newer log
home
words
site news
talking place
linkwatcher
So I was going to announce here that y'all shouldn't expect me to post anything for a few days, what with novel finishing and Thanksgiving and all, but when I came in here to do that, it reminded me how easy it is to post things, so why should I, y'know, bother officially announcing that I wouldn't do it?
Because maybe I would.
It being so easy.
Don't expect me to post very much, though...
I feel like I was going to say something else, too.
But it's escaped me.
A child comes from behind her, where the spire's stairs reach the top, and climbs up onto the bed next to her. Ot puts her arm around the child, and it leans its head against her body. It is small and beautiful.Below them, the fog swells and heaves in the wind. Ot thinks of her friends, far below on the ring, and of the danger of the fog, opaque and unbreathable.
"Shall we blow it away?" she says to the child.
The child smiles and nods, its face shining and eager. Ot and the child purse their lips, and blow, blow in front of them, turn and blow behind them, blow to the sides, and the fog shreds and writhes and roils, all around the ring and from edge to edge, and is finally swept away, down into the depths of the inner sea and the outer sea, out into the infinite distance, out and away from the dark ring of the land.
End of day 25: 46,049
Currently: 48,022
And I doubt I'll write any more tonight. The end is definitely in sight; I just hope I'm not speeding up the narrative too much on my rush to the stable (so to speak). Some interesting things have happened (this sudden first-person narrator, for instance; very odd). I could end it in the next thousand words, but doing two thousand shouldn't be a stretch, I don't think.
Almost there!
She screams, finally. Torcel Vellome and the Architor, who have been crouching by the side of the Innerness (Torcel holding herself back, not reaching out to pull Ot from where she writhes in the red; the Architor impassive, thinking whatever Architors think), pull her quickly out, the Architor judging that the time is long enough, and Torcel unable to bear any longer the sounds she is making.She lies limp on the lip of the Innerness, not shivering, not moving, all tension draining out of her muscles, and deep within her some small piece of the Innerness not draining out of her body.
Inside that pocket in Ot's belly, a piece of the Innerness begins to change, and as it changes the small animals and machines that have passed into her through Torcel's tears weave themselves into it. In that moment, sometime in the next thousand heartbeats, I begin to be.
Current total: 45,289
When I said "it's amazing how easily a thousand words comes" the other day, I should have qualified that with "when you actually find the time to sit down and type them in".
Still, things are coming along. I think I can see all the way to the end, practically scene by scene. I think it'll work out to at around fifty thousand, and I hope to have time to type it all in in the next couple or three days.
From, of all places, Metababy: The Flightless Hummingbird; some intriguing, um, fiction. Or something.
Fascinating incredibly vast thing o' the day: Hoag's Object.
Galaxies are very cool. We have this big coffeetable book with pictures of galaxies, and they always make me feel comfortingly small and unimportant.
So I got the spam about the guy looking for a time traveller to send him a mind warping Dimensional Warp Generator 52 4350a; did you get it also? I can't decide if it's more likely an actual lunatic, a prankster, or just a spammer with a novel hook for gathering valid email addresses (or an actual stranded time traveller). Here's someone who's been having a mildly amusing email exchange with the person.
Oh, and I've been much too busy to try to get any interesting replies from 419 scammers lately; all the previous ones I had going seem to have given up on me. Oh, well; maybe we'll try it again some day.
top
earlier entries