Baxil [bakh-HEEL'], n.
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Baxil" journal:[<< Previous 20 entries]
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02:11 am
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NaNo update
Week 1: Muse frolics about in the playground, running from shiny thing to shiny thing, shouting "Wheee!" and exhausting herself on the slides and swings.
Week 2: Muse sulks at the edge of the playground because, when she built a huge sand castle directly underneath the slide, her friend Authorial Standards promptly came down without looking and squished it.
Week 3: Muse's sulking is interrupted by a Novella in a nearby van. "Want some candy, little girl?" he whispers in a husky yet strangely alluring tone. She gets too close to the vehicle, arms reach out, the door slams shut, and before she can scream they are 13,000 words down the road.
So, yeah, there go my pretensions of frittering NaNo away via the completion of dozens of scattered half-finished projects. I can't abandon my protagonist now! He's running from the authorities after spoiler spoi ler spoilersp oi le rspo iler! Plus, y'know, backstory! And the worldbuilding is all falling together! And and and ...
I'll have to figure out how I can "with one bound, Jack was free" my way out of the mess, so I can get back to the various requests and writing trades and finishing up of old projects and then planning out the Fireborn game that starts in December and catching up at work and and and augh. I'm glad November is just a part-time thing.
Anyway, NaNo user page has been updated with an excerpt from "The Time In Her Eyes." If you're interested in beta-reading and offering constructive feedback, drop me a line in some fashion; it's a neat enough story to be worth second-drafting once all the words come out.
How's your novel going, if you're writing? How's your month going, if not?
Current Location: ~/brainstorm
Current Mood:  wordful
Current Music: Bax's NaNo game music mix
Tags: misc life updates, writing
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05:43 pm
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Why NaNoWriMo?
So, thanks to the discussion in my previous post, I went and made it official: I signed up for NaNoWriMo this year and have been busily writing behind the scenes. This year's goal: 50,000 words, total, period; working on whatever the hell I want to work on, just so long as I'm working. (And so far it is working: I'm still on track for quota.) NaNo has a term for this sort of flagrant non-noveling: being a "NaNo Rebel."
So far I've finished a half-done story; written a story from scratch; typed up a ridiculous number of words in D&D campaign journaling (like the old CSI: Luvine stories, but I haven't found the magic spark to make the stories truly cool yet); and am most of the way through writing up a really vivid dream I had in October. Plus I counted about 500 words that I'm about to edit and reprint below -- it was originally written as an LJ comment in a friend's journal, but it was important. (I'm not counting the few paragraphs of blather here, though. I have my limits.)
Why NaNoWriMo?
> [I] can't really just write regularly like that. ... NaNoWriMo makes [writing] very regular and machinish. ... [I'm] hardly that sort of machine.
If this sounds like something you would say in criticism of NaNoWriMo ... then, first of all, let me make this clear. None of what I say should be taken as criticism of what works for you.
That having been said:
I am the worst sort of burst writer. My inspiration is erratic, I block easily on long-term projects and get distracted easily when I'm blocked, and sometimes I find myself going months without getting anything of value written at all.
I'm also a three-time NaNo finisher.
While the material I produce during NaNo is generally decent enough for me to appreciate having written it, that's not its real benefit. What I truly appreciate about NaNo is its ability to knock me out of the expectations of my own head. I start with nothing but a word-count goal and some minimum quality standards, commit myself to set aside the majority of my social life during the month, and treat the whole thing as an experiment in boundary-pushing.
My first real NaNo was done solely to discover that I can finish, actually get to the end, of a novel-length work. (It also checked off a ticky-box on my ten-year goals list. There's a separate ticky-box for "finish a novel NOT written during NaNoWriMo". I haven't done that yet.)
My second real NaNo (four years later, I should add -- I can't do these things without a cooldown period) was done to prove it wasn't a fluke -- but also as an experiment in serial fiction, because I'd never done a long-form continuing story before. It's not continuing now, but again, I discovered I can, and that was vastly illuminating, and will help me the next time I develop a serializable idea.
I am still an erratic writer. I do not generally push inspiration when it's not there, and I still write best in sprints rather than marathons. However, now I know what it feels like to do both; I know how to recognize the traps I fall into when the sprint doesn't push me to the end; and I've written some pieces during multiple sit-downs that I never could have done at a sprint.
