Guests and Players

We have out-of-town guests staying with us this week, and they’re sleeping in the room which normally serves as my home office. For that reason, I will probably not get much writing done, and may find it hard to blog as well. However, I can’t complain. At least my house was not flooded!

Virtual Write In

Today I’m participating in Sam Elliott’s First Ever Virtual Write-in. 

Dindi Book 2 – Excerpt

I’ve started work on Book 2. Finally. Here’s an excerpt.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

Rough stone bit Kavio’s back. Men and women in black masks, Deathsworn, bound his arms and legs to the megalith.

The mountain air, too thin, too cold, parched his throat. His captors had given him scant food or water. The ceremony was being held on a stony promontory of overlooking the Valley of the Aelfae. If he strained his eyes, Kavio imagined he could see the torches lit in his home tribehold, on a mesa in the center of the valley. Above, the stars glared in their millions like the shattered bones of a defeated army.

One man in a black mask checked the knots, then leaned close to Kavio.

“I know you think highly of yourself, Kavio,” said the man in black. “But the truth is, you’re worth more to this world dead than alive. This is your last chance to do as we demand.”

Kavio spat at him, not deigning to reply.

A Deathsworn woman put a torch to a pyramid of logs and pitch set on the promontory in front of Kavio. The wood burst into flame.. To the music of drum and flute, the Deathsworn commenced to cavort around the bonfire. No other human dancers would have dared to dance in a circle, as they did, or wear the masks of of cursed animals — crows, rattlesnakes, vultures — as they wore over their costumes of black hide, black feathers, and blackened human bones.

The men and women carried thorn switches, stone knives, or smoldering sticks. Each time a Deathsworn dancer passed by Kavio, the Deathsworn lashed Kavio’s naked body. Kavio’s private vow not to scream broke down under the frenzy of gashes, burns and blows. He howled and writhed in vain against the rock, nearly tearing his own arms from their sockets in his thrashing. The pain allowed him no escape.

Scenes from a Writer’s Marriage

* * *

INT. WRITER’S HOME OFFICE.

The room shows a mess born of obsession — papers, books, notebooks, pens and six computers; and neglect — clean laundary still unfolded in baskets, toddler toys abandoned in parade formations on the floor. Every available wall is lined with books: writing books (Characters and Viewpoint), historical books, (A History of the Plantagenets) and fiction (The Simirillian). It’s possible there’s a baby crawling on the floor somewhere, but hard to tell because of the mess.

WRITER’S HUSBAND:  We can’t pay the bills this month.

WRITER:  Um. [Beat] Do you have a plan?

WRITER’S HUSBAND: My plan was for you to sell a book.

WRITER: Oh. [Beat] You do realize that even if I sold a book this exact second, it wouldn’t make money for like, another two years.

WRITER’S HUSBAND: Yeah. I know. My plan was for you to sell a book two years ago.

[Beat.]

WRITER: I’m working on it.

WRITER’S HUSBAND: Yeah, but you’re working on it in your way.

WRITER: What’s “my” way?

WRTIER’S HUSBAND: You keep re-writing it.

WRITER: Only because it still sucks.

WRITER’S HUSBAND: You’ve been re-writing it for twenty years.

WRITER: Not twenty! Only… [Writer visibly struggles to count on fingers] like, ten.

WRITER’S HUSBAND: Even if you sold your book for a million dollars, divide that by ten years, and you’re still making less than you could at a real job.

WRITER: What if I sold a book for 4.8 million? Audrey Niffenegger just spent six years writing a book she sold for 4.8 million dollars. Of course, before that, she wrote a bestseller, The Time Traveller’s Wife.

WRITER’S HUSBAND: I’d be happy if you just sold a book for one million.

WRITER: I’d be happy if I just sold a book for one thousand! [laughs]

WRITER’S HUSBAND: I’d be happy if you just sold a book for one million.

Internet Idea Ideation – 02

“I may be a thief and a liar,” he says in beguiling Italian-accented French. “But I am going to tell you a true story.”

Gotta say, that would make a great first line for a book based on the true story of the world’s biggest diamond heist.

MARCH 18, 2009 UPDATE:

I fixed the link.

This is still great story fodder, but before you try to execute a plot heist, be aware it’s already been optioned to be made into a movie.

Must Use Words For My Next SF Thriller

There are words I need, which I didn’t even know needed until I found out what they were. Then I slapped my forehead and said, “Yowza! So that’s the word I was looking for!”

hydromodo a “superhydrophobic coating—what the scientists are casually calling ‘the cooperative effect of hierarchical micro/nanostructures and a low-surface-energy wax coating’—[which] creates a cushion of air around the boat (or the bug’s leg), putting an invisible bubble between it and the water. “

lamina “a layer of data over the real world that can be accessed by people with the right interfaces (googles, contacts, direct neural interface)”

Quick thoughts on hydromodo: 

Floating City. ‘Nuf said.

Quick thoughts on lamina.

Random Thought # 1: A word is still missing. Lamina is the noun. What is the verb? To … laminate? Hm…

Random Thought # 2: As if High School wasn’t hell already, now you will walk down the halls knowing people are laminating the words,  epic fail or colorguard or whatever 4chan equivilant will be the  insult of choice for esteem-challenged, cybermob-mentality adolescents of the future.

Random Thought # 3: It’s funny to me that they show using lamina to check out book reviews in a bookstore or to read newspapers. The first thought I had was, “Will the ebook readers be obsolete before they even take off?” Why do you need a reader if you can laminate any surface with a book?

* * *

Incidently, I sent this to my hubby and he responded, “You know, it has been one of my dreams (along with being an Olympic speed skater) to talk at TED.”