Why You Shouldn’t Share Everything

13 03 2011

I find the internet to be a strange phenomenon. Especially in regards to things like blogging and social networking. When my heart is hurting or I’m confused about something I want to get input from friends and loved ones. But to share my heart on facebook, for example, means including all 270 of my “friends”. Now, I like all my FB “friends”, some of them I would trust with my life. But the majority of them do not know me well enough to be privy to my inmost thoughts.

And yet I have this repetitive urge to share with the interwebs all my thoughtiest thoughts. (Yes, I just made up a word). It’s frustrating and enough to make you delete your facebook account. I do NOT delete my account, however, because I actually enjoy seeing what people are doing throughout their day. My sister’s meal choices, Danielle’s amazing naturopathic know-how, pictures of my best friend’s baby and on and on and on.

I’m not sure this all has a point, other than my desire to have meaningful relationships seems to be cut off at the pass by the instant gratification of the internet. Secondarily the reminder to myself and the world that it’s better to say nothing at all when one is undergoing emotional stress. Truth doesn’t translate well via twitter and facebook. 180 characters cannot express reality in any meaningful way.

I’ve had this short story idea bouncing around and since Robin requested this new post I’ll take a first whack at it. If I was a “real” author I would never post first drafts on the internet. Luckily for you all I’m a fake author. Enjoy! Read the rest of this entry »





Another short story…

17 01 2011

We come from Prime. And we are the Last.

Civilization deserted Prime a hundred years ago. The land was growing barren after three millennia of ceaseless toil. When the scientists failed to replenish our dying land the governments rallied together to build five thousand deep-stellar ships. Every last person fled the planet, leaving only refuse and fallout in their place.

Everyone left, that is, except my people.

We weren’t a people then, of course. A hundred years ago we were a misfit crowd of religious fanatics, the sick, the poor and the elderly. The only people left to lead were a small band of botanists and agricultural theorists- farmers really but brilliant ones. They found an island off the coast of So’s Merca where the fallout from the deep-stellars was negligible and we began to rebuild.

Three generations were born on that island. Generations of children increasingly weak with genetic mutations that killed or maimed. Then the children stopped and hope began to die. It had been our forefather’s desire to repopulate Prime- to rebuild the glory of lost Empires.

It was a dream and when I was born my people were waking up.

We had the technology to build a deep-stellar ship but resources for only one. There were 7oo of us and by the time the ship was built our leaders had selected the 300 most viable to depart. The rest would be left behind to die.

I was a child then. My memories of Prime are dusky with age but I do remember the feel of soil beneath my feet and the whine of the hydrolic machines that tilled the fields. Smells come to me sometimes, wind and sea and the warmth of my mother’s skin. I remember these things but nothing much else.

My entire world since has been a world of metal and computers and the sharp smell of ozone in the engine rooms. I’m a pilot by training and a mechanic by inclination. Little of my time is spent in any of the social areas of our ship and less in the aeroponic or hydroponic pods. My friends are bots and comp interfaces.

We’ve been in space for close to 75 years now and I’ve been awake for 21 of them. Our system is set up on a rotation, three years awake and seven asleep with the social groups being relatively constant. It’s a life, though not one I would have chosen. We’ve had to modify ourselves in ways that our parents wouldn’t have liked but they’ll never know. They’d have hated our having to get implants or interfaces and we’ve both. Most of us anyway.  Read the rest of this entry »





Story Time!

20 07 2010

To my mind there is nothing more useless than riding with my father’s trade caravan. I am the youngest daughter and, while I am by no means unintelligent, I am of no help on these trips. Father brought me only to sweeten up the buyers with my beauty and tea-pouring skills. To make a five week journey on the back of a recalcitrant horse only to pour tea for fat old men is demeaning. Especially this year, as I am forced to leave at the height of the Season.

More importantly, though, I leave mere weeks after becoming engaged to His Lordship Sir Delmonte. Sir Delmonte is the most handsome and most influential young man at Court. Some think that he will be the next King and he will if the Council is not a gaggle of idiot geese.

