I've been fiddling around with science fiction a bit lately- and have been having a blast! It is a close second to writing fantasy, and leaves expository essays light years away! I might do more with this piece later, so it might just be the start of something. Or it might just be a short short story. ;-)
The pebbles flung up from the transporter reminded Sam of the rains, the harsh pelting on the vehicle’s thick sides. She didn’t know how long they’d been on the road, long enough for her backside to be sore from the constant bumping of the potholes. She was almost praying for another attack when the humming in the back of her skull and throat told her they were switching to Hov.
“Jeremy, Jem, wake up,” she shook her sleeping partner awake. He must have snuck something from the Doc’s station, there’s no way anyone could sleep on roads that bumpy, she thought to herself as Jeremy wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms.
“What now,” he moaned.
“We’ve gone to Hov, we should be there soon.”
He peered over her to see the canyon they were floating over; it glowed red with the sunset. The white pockmarks where the grenades had blasted its interior looked like stains.
“We should probably head up to the captain; he’ll want to deploy us soon,” Yawning one last time, Jem unbuckled himself and stood up hunched under the low roof and made his way to the front.
The captain was a short man with a voice like thunder. He had appointed Jem and Sam as his scouts two years ago; they had been fresh out of training. He brought up a map up on the holo-screen and gave them their drop off spots.
“Any questions?” he bellowed.
“No sir,” they answered simultaneously.
“Good now get to the loading dock.”
With their parachute harnesses on, they went to the loading dock and waited for the door to open.
The jump was probably her favorite part, the wind rushing through her hair, and the feeling of her stomach dropping to her toes when she pulled the ‘chute.
They rode the thermals up out of the canyon and scanned the horizon with binoculars. They couldn’t see anything so they dropped to land on the canyon’s far side. It was only desert out here. Sagebrush dotted purple on yellow for as far as the eye could see. It was deceptive though. Jem and Sam knew this desert; they knew it was full of caves and holes, places that could easily hide a troop of numbers greater than a thousand from a bird’s eye vantage point.
Sam dropped her pack and pulled out some water, only allowing herself a few gulps before putting it back. Then she reached back in and pulled out a synth-leather pouch, and dumped the contents into her hand.
“Wakey, wakey,” she told the shiny silver orbs in her palm. She did it with infinitely more gentleness than she had with her partner. She then whistled three-note activation code and felt the Burrowers tremble in anticipation in her hand.
The scouts walked on, dropping one orb every half-mile. When they finished their five-mile hike, they settled down on top of a rocky hill to wait. Jem set up a small antenna on the stones, and Sam imagined that she could feel the signals it was sending the Burrowers, keeping them in touch with where to report back with their data.
The hot desert sun had set and instead of feeling like she was frying in her own jumpsuit, Sam began to shiver.
“This is the worst part,” she said.
“It is,” Jeremy agreed.
The waiting. She had always hated this part the most. The hiatus between actions. The breath before the storm. Not knowing when exactly it would end.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
A Blast From My Past
The following are some poems I wrote a long time ago that I found on ye olde desktop.
I wrote this poem when I was seven years old, it wasn't my very first poem, but it was one of the first. My Mom claims that I didn't have any help with writing it, I don't really remember, but I'll take her word for it!
A Dog Named Funny
As I was walking down the street, a dog named Funny did I meet.
With a wag of his tail, a bucket and pail decided to tumble down the street.
I walked away, but the pup had to stays
To watch the ducks in the pond
But as soon as the nanny came down from the cranny,
She carried the pup away.
Until the next day
When the pup came to play.
I do remember, however, that I added that last couplet because I didn't want anyone reading the poem to think that the nanny kept the puppy away forever. I did this because I didn't want the reader to feel sad for Funny because it was supposed to be a happy poem. (It's weird that I remember that but not actually writing the poem itself).
I wrote this Poem in the fifth grade. I remember feeling proud because I knew what the word 'guile' meant when everybody kept asking me.
The Leaf
They tumble down the soggy road
Dancing all the while
Except the one with the red curled cap and mischievous guile
He perches himself upon a rock getting ready to spring
He then jumps on the back of the bucking wind
And to its ice-cold hair he clings
Only past the mountain pass he lets out a sigh of relief
And glides off his now breathless mount into the river beneath
He fought the rapids with all his might
Who were threatening to swallow him whole
Then he went plunging into the waterfall’s bowl
The leaf came up coughing and spluttering
Skirting the places where debris were cluttering
He knew he must find some sort of sanctuary
Instead he found a rather large tributary
And so he drifted out to sea
How did he do it?
Determination, that is the key!
(btw, yesterday was my one year anniversary of my first post)!
I wrote this poem when I was seven years old, it wasn't my very first poem, but it was one of the first. My Mom claims that I didn't have any help with writing it, I don't really remember, but I'll take her word for it!
A Dog Named Funny
As I was walking down the street, a dog named Funny did I meet.
With a wag of his tail, a bucket and pail decided to tumble down the street.
I walked away, but the pup had to stays
To watch the ducks in the pond
But as soon as the nanny came down from the cranny,
She carried the pup away.
Until the next day
When the pup came to play.
I do remember, however, that I added that last couplet because I didn't want anyone reading the poem to think that the nanny kept the puppy away forever. I did this because I didn't want the reader to feel sad for Funny because it was supposed to be a happy poem. (It's weird that I remember that but not actually writing the poem itself).
I wrote this Poem in the fifth grade. I remember feeling proud because I knew what the word 'guile' meant when everybody kept asking me.
