#so i have to redo it before my nineteenth

[dreamcast-official]

oh yeah i need . to do something tomorrow

[jreynoldsward]

Writing Accountability Post #20: Time to Regroup

Post number twenty, and it's pretty darn clear that I need to revise my organizing system. Oh, it worked pretty well for three months, but the last couple of months have been a slog and a battle. Oh, there's logical reasons for it in many ways--a Covid booster here, gut stuff there, a convention here, other things happening there. It all adds up to one thing, however...things aren't getting done as quickly as they have been, and not as much is getting done.

Well, at least I did get the final Federation Cowboy chapter drafted. It still needs reworking before I upload it to Vella, and I have a pretty good idea of what the sequel is going to feature--it came to me in the last five pages, just about literally. But it will be a standalone sequel.

In the end, the romantic elements ended up being lighter than I thought they would be. And I'm not certain but what I may end up tearing the whole thing apart and redoing certain pieces before releasing it. I just don't know yet. It will depend on what betas think. I'm not that confident about this story now. But I'll probably feel better once I do the second round of editing work on it.

Meanwhile, the lack of promotional activity on social media is showing up big time. I haven't done much of anything in April and May, and it shows up on my dashboards (haven't looked at the Ingram one yet, though).

So what needs to happen re-organizationally? I'm not sure yet. I keep thinking back, and it seems like I've been floundering to set up a routine ever since Daylight Saving Time started. I am one of those who absolutely hates DST, even in retirement. Part of the issue is trying to adjust to different routine times for the horse, but also just finding time to do everything that should be getting done. Doing the weekly accountability meeting and the monthly summary worked for about 90 days. Now, that is frequently the way these schemes function in ADHD--the organizational structure works for a while, until it runs up against some roadblocks, at which point it runs off of the rails.

Granted, April and May are transition months. Light and weather change during this time, and it's also my prime allergy season. There are also events happening, and that puts me off my stride. They're also summer season preparation months, just like September/October are preparation months for winter.

What to do, what to do?

Well, I'm thinking. Finishing Federation Cowboy has lifted a load off of my shoulders. It gives me time to think about the next projects--and I have three of them on board that I need to brainstorm. First is Tales of the Raven Alliance, which is a alt-history steampunk Weird West story with dragons. Or perhaps I should call it something else--the Raven Alliance is a secondary factor to the use of dragons (both real and artificial) as part of a combined Civil War/Western Colonization battle. Or something else, just set in the nineteenth century West with dragons. But who's really at war? The dragons or the humans, and who is using whom?

Then there's the final touches on the Martiniere Multiverse. I think The Cost of Power series is going to wrap it up. Two books or three? Not sure yet. Plus there's the third book of the A Different Life series, where things really go dark for Ruby and Gabe. The Cost of Power universe is the one where the final digital clone multiverse battle gets resolved, however.

Finally, there's the Goddess's Vision series.

And...releasing a short story collection, either in June or July.

Okay. Maybe I do have enough to consider and produce this coming month. Maybe things aren't so bad. It's all just a transition season, and I'm ready to make the next move.

[deafclintb]

Alright, everyone. A note before this:

You may have seen this before. That’s okay! It was likely on my old blog, the one that got deleted when I decided to redo everything. So this is 100% a repost on this new blog!

Put the Gun Down and Step Away

Summary: Jack wasn't supposed to make it home from the war. He didn't deserve to, not more than Crutchie.

TW: TW: Suicidal thoughts/almost an attempt, PTSD, gun use, war violence, MIA/missing person

Characters: Jack Kelly, Davey Jacobs, Crutchie Morris

Ships: Jackcrutchie

A/N: This takes place mid and post-WWII

AO3

Jack wasn’t supposed to make it home alone.

His best friend he’d made was from New York, too. They were going to get back and share an apartment.

It had been five months since he’d made it back from the war and his best friend didn’t. Five months exactly.

Fighting was hell. Crutchie was the only thing that made it genuinely bearable.

The first time they’d met, Jack made a joke about the 18-year-old needing crutches permanently after the war, since the kid refused to recognize any injury he got unless it was major. Jack and the few buddies he’d gotten slightly close with remember being like that when they first enlisted (literally one year earlier), eager to die doing their duty or something like that. They wouldn’t let a stupid sprained ankle take them out or having them rest for a few hours.

The group just laughed it off with the kid, watching him limp along and constantly re-injuring himself.

Jack cared about everyone he was around, obviously. Some didn’t get along with him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. They could bump heads all day, he’d still push them out of the way of a bullet in a heartbeat.