One of the pieces I'm most proud of writing is a product of that. It's a product, in fact, of my "failed" 2006 NaNoWriMo, in that I set aside to write 50K in interweaving short stories and then finished November at a fraction of that.
Do I feel disappointed about failing? That assumes it was a failure! I blew a word count goal and produced one of my life's best pieces of writing. Should I have been disappointed? That depends on what my goal was. And there's nobody measuring that but me. The lesson I took from 2006 is that NaNo is, at heart, a learning experience -- a Rorschach test, if you will, of looking into words and seeing yourself.
And what of the years when I did reach 50K? They've been a slog. Sometimes, yes, writing means trudging on without the muse. But that's part of the learning experience, and when you're done, you've had the experience of doing it, and then you stop. NaNo's goal is not to train you to write without your muse -- just to convince you that you can. And to teach you that sometimes doing so can get you more of what you want -- more words, more satisfaction -- than waiting for inspiration.
...
I think I again need to emphasize that the NaNo I'm most proud of is the one where I failed, because I got an idea dumped into my head that really was worth writing about, and I stopped and did it right instead of forcing myself to live up to those external expectations.
That's the crux of it, right there. While my writing style is spectacularly unsuited to a one-month novel, the reason NaNo has repeatedly worked for me is that I have made it into something that I want to do, and once that happened, by definition it was a success no matter how far I got or whether I met the initial arbitrary goal. (I mostly have, but, well, whatev.) I didn't even try NaNo'ing a novel until four NNWMs in; my first two were an "I'm going to write a journal entry a day!" variant and my third was "One short story per day" (which actually ended up being even more of a muse death-march despite clocking in at ~40,000 words. After that, focusing all my effort on a single novel seemed like a welcome change of pace).
And if you have a muse, and some writing talent, and a deep-seated hatred of NaNo, and a little envy of the people who can write 50,000 words in a month? I need to mention how awesome it is that you can work without that NaNo crutch. The vast majority of my writing progress has been with it, in one form or another. And every time you start feeling like you need to be jealous of me for being able to finish a NaNo, take a look at my journal and the five-week dead silence leading up to 11/1, because I guarantee you that the envy flowed the other way while I was stuck. :)
Current Location: ~spiral
Current Mood:  busy
Current Music: Billy Idol, "Adam In Chains"
Tags: writing
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04:07 am
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Upgrades and updates
My life seems to have gotten a little out of balance lately. I say this because it's a modestly better reintroduction after five weeks of silence than the traditional "*tap, tap* Hey, is this thing on?"
It's not that I've been too busy to write; I've got no less than three unfinished short stories (and some completed song lyrics) on the front burner. But that's the problem. For a while my creative urge just dried up (or sublimated into roleplaying, one of my ongoing offline activities that has happily picked up the pace). And now that fingers are hitting the keyboard again, there's such a backlog that I'm dancing around from project to project and falling back into my old bad habits of leaving everything 80% finished. And with so many stories crowding around seeking resolution, I've been putting off journaling in favor of fiction.
The good news is that this creative burst is carrying me into winter in high spirits, rather than a few months of endless freaking out over the weather and general lack of daylight. And procrastination has its fringe benefits: for instance, I'm up at nearly 4 AM putting some final polish on a relaunch of the TTU Wiki. I just upgraded its back-end software (after three years and seven releases), which was a lot less painful than I expected, so I wrote some custom code for it to make its category listings prettier (i.e., sorted by columns instead of rows, which is slightly less trivial than it sounds).
The wiki has been getting a lot of attention lately, actually. I'm really proud of the glossary of TTU slang, and there's now some excellent detail on events like the New Year's Flyby. And I finally fixed the permissions so that any registered user can make edits wiki-wide -- which should make it a lot friendlier as a collaboration tool.
All of which is well and good, but ... it's almost November, and you know what that means.
Yes: NaNoWriMo is upon us once again. And, 48 hours from the start of the race, I find myself dithering.
On the one hand, a lot of close friends are committing to write, and I really want to join them in solidarity. It would also do me good; some of my best work has come out of the frenzy of the November word-count dance. My creativity is currently working overtime and crying out for outlets.
On the other hand, I know, with great and terrible certainty, that if I make any sort of NaNo commitment, all of my half-done projects are going to die ignominious deaths, and that rankles. I've also got more social commitments than usual this year and don't feel like I could devote the time to NaNo that I really ought to. (I also wrote 50K words of Legend of Hero last year, and traditionally I've taken a year off after each NaNo success.)
