a few errands in town together and then we came back to the farm to pick up Natalie so that they could play together at the park.
It was such a warm, sunny day that there were plenty of kids already there when we arrived. I had the car window rolled down on the way there and was just wearing a light long-sleeve and jeans until the sun decided to hide behind some clouds around 4 o'clock.
Spring, spring, spring, springity spring...
Mine:
The first rays of sunshine wake me to the start of a new day. It takes a few moments to realize that I am curled into a ball on hard-packed earth.
I ease into a sitting position, noting at least four severe injuries that I can't recall incurring, and find myself staring at the blackened wreck of my airship less than a hundred feet away.
Within an hour I know that there are no other survivors, my left wrist is broken, and that I am, undeniably, stranded somewhere in the Wastelands.
Write four lines of prose about something that takes place: at the break of dawn.
I, um, may be getting caught up in whatever it was that I started yesterday.
With Kat's parents still feeling ill, I had Max this afternoon. We ran a few errands in town together and then we came back to the farm to pick up Natalie so that they could play together at the park.
It was such a warm, sunny day that there were plenty of kids already there when we arrived. I had the car window rolled down on the way there and was just wearing a light long-sleeve and jeans until the sun decided to hide behind some clouds around 4 o'clock.
Spring, spring, spring, springity spring...
Mine:
The first rays of sunshine wake me to the start of a new day. It takes a few moments to realize that I am curled into a ball on hard-packed earth.
I ease into a sitting position, noting at least four severe injuries that I can't recall incurring, and find myself staring at the blackened wreck of my airship less than a hundred feet away.
Within an hour I know that there are no other survivors, my left wrist is broken, and that I am, undeniably, stranded somewhere in the Wastelands.
Thursday February 25th, 2016
The exercise:
Today let us take the opportunity to write some: steampunk.
It's a genre that captures my imagination on occasion but only rarely seem to explore. I saw something on Facebook the other day that reignited my interest but I'm not going to try to find it now, because Facebook is a hot mess.
Max had another good day at daycare. Natalie was back there after skipping Tuesday to go meet her new sister in Penticton. That was the first time Max had been there without her and it was totally fine, which is a relief.
Now we don't feel like we have to match days with her, though obviously that's the preference. Just allows for a little more flexibility on our part.
Mine:
Standing at the elevated rear of the ship, one gloved hand on the tiller, I keep one eye on the movements of the crew and the other on the airspace ahead of us. I listen to the soft, regular hisses coming from the engine and the chimes being sounded by the navigational instruments. My nostrils are filled with the scents of oil and leather and gunpowder. I relish the cool breeze on the exposed skin of my face and arms.
I do not look down.
We are flying over the Wastelands. Have been for days now. There is nothing to see down there, or at least there is nothing I want to see. The only thing I need to know about the Wastelands is that there is no safe place to land a ship.
Beyond that... inquiring minds will only find madness.
I have been told that it does not go on forever, that there is something beyond its far edge. What that might be, when we might arrive, and who may reside there? These are not my concerns. I am not the captain.
That doesn't mean I'm not curious, of course. But I have my duties and that is where my focus remains. For now, at least. Our fuel reserves are fine for the time being but we will have to land eventually. This cannot continue forevermore.
And the captain does not strike me as the sort of woman who intends to test the hospitality of the Wastelands. So she must have some idea of what she is doing. Right?
Three rapid bells from the navigational instruments. And again. We have company. Perfect.
I needed something else to think about.
Today let us take the opportunity to write some: steampunk.
It's a genre that captures my imagination on occasion but only rarely seem to explore. I saw something on Facebook the other day that reignited my interest but I'm not going to try to find it now, because Facebook is a hot mess.
Max had another good day at daycare. Natalie was back there after skipping Tuesday to go meet her new sister in Penticton. That was the first time Max had been there without her and it was totally fine, which is a relief.
Now we don't feel like we have to match days with her, though obviously that's the preference. Just allows for a little more flexibility on our part.
Mine:
Standing at the elevated rear of the ship, one gloved hand on the tiller, I keep one eye on the movements of the crew and the other on the airspace ahead of us. I listen to the soft, regular hisses coming from the engine and the chimes being sounded by the navigational instruments. My nostrils are filled with the scents of oil and leather and gunpowder. I relish the cool breeze on the exposed skin of my face and arms.
I do not look down.
We are flying over the Wastelands. Have been for days now. There is nothing to see down there, or at least there is nothing I want to see. The only thing I need to know about the Wastelands is that there is no safe place to land a ship.
Beyond that... inquiring minds will only find madness.
I have been told that it does not go on forever, that there is something beyond its far edge. What that might be, when we might arrive, and who may reside there? These are not my concerns. I am not the captain.
That doesn't mean I'm not curious, of course. But I have my duties and that is where my focus remains. For now, at least. Our fuel reserves are fine for the time being but we will have to land eventually. This cannot continue forevermore.
And the captain does not strike me as the sort of woman who intends to test the hospitality of the Wastelands. So she must have some idea of what she is doing. Right?
Three rapid bells from the navigational instruments. And again. We have company. Perfect.
I needed something else to think about.