C was different, though. He was nicknamed before Jack even knew the guy’s real name (which was Charlie, by the way. Jack found that out a few weeks later). He couldn’t explain why or how… he just was.

The first few weeks of Crutchie being there was relaxed. He was obviously willing to do whatever, whenever, as long as it benefited everyone. He always seemed to be injured, Jack even wrapped up a pair of crutches in some newspapers as a gift for the younger’s nineteenth birthday. Crutchie pretended to be annoyed, but those crutches laid near his bed until he was gone.

It was then that there was an unspoken rule that, no matter what, they’d stay best friends. Even if they ended up living their own lives on separate sides of the city after the war, they’d keep in touch. They had to.

The two had gone through however many change of locations, battles, arguments, covering up the other’s dumb mistakes…

Among other things they’d managed to sneak in the few moments of privacy they got.

Comforting touches, talking through nightmares, shedding a few tears, small kisses, and...other things they’d managed to do in their precious alone time.

Jack informed Crutchie early on that they didn’t have the worst spot. Sure, there were better, calmer places to be, but there sure as hell were a lot worse, too.

Well, until they get sent in as reinforcements somewhere else in the Pacific. That also guaranteed that they were likely going to be plopped down in the middle of some shit.

Everyone who had been through this before was uneasy. People like Crutchie who still had a somewhat romanticised view of war were almost excited. They had this idea that they’d become a hero after their first big battle rather than a statistical probability that they’d die or get seriously injured.

C didn’t even make it to the end of whatever battle they were dropped into. It ended up lasting ten days or so before they could ease up.

Everyone had been split into different groups so they could try to corner everyone and it would be an easy victory. Obviously, like usual, their plans fell apart.

The constantly humid June heat was exhausting, everyone was beyond exhausted, and those who were supposed to be the reinforcements were being spread thin. This meant they fell into traps far more than at the start, no one had any extra water on them, and sleep was usually out of the question.

Crutchie and Jack were in different groups, which stressed them out, but there wasn’t time to try and switch things up (plus, the consequences for that weren’t quite worth it). Jack wouldn’t have been as worried if the stupid boy he’d developed feelings for wasn’t going into this with some injured muscle in his arm that no one but Jack knew about.

God knows what else he’d hurt in this.

Regrouping and figuring out casualties after battles was always hard. Confirming deaths, having to declare someone missing even though you knew they were gone, and not knowing whether someone was actually missing or if they were dead was hard.

When someone confirmed that Charlie Morris was definitely missing, likely alive…

Jack spent the rest of that night as alone as he could possibly be.

Maybe he’d be able to get back within the next week.

When a week went by, Jack changed that goal post to be a month.

By the time Jack got home, he knew that there was almost no chance he would ever see C again. All he wanted changed from knowing Crutchie was coming home to just hoping he wasn’t fucked up too bad before…

God, he hoped C wasn’t waiting, thinking they’d forgotten about him. He’d rather have Crutchie dead and not hurting over thinking he got abandoned.

Upon arriving home, he met up with an old friend that had joined the Navy anda had just gotten home. Davey understood Jack and Jack understood Davey. They got an apartment together in the city and things were… okay. Sure, neither of them slept through the night and it was difficult to adjust to being home, but they made it work. Jack sure as hell was glad he wasn’t alone.

One of the things he and Davey agreed on was that they’d both feel better with a gun in the apartment. Nothing huge, just a pistol. It was like a safety blanket that they kept hidden in case of an emergency.

Jack guessed this wasn’t an emergency, but then he found himself sitting at the kitchen counter with the pistol in front of him.

It was loaded, he knew that. He’d been the one to load it once he got it out tonight. That was about an hour ago, he thought.

The clock that said it was 2:30 AM implied he’d been there much longer than that.

He just wanted to have let C come back and not himself. If he could’ve gone missing and never been found…

Crutchie had deserved to come back more, in Jack’s opinion. Crutchie hadn’t even gotten to really experience what he enlisted to do before he was just gone. Not even dead, but probably captured and--Jack didn’t even want to think about what his last memories would have been. How long was he even being held by whoever had him? Days? Weeks? Months?

The idea of it being a year or more made Jack want to vomit.

The idea of going to a place where Jack would be with Crutchie and not be here at all was uncomfortably tempting.

“Jack?”

Jack hadn’t realized he’d picked up the gun and that Davey had heard a sob come out of his mouth.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to worry his friend like that.

If he was going to do it, he’d at least have the decency to not do it with his roommate home.

