Mar 6 2010

Fiction Distraction

Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned. It’s been a while since my last update.

See, since I opened my Facebook account, I’ve been paying a large amount of attention to that account as I make snarky commentary and wait for the snarky replies (this is strangely similar to my former IRC habit). So, at the end of the day, my desire to make long-form commentary in this journal is diminished, and I’d rather put on some music, play Mahjongg, then go to bed.

A shame, a shame.

I will confess, however, that I have been writing a short story during the past five weeks. It’s science-fiction in general, futurepunk in specific (I’m trying to avoid calling it “cyberpunk”, given the soured reputation of the genre, even though it technically is cyberpunk). Early in February, I got an itch to lay down a few paragraphs to set a scene. More style than substance, but I knew there was a story there somewhere. The next night, I wrote the next chapter and felt it; I had to write this story to see where it goes. After the third chapter, I had to stop myself and go, “Hey, so…what’s the ending?” And I thought about it, considered some of the options made visible by my writing so far, and I couldn’t come up with anything.

And then I laid down for bed when it smacked me like a ton of lead. “Oh, fuck! That’s the ending!”

The next few weeks was spent carving the path to actually reach that conclusion. The distractions mounted — facebook, work, Olympics, drooling on my desk — but I managed to lay down the final chapter a few days ago. The first draft is finished. I’m now in the final readthroughs to smooth the rough hairs before I send it to a few friends for critique. When they return their notes and I integrate them into the text, I’ll most likely be ready to share with you, my reader.

So, keep close.


Jan 13 2007

Reticence

“I’m pretty shitty. I’ll only let you down; it’s just what I do. Can’t explain it, but it always happens with me. You don’t want me.” He said this, showing his palms almost as if he wasn’t warning her at all, but merely giving a carte blanche excuse to let her down in shitty ways. “But it’s your call, really. You feel how you feel.”

“Don’t talk that way, Andrew. I know you; you’re not that kind of person, not the person I know.” Becka looked down and fidgeted with her fingernails. “I know there’s a decent guy inside. I’ve seen him. I mean the way he– you, handled yourself against Donny Taylor, kept a cool head.”

“I was more afraid of that asshole than anything else. He deserved a beatdown.”

“And you held back because you knew it wasn’t worth it. That’s the guy I’m talking about. I’d like to know him more.”

Andrew glanced straight into her eyes, then looked away. “Why is this so difficult?” he thought. Wasn’t quite sold on the idea, opening up, letting someone into his life. Rather uncomfortable with it, and he couldn’t place his finger on why.

Becka reached out her hand and pulled on him. “Come here.”

Having his center of gravity suddenly shifted forward, he stepped into her embrace. The pressure on his back softened him up, making his decision a little easier. “Okay. I’m not really ready, but I could try.”

She put her fingers on his mouth as a gesture. “And that’s all I could ask.”