The Leaf
They tumble down the soggy road
Dancing all the while
Except the one with the red curled cap and mischievous guile
He perches himself upon a rock getting ready to spring
He then jumps on the back of the bucking wind
And to its ice-cold hair he clings
Only past the mountain pass he lets out a sigh of relief
And glides off his now breathless mount into the river beneath
He fought the rapids with all his might
Who were threatening to swallow him whole
Then he went plunging into the waterfall’s bowl
The leaf came up coughing and spluttering
Skirting the places where debris were cluttering
He knew he must find some sort of sanctuary
Instead he found a rather large tributary
And so he drifted out to sea
How did he do it?
Determination, that is the key!
(btw, yesterday was my one year anniversary of my first post)!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Waiting on Wednesday
Book: City of Fallen Angels
Author: Cassandra Clare
Release date: April 5th 2011
City of Fallen Angels is the fourth book in the bestselling series The Mortal Instruments.
“City of Fallen Angels takes place two months after the events of City of Glass. In it, a mysterious someone’s killing the Shadowhunters who used to be in Valentine’s Circle and displaying their bodies around New York City in a manner designed to provoke hostility between Downworlders and Shadowhunters, leaving tensions running high in the city and disrupting Clary’s plan to lead as normal a life as she can — training to be a Shadowhunter, and pursuing her relationship with Jace. As Jace and Clary delve into the issue of the murdered Shadowhunters, they discover a mystery that has deeply personal consequences for them — consequences that may strengthen their relationship, or rip it apart forever. Meanwhile, internecine warfare among vampires is tearing the Downworld community apart, and only Simon — the Daylighter who everyone wants on their side — can decide the outcome; too bad he wants nothing to do with Downworld politics. Love, blood, betrayal and revenge: the stakes are higher than ever in City of Fallen Angels.
So excited for this one! I would recommend that you read the first books in the series first though.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Snippets
One thing that I do sometimes when I am writing is just write a scene. No character set up, no particular plot line. Nada. The following is one of those pieces of writing. I call them snippets. The good thing about snippets is if I am suffering from Writer’s Block, I can come back to them and expand from what I already have got. I have a ton more saved onto my desktop, but I like this one in particular so I am going to share it with you. I’d love for you to tell me what you think! What do you think the story is about? (If you answered that question it would be especially helpful. Maybe I could figure out what I wanted to do with it if I expand it into a short story. ;-))
Tangerine streaked the sky in wisps of cloud, adorning the crimson canvas beyond. Pensive did not quite seem quite the right way to describe her, though resigned would seem too harsh as well. She was not resigned to her fate. The jade silk that gathered about her collar and cascaded with a wilted sigh down her figure might have stated otherwise, but she was by no means giving up. Taking her watch out once again, she watched the complicated clockwork behind the iridescent mother-of-pearl face. It all seemed a cruel metaphor to her, a fitting gift for the world she had been dragged into.
The musicians had started tuning their instruments in the hollow below by the time she put the watch away. Night had come without so much as a rustle of crows’ wings, but the first stars had already been cautiously painted into the sky.
The girl would brand herself as selfish for what she did next. She turned away from the gravestone one last time and headed back towards the house. The horse she stole was not one of particular regality. It had probably belonged to a messenger, she hoped so, for she had a long way to go before dawn. She traveled light, not yet weighed down with her decisions; she had with her only the hope of acceptance, a path of rose pedals, and the promise that she would not be the one at the end of it.
Tangerine streaked the sky in wisps of cloud, adorning the crimson canvas beyond. Pensive did not quite seem quite the right way to describe her, though resigned would seem too harsh as well. She was not resigned to her fate. The jade silk that gathered about her collar and cascaded with a wilted sigh down her figure might have stated otherwise, but she was by no means giving up. Taking her watch out once again, she watched the complicated clockwork behind the iridescent mother-of-pearl face. It all seemed a cruel metaphor to her, a fitting gift for the world she had been dragged into.
The musicians had started tuning their instruments in the hollow below by the time she put the watch away. Night had come without so much as a rustle of crows’ wings, but the first stars had already been cautiously painted into the sky.
The girl would brand herself as selfish for what she did next. She turned away from the gravestone one last time and headed back towards the house. The horse she stole was not one of particular regality. It had probably belonged to a messenger, she hoped so, for she had a long way to go before dawn. She traveled light, not yet weighed down with her decisions; she had with her only the hope of acceptance, a path of rose pedals, and the promise that she would not be the one at the end of it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Waiting on Wednesday
Waiting on Wednesday is hosted by Jill at Breaking the Spine
What I'm waiting for this week...
Release Date: May 3, 2011
In Beatrice Prior’s dystopian Chicago world, society is divided into five factions, each dedicated to the cultivation of a particular virtue—Candor (the honest), Abnegation (the selfless), Dauntless (the brave), Amity (the peaceful), and Erudite (the intelligent). On an appointed day of every year, all sixteen-year-olds must select the faction to which they will devote the rest of their lives. For Beatrice, the decision is between staying with her family and being who she really is—she can’t have both. So she makes a choice that surprises everyone, including herself.
During the highly competitive initiation that follows, Beatrice renames herself Tris and struggles alongside her fellow initiates to live out the choice they have made. Together they must undergo extreme physical tests of endurance and intense psychological simulations, some with devastating consequences. As initiation transforms them all, Tris must determine who her friends really are—and where, exactly, a romance with a sometimes fascinating, sometimes exasperating boy fits into the life she's chosen. But Tris also has a secret, one she's kept hidden from everyone because she's been warned it can mean death. And as she discovers unrest and growing conflict that threaten to unravel her seemingly perfect society, she also learns that her secret might help her save those she loves . . . or it might destroy her.