“Go back to bed. I’m fine,” Jack whispered and dragged the back of one of his hands across his eyes.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Davey sighed and took a few steps closer. He put his hands up in surrender when he noticed Jack’s knuckles turn white around the gun. “I’m not coming any closer, I promise.”

“I just…” Jack trailed off and refused to raise his  voice any higher than the whisper. “It shouldn’t’ve been me. I don’t deserve…”

Davey understood, and he listened. But he also tracked every movement that his friend made with the gun.

“I know it feels that way,” he agreed gently, taking a step closer while Jack looked away to wipe his eyes again. “I understand, I do. But from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’d be saying the exact same thing if he was here and you weren’t. So can you just… put the gun down and step away? Talk to me?”

It was a long few moments before Jack shakily set it down so the barrel wasn’t facing either of them. It was only another moment before Davey was behind him, wrapping him in a hug with one arm and pushing the firearm out of Jack’s reach with the other.

Jack didn’t care. The second he’d made physical contact with Davey, he broke down. He let everything out into his friend’s tight embrace.

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

The Murder Building: Part II

So came the day when I moved in. Because the stairwell only has a one way door that doesn’t let you back up, we had to claim one of the elevators as our own to move all my junk to the seventh floor. With the help of my mother and one of my friends, we hauled boxes in trips, stuffed the elevator, carried them to my suite, and went back down to do it all over. I can’t quite remember how long it took. It wasn’t terrible once we got the hang of things but it was still time consuming. Especially given the fact that we had been up since the early morning to get to the island which consists of taking two ferries and driving across Vancouver. By the time my absurd amount of belongings were all accounted for in my new home, we were bushed.

Eventually my mother helped me set up my futon-bunk bed situation so we would actually have a place to sleep. The next day she had a friend that lived somewhat nearby, and his date-mate help set up my IKEA-cubby thing so with that, my bed, and a desk I also had, that was all my furniture. After a small adventure to Value Village, I now had a nice chair. It was the only official sitting item that I owned.

My mother had stayed over the weekend, but after that, I was left to my own devices. I had to wait for my internet modem to come in which was supposed to take a couple days, which really gave me nothing else to do but unpack. She had helped me, before she left, to find a reasonably priced, obscure internet provider that would send a human over to plug in the modem. During the few days I was waiting for that, my house-room was coming together to an extent. I had all my furniture where I wanted it, my clothes were organized into my cubbies and the closet, and my hoard of mugs now dwelled in the kitchen rather than a box I had in my old garage-man-cave. We had brought over a succulent plant from home and my mum’s friend gifted me a pothos plant, so the two of those brought some homey feels.

The day finally came for me to have an internet connection. A fellow came by and had to sit awkwardly under my desk which happened to be right in front of the plug in. He tinkered for a bit before telling me some unexpected news. The wire that went from my suite, up in the wall, to the satellite dish on the roof of the building, was broken. It had either been cut or caught somewhere within the wall and he couldn’t reach it to connect the modem. In other words, I had spent eighty-seven dollars for nothing. It also turned out that Shaw was the provider for the building so I, who used Telus, couldn’t get any sort of assistance given that they didn’t support the building in any way. To say the least, I was fecked. I already had to pay for extra data on my phone twice as I was using it as a hotspot for my laptop and ipad. I figured that I was damned to having to use a nearby Starbucks as my sole source of internet. I had spent the week figuring out what the hell to do for that, setting up my house, and rewatching the entirety of Game of Thrones for the third time on my DVD boxed set. It should not have only taken a week to get through that, but it did. I have a wee DVD player for my laptop and just sat on my bed in utter defeat watching my favorite characters die..again. I felt so constricted without the ability to connect to the rest of the world properly and I was incredibly pleased to find that Telus offered this little data hub. It worked as a source of internet connection for those that lived in rural places. It was a blessing from the universe and the feeling of suffocating isolation lifted. The first hurdle I faced, now defeated.

The second hurdle I faced was when it was decided that our bathrooms would be made over, which is all well and good to an extent. What perturbed me was that I had just finished unpacking and sorting my belongings out, bathroom included and now I had to take everything out. The construction lads would come in around eight-thirty in the morning and work until about four every day. As someone who sleeps in till about ten-thirty, this really sucked. I was also not allowed to use the shower the entirety of them fixing up the bathroom. The office ladies, however, gave keys to unused suites for us tenants, which I will say, comes in handy when most of the building is empty. So for a week, I would go up to the nineteenth floor and shower. We were allowed to leave our toiletries up there since each person had their own suite, which was nice. The whole thing though became so inconvenient.