My father is smart. He knew my two half-sisters would never catch His Lordship’s eye. They are overtall and not blessed with surplus intelligence. Moreover, it is well known that Sir Delmonte favors fair complexions and green eyes. My stepmother is dark complexioned in the tradition of our people and her daughters take after her. My skin is white and my eyes are jade and, as I have said, my father is no fool. Read the rest of this entry »





The Time Machine Strikes Back (The Final Chapter)

24 06 2010

Yes it took me weeks to get here (literally) but we have arrived. I will end this thing or die trying. Thanks to Jenn, Alex and Robin for being the reason I kept going. It may not be great writing (first drafts never are) but it is FUN. And fun, in this world, cannot be rated too highly. At least not if it’s good clean fun. 🙂

Merlin, whatever he may have been, was not a man prone to exaggeration. The spectacle that greeted me as I was frog-marched onto a dirty sort of parade ground was blinding in its’ magnificence. There were women in gaudy colours, men in gaudier hats and knights in armor so bright it made the sun seem washed out. The sheer amount of people is what got me, though. There must have been almost a thousand of them.

It didn’t take long for someone to figure out that I was the guest of honor. A wave of humanity came surging and threatened to swamp my small guard. I thought for sure they’d smother us but a couple of knights on horseback knocked a few heads together and the press receded.

Casual violence as crowd control is effective if not reassuring. Read the rest of this entry »





The Time Machine Strikes Again (Part 9)

17 05 2010

The number nine is symbolic of both endings and tribulation. Well, sorry to disappoint but this is neither an ending nor will it cause any kind of tribulation….

The door had barely closed behind Merlin and I had had time for only eight of the more choice curses before a tremendous noise drew my attention to our men at arms. They had risen to their feet with a sound roughly akin to a dozen cast iron skillets brutally murdering some tea kettles. A snarling bark sounded over the cacophany as Arthur pushed them aside and came striding across the room. Behind him a tapestry swung back into place over what looked like a blank stone wall.

Arthur glared at us as our men at arms settled themselves.  He must have tripped right over them while making his entrance. I schooled my face into sobriety even as the mental image of the Great King tripping over a few half-baked men at arms made laughter threaten to burst out.

“Secret door?” Richmond’s voice was full of admiration.

“Connected to a few well-placed spy holes. Merlin doesn’t even know about them.” A half smile flashed briefly over Arthur’s face. “He’s been a bit high handed, wouldn’t you say?”

Richmond made no reply, probably fearing a trap. Instead, he bowed and poured wine for the king. Read the rest of this entry »





The Time Machine Strikes Again (Part 8)

11 05 2010

This will be my last free evening for a while. Work starts back up again tomorrow and I don’t want to leave the ninja on the edge of her seat. Her butt cheeks will go numb! (Can you refer to that portion of a ninja’s anatomy?)

We were not thrown in a dungeon, which I considered a good sign. If Arthur had not feared me he would have put us all in irons. Or on the rack, or in an iron maiden. Medieval methods of punishment were wonderfully varied.

Richmond and I found ourselves, along with our erstwhile vanguard, in a medium sized sleeping chamber. The furnishings were rich and there was a flagon of wine on the table. Richmond settled in and poured wine for himself and for me. He nodded a sort of “at ease” to the men and they sat noisily in the corner farthest from the door.

No-one spoke. It was very possible that we were even now under observation. We could not let it be known that Richmond and I were well able to communicate or Merlin might wonder at his bringing the “magician” to the palace to be dealt with. I felt as though I were walking a tight rope blindfolded.

In an effort to appear nonchalant and powerful I hummed snatches of music as I drank the wine.

Luckily, we didn’t have long to wait. Read the rest of this entry »





The Time Machine Strikes Again (Part 7)

8 05 2010

If we get to a part 8 (which we undoubtedly will) we’ll have to assign someone on this bus to watch out for black holes. If you head out that far into the void you are bound to fall in and never get free again.

The best thing about medieval kings is that they are forced by tradition and expectation to hold court. In the future monarchs grew wily and learned to hide behind terms like “security” and “proper behavior” and hence were exempt from actually meeting any of their subjects. The Dark Ages are gloriously primitive in that one can always find a king when a king is needed.

Our  group diminished the farther into the palace we advanced until only Richmond, myself, the flag bearer and four of what stood for men-at-arms remained. Richmond was nonplussed by this, I could tell. I told myself over and over again that the initial impression of our immense size and importance would already have reached Merlin’s ears. There was no avoiding the fact that the entire set-up made me immensely nervous.

In for a penny in for a pound as the British say. Read the rest of this entry »