I'm juggling a few ideas for "alternate" NaNos -- I'm no stranger to the idea, having moved from BaMoJoEnt to BaMoTTuSto to novels and back. Perhaps I could create a new page on the TTU Wiki every day, or go back to the classics and post some nonfiction every day? Or maybe I ought to just keep on keepin' on, and spend November finishing my 5-story backlog ...
Thoughts? I'm in a state of severe waffle here, so reader input (and especially fellow NaNo-er input) will go a long way toward helping me channel my pent-up writing bug.
Current Location: ~/laptop
Current Music: Jim's Big Ego, "She's Dead"
Tags: misc life updates, requests, writing
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01:38 am
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Epic Gaming Tales: The Crater Lake Mansion Of Death
Hello, readers! I have a birthday present for you.
Now, I know that's not how this is supposed to work. I turned 32 on Monday and tradition dictates that I receive presents. (I did get some good ones -- from family and boss -- but that's a tale for a subsequent post.) But you know me -- since when have I lived by the whims of tradition?
Case in point: 32 is a power of two; in binary, it's 0x100000. A neat digital milestone for a digital era. And yet my gift to myself for my bithday weekend was to drive out to a nearby mountain and hurtle myself up a very analog hiking path. (Also a tale for the subsequent post.)
So: Birthday present. As you could probably guess from the post title, I got you a gaming story. As befits the digital milestone, it's a story about a computer game. I know this is not usually an auspicious start to a story*, but considering that the mere mention of the Crater Lake Mansion of Death I built circa 2002 has already spawned three earnest requests for the tale, apparently I'm onto something here.
* * *
The Crater Lake Mansion of Death began when I tried to dig a basement.
Our tale is set inside the digital suburbs of The Sims -- which is less a computer game and more a way to replace your daily life with an idealized digital equivalent. You are given a set of house building tools, and then a few manipulation options for the little avatars that inhabit the house you create. As Yahtzee observes with his trademark snark, the limited range of activities basically allows for two styles of play: a simulation of exactly the life you're trying to escape via playing computer games in the first place, or creative breakage.
Every Sims player goes through a phase of creative breakage. 99 percent of the time, this comes out in vicarious sadism (as typified by walling up your Sim avatar in a meter-square room and waiting for them to soil themselves and starve to death). But I had bigger aspirations. I didn't want to break the avatar. I wanted to break the game.
Sims houses (at least in Sims 1) had a fairly impressive range of building options, but programming choices and/or CPU-power limitations forced some arbitrary, hard-and-fast rules. You could have a one-story house or a two-story house, but never more. The only available stairs were straight, single-flight sets; no landings, curves or spiral staircases. And there was no option for a basement -- only building upward to a second floor.
"No basement? Well then," I said, "I'll figure out a way."
After discarding a few unworkable ideas, I started trying the only thing that would give me a "down" staircase: build up the dirt surrounding the house until people could enter directly to the "second" floor, and then use the "first" floor as the subterranean level. I first tried this with my main character David's residence, but the terraforming options (raise/lower land) stop at the property line and the outside edge of the land has to remain flush with the original ground level. There's an internal game limit on the slope of hills, and I didn't have much approach room in the yard, so I was unable to add enough dirt to bury the first story.
"Alright!" I said. "A challenge!"
I created other families in the neighborhood for David to schmooze with -- because in The Sims, for some ungodly reason that is simultaneously realistic and blisteringly cynical, your job promotions are determined by the number of neighbors who like your avatar. David spent a while working and climbing the ranks, accumulating more and more cash, and finally bought the expensive mansion at the edge of town -- the house with the largest plot, something like an acre in size. Now there would be no space constraints stopping my land-raising plan!
But buying the house ran David out of money again, and terraforming costs money. I was getting fed up with the tedium of fast-forwarding through the game just to wait for the paycheck that would let me add another tractor-load of dirt to the property. Clearly I needed a more efficient way of constructing his underground secret lair.**
Then the solution hit me.
And the first step into Dante's Simferno began.
When you create a new Sim family, they start with a bankroll of cash big enough to purchase a tiny house -- if memory serves, $20,000 Simoleons per family. Sims can't simply transfer money back and forth, so there was no direct way to cheat by having random strangers show up and give David money. However ... terraforming costs money without adding value to the property. If I could simply find a way to move new Sims into the mansion, I could have them sink all their bankroll into dumping dirt on the hill, move them out again when they were broke, and repeat the process until the hill was built, since the property value wouldn't change. Endless cash without once having to deal with their tedious daily lives!