I was also in the market for a job at the time and I had to wake up much earlier in the morning just to get ready and dressed before a horde of men entered my room-house. I’m also intensely awkward and shy so having to move around them everytime I left gave me a sense of dread. I couldn’t go about my day normally and I was so relieved when they said they were done. Of course, before one of them left, he told me that the whole floor had asbestos beneath it and that if ever the tiles became cracked, exposure could be deadly. He also said that if they had to redo the flooring, I’d have to completely move out to avoid breathing the stuff in. That was a fun thing I panicked about for a few days, thinking that they would renovate this place soon or that I would just slowly get poisoned to death from my floor. Despite whichever happened though, the second hurdle was also defeated.

I moved on July fourth. I was still in need of doing a second trip back to my mum’s to gather the rest of my belongings, kitchen things, and the TV. She was moving at the end of August so this would be the last hoorah of getting rid of anything she didn’t want and bringing it to me. Thus, I was living without any tables, TV, couch, and extra kitchen stuff like pots and pans. We had picked up a blender, microwave, and toaster though so I was fine for the time being. I also found a small pot left behind deep in a cabinet. It was a good day though when I finally got the TV. A few more days were spent reorganizing and then I invited company over. Not having anything to sit on besides my bed which failed to morph into a futon for some reason, and a chair, hosting more people than just me was kind of a hassle. So we went on a hunt.

I can’t remember when the street couch was found. But it was wonderful. After an epic saga of getting it into the building, through the elevator, down the hall, and into my house, we had a place to sit. The couch really was a whole situation as we could only fit something thirty inches wide because nothing else would fit through my door frame. A couple weeks later my friends surprised me with a lovely,wooden coffee table, also from the side of the road. With these two key pieces of furniture inhabiting my living space, the house was complete. It went from a cold, white-cream colored square to a cozy, cabin inspired den. It was our new downtown hub and I was significantly more excited about living in my murder building. It felt so much more like a home and despite where it was, it was many steps up from my garage-man-cave.

I have moved some furniture around since and it’s much more open now. Honestly, it felt so refreshing to just move around a couch and coffee table to face a different direction. It was so simple yet made such an impact. As it stands a year later, it feels whole, comfortable, and somewhere I can be for a long time. This journey started off with many doubts, bumps, and frustrations, but it has come to a neat and satisfying conclusion. I am as happy as I can be here and wouldn’t trade it for anything but my future land and cabin, which is saying something.

[gcalit]

“I am Curious (Brown)” * Shooting Script by Michael Helke (featured in the September 2018 issue)

FADE IN:

ESTABLISHING SHOT of a bison farm in Blue Grass, Iowa. CAMERA furnishes individual shots of bison roaming about.

CAMERA freezes on one of the bison as a young Swedish REPORTER wanders into frame. She holds a miniature digital audio-recording device. She walks up to one of the bison.

REPORTER: “Ursäkta mig...” (Excuse me…)

REPORTER directs her gaze toward off-screen CAMERAMAN: “Har du fått detta?” (Have you got this?)

CAMERAMAN: “Ja, ja.” (Yeah, yeah.) “Vi är rullande. Ställ dina frågor.” (We are rolling. Ask your questions.)

REPORTER [to bison]: “Känner du dig diskriminerad?” (Do you feel discriminated against?)

RESPONSE SHOT of separate bison turning his/her head in direction of camera.

REPORTER: “Är du här emot din vilja?” (Are you here against your will?”)

Another bison responds to presence of REPORTER, turning his/her head in direction of camera — preferably from the opposite direction.

REPORTER: “Är du störd av historien om amerikanska angrepp av bison i nittonde och tjugonde århundradena?” (Are you disturbed by the history of the American onslaught of bison in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries?)

If a shot of more than one bison looking at the CAMERA can be secured, please insert here.

REPORTER: “Hur känner du att vara medlem i en minoritet?” (How do you feel to be a member of a minority?)

Off-camera, we hear a young MAN say the name, “Lena?” REPORTER turns her attention in direction of the voice. CAMERA PANS on man making careful steps as he advances forward.

REPORTER [henceforth known as LENA]: “Varför går du så dumt? De tillåter inte bison utanför grindarna. Du kommer inte att kliva in bison skit, om det är din oro.” (Why do you go so stupidly? They do not allow bison outside the gates. You will not step into bison shit, if it is your concern.)

CAMERAMAN: “Vi brinner för dagsljus här, ung man.” (We are passionate about daylight here, young man.)

MAN: “Håll dina hästar, bison kille.” (Hold your horses, bison guy.) “Lena, varför gör du detta?” (Lena, why do you do this?)