Wednesday February 24th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the impostor.
Spent the day with Max, as Kat wasn't feeling up to taking him to music class this morning and she had a counselling client after lunch. Normally he spends Wednesday afternoons with Kat's parents but her dad was away at a conference and her mom was sick.
Class was fun. Took him to the park after lunch, which was both fun and surprising. Well, only surprising because it hadn't occurred to me how much more he'd be able to do compared to when we'd last been there together in the fall.
It's amazing what a little more height and a lot more coordination can lead to.
Mine:
They can't know I'm not one of them. This would all end in a heartbeat if they realized I don't belong here. Just act natural. God, what horrible advice that is. Like I have any idea what natural is supposed to be to these people.
And yet, here I am, telling myself to act natural.
"Owen?"
"Yes?" No hesitation. That's good. It's almost as though that's always been my name.
"Come this way please."
Oh no... they're on to me. Where's the nearest exit? Oh good, there are only fifty people between me and the doors. That would end well.
"Do you mind if I visit the washroom first?" I ask, knowing that I'm grasping at straws.
"This will only take a minute, sir." He eyes me silently for a moment. When I don't move he clears his throat. "They are waiting for you."
"Right, of course." There are too many people here, too many witnesses. I'm safe. For now. What's the harm in going with him? There will be time to run later.
Assuming they don't break my legs.
"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you face to face at last Owen!" The man who greets me as I enter the private library is tall, slender, and older than my grandfather. Yet he moves with surprising grace and his handshake shows his strength. I couldn't break his grip if I tried.
"It is an honor that you've taken the time to see me," I say with a smile that feels as fake as my name. "I don't want to take up too much of your evening..."
"Nonsense! Come sit with us for a while. Edgar? Fetch us some tea, won't you?" He brings me to circle of armchairs filled with a who's who of people I have no business being in the same room with. Not the real me, at least. Owen, on the other hand...
"Hello gentlemen," I say as I ease into the only unoccupied seat. "So. Who's ready to bomb some rebel villages back to the stone age?"
Write about: the impostor.
Spent the day with Max, as Kat wasn't feeling up to taking him to music class this morning and she had a counselling client after lunch. Normally he spends Wednesday afternoons with Kat's parents but her dad was away at a conference and her mom was sick.
Class was fun. Took him to the park after lunch, which was both fun and surprising. Well, only surprising because it hadn't occurred to me how much more he'd be able to do compared to when we'd last been there together in the fall.
It's amazing what a little more height and a lot more coordination can lead to.
Mine:
They can't know I'm not one of them. This would all end in a heartbeat if they realized I don't belong here. Just act natural. God, what horrible advice that is. Like I have any idea what natural is supposed to be to these people.
And yet, here I am, telling myself to act natural.
"Owen?"
"Yes?" No hesitation. That's good. It's almost as though that's always been my name.
"Come this way please."
Oh no... they're on to me. Where's the nearest exit? Oh good, there are only fifty people between me and the doors. That would end well.
"Do you mind if I visit the washroom first?" I ask, knowing that I'm grasping at straws.
"This will only take a minute, sir." He eyes me silently for a moment. When I don't move he clears his throat. "They are waiting for you."
"Right, of course." There are too many people here, too many witnesses. I'm safe. For now. What's the harm in going with him? There will be time to run later.
Assuming they don't break my legs.
"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you face to face at last Owen!" The man who greets me as I enter the private library is tall, slender, and older than my grandfather. Yet he moves with surprising grace and his handshake shows his strength. I couldn't break his grip if I tried.
"It is an honor that you've taken the time to see me," I say with a smile that feels as fake as my name. "I don't want to take up too much of your evening..."
"Nonsense! Come sit with us for a while. Edgar? Fetch us some tea, won't you?" He brings me to circle of armchairs filled with a who's who of people I have no business being in the same room with. Not the real me, at least. Owen, on the other hand...
"Hello gentlemen," I say as I ease into the only unoccupied seat. "So. Who's ready to bomb some rebel villages back to the stone age?"
Tuesday February 23rd, 2016
The exercise:
Write two haiku about something that is: brand new.
Kat and I met our new niece today. We left Max in daycare since he wasn't quite over his cold, but we're hoping he can meet his new cousin on Thursday or Friday, depending on when Becky is discharged from the hospital.
Say hello to Emersyn Claire (picture taken about two hours after birth):
And in six weeks or so, we get one of those too! A boy model, but I suspect just as cute.
Mine:
Emerging from the
darkness of a quiet womb;
welcome to the world
* * *
Fresh out of the box
snow-white sneakers - so of course
Mom made spaghetti...
Write two haiku about something that is: brand new.
Kat and I met our new niece today. We left Max in daycare since he wasn't quite over his cold, but we're hoping he can meet his new cousin on Thursday or Friday, depending on when Becky is discharged from the hospital.
Say hello to Emersyn Claire (picture taken about two hours after birth):
And in six weeks or so, we get one of those too! A boy model, but I suspect just as cute.
Mine:
Emerging from the
darkness of a quiet womb;
welcome to the world
* * *
Fresh out of the box
snow-white sneakers - so of course
Mom made spaghetti...
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