LENA: “Ingen talar för bison, Bill. Jag måste höra det från dem.” (No one speaks for bison, Bill. I have to hear it from them.)

BILL: “Bison är inte precis — hur säger man — redo för Prime-Time, Lena. Allt de gör är obegripligt brus.” (Bison are not exactly — how to say — ready for Prime-Time, Lena. All they do is incomprehensible noise.)

If a SHOT of a bison making such a noise is available, please insert. Otherwise, another reaction shot.

LENA [to CAMERAMAN]: “Följa.” (Accompany.) [CAMERA follows LENA as she walks further along the gate. BILL follows.

BILL: “Lena, detta är en pervers strävan. Du kan lika gärna ändra ditt namn till Donna Quijote.” (Lena, this is a perverse endeavor. You may as well change your name to Donna Quijote.)

LENA: “Jag tror att du har rätt, Bill. Jag kanske borde intervjua fallet med krabbor du gav mig bort din andra flickvän. Åh, vänta! De är borta! Gissa jag får vänta tills nästa attack!” (I think you're right, Bill. Maybe I should interview the case of crabs you gave me away your second girlfriend. Oh, wait! They are gone! Guess I'll have to wait until the next attack!)

Shot of group of bison turning their heads, either in unison or one after the other.

BILL: “Förlåt mig, Lena. Men papillons d'amour är det pris du betalar för att vara sexuellt befriade.” (Forgive me, Lena. But crabs is the price you pay for being sexually liberated.)

LENA: “Det pris DU betalar!” (The price YOU pay!) [She continues walking in opposite direction, CAMERAMAN tracking her — and BILL.]

BILL: “Men jag är ren, Lena!” (But I’m clean, Lena!)

LENA: “För nu, är du! Ge det en dag och du kommer att bli värre än de fattiga, fängslade bison!" (For now, you are! Give it a day and you will get worse than the poor, imprisoned bison!)

Reaction shot of bison(s).

BILL: “Lena, min kära, jag svär för er att det är det förflutna — jag är klar med alla dessa tjejer! Jag är din!” (Lena, my dear, I swear to you that it is the past — I am finished with all these girls! I am yours!)

LENA: “Åh, du är min, va? Och hur skulle du bevisa det?” (Oh, you're mine, huh? And how would you prove it?)

BILL: “Låt oss gå ut i skogen och ha sex i mitten av träden. Min hygien kommer snabbt att bli uppenbar. Den, och min förnyade hängivenhet till dig.” (Let's go out into the woods and have sex in the middle of the trees. My hygiene will quickly become apparent. It, and my renewed devotion to you.)

Reaction shot of bison.

LENA: “Du har sagt det förut, och det var bra ett tag. Tills, naturligtvis, det var inte. Vad kommer det att vara den här gången, Bill?” (You've said it before, and it was good for a while. Until, of course, it wasn't. What will it be this time, Bill?)

BILL: “Inget mer än bra. Kom igen, Lena — träden väntar.” (Nothing more than good. Come on, Lena — the trees are waiting.)

LENA: “Tja — okej. Ditt ord är dina säkerheter. Men du förlorar din tillgång om du standard till det. Är vi förstås?” (Well — okay. Your word is your collateral. But you lose your access if you default to it. Are we of course?)

BILL: “Vi är förstås. Låt oss då gå.” (We are of course. Let us then, go.) [CAMERAMAN follows them. BILL turns and addresses him.] “Och DU! Du kan knulla bort från det! Du får inte någon mer film av oss! Gå och prata med bison!” (And YOU! You can fuck away from it! You don't get any more film of us! Go talk with bison!) [BILL and LENA depart. BILL is heard muttering as they Doppler away from CAMERAMAN:] “Pervers… Voyeur…” (Pervert… Degenerate…)

CAMERAMAN pans back on bison.

CAMERAMAN: “Väl... Tror du att Trump och Putin kommer att gå i krig? Kommer det att bli som Tarkovskij's "Offret", tror du? Och vem kommer att skjuta filmen?” (Well... Do you think that Trump and Putin will go to war after all? Will it be like Tarkovsky's "The Sacrifice", do you think? And who will shoot the film?)

Bison reaction.

CUT TO group of YOUNG PEOPLE marching, holding signs, reading, “BEFRIA BISON!” (Liberate bison!) “ALLMÄN RÖSTRÄTT FÖR BISON!” (General voting rights for bison!) “INGEN BOSTADS DISKRIMINERING MOT BISON!” (No housing discrimination against bison!) “STÄLL IN BISON GRATIS!” (Set the bison free!)

FADE OUT