The mansion itself cost way beyond a starting Sim's bankroll. But the price of moving in was largely determined by the cost of the house materials plus the cost of its furnishings; lot size was only a minor factor. So! David tore the house down, mercilessly eradicating every shred of building and landscaping, until it was nothing but an enormous, flat dirt lot with a single tiny outhouse in the center. He promptly sold the worthless dirt field and moved back into his original house, and I checked prices on the mansion lot: Move-in cost, $9600.
Cha-ching!
So several eccentric, reclusive Sims moved in, poured dirt onto the property and immediately moved out broke. And I grew bored with the process again. Now, remember how I said 99 percent of players' Sims-breakage comes in the form of gratuitous avatar sadism, generally by walling them up in a tiny room until starvation kills them? Everybody goes through that phase. Everybody. You can't look at a sandbox game like that without wondering what happens when a Sim dies.
I was no exception. As I grew bored with the old move-in/terraform/move-out, I finally succumbed to temptation and walled in a Sim to starve to death. They whimpered and turned in circles and tried to sleep standing up and soiled themselves and finally keeled over. The game chastised me with a strongly worded notification ... and dropped a tombstone where the Sim had been. I blinked, had someone new buy the lot, and walked over to the tiny death room: the tombstone was still there. I checked the building components menu: No tombstone was listed. I could sell the tombstone for a few Simoleons, but there was no way to buy them. The tombstone was a permanent yard decoration, but the only way to get one was to fall down the path of sadism and kill a Sim.
I spent all of the new guy's money on terraforming (raising the back side of the lot, away from the tombstone), and decided for kicks to wall him into a room too. I absent-mindedly set the game time on fast-forward, shuffled some papers around, and glanced up at the screen two Sim-nights later. Blinked, and lunged for the space bar to freeze it.
There was something walking around on the property.
With the game paused, it quickly became clear: The previous occupant had returned as a ghost! (In newer Sims, ghosts are apparently a little more random; in the first one, they were an easter egg tied to having that person's gravestone on your property.) She wandered around a little, scared the crap out of the current resident, and disappeared at dawn.
And suddenly, it all fell together ...
I wasn't just going to build a basement. I was also going to build a charnel house.
I was already planning to move at least 30 families through the property in the span of a few game-months. The place was clearly cursed, because it was a giant money sink that drove people mad and demanded giant dirt sacrifices. But suddenly, the lot's ancient, malevolent spirit had awoken -- and now it was no longer content to bankrupt its owners. It needed their very souls.
Resident #2 died, and a second tombstone appeared. I discovered that you can move tombstones around from place to place, which meant that I could shift them to keep them on top of the ever-growing hill, and use the entire lot for terraforming.
The new owner Bobby Joe made the mistake of sticking around just a little too long after the money ran out, and suddenly found himself surrounded by impenetrable walls. After a short time, he too fell silent and another gravestone appeared.
The next owner was a family with a child. They too succumbed to the lure of the death outhouse. I then discovered that childrens' tombstones were a different size than adults'. (I also discovered that, bizarrely enough, having a haunted house with a track record of mysterious owner disappearances causes a tiny uptick in property values. I guess there's slightly more cachet in owning a Death Outhouse than there is in owning a boring old regular one.)
The hill grew. The tombstones mounted up, in both small and large sizes. As more tombstones landed on the property, the hauntings became more and more frequent. It became rare to have a night without a ghost -- and then statistically impossible -- and then the ghosts were wandering in threes and fours, sometimes half a dozen. None of the owners could get any sleep, which probably helped to drive them slightly more insane before they died in their tiny-walled up outhouses. "For the love of God, Montresor ..."
Soon, viewing the property in the (isometric) world map revealed a towering hill of dirt, a huge half-pyramid whose apex cemetery somehow managed to tower above the two-story houses in the rest of the neighborhood. I planted some bushes on the camera-ward side to spell my name for posterity, and kept raising the top outer edges of the hill -- leaving a depression in the center where the "basement" was going to go. Since the tombstones either wouldn't sit on a sloped hillside or looked retarded there, I packed most of them into the center of what quickly grew to look like a volcano.
Finally, one lucky batch of sacrificial victims got to start house construction. At long last! The basement I had toiled so long to create -- the basement that had bankrupted an entire small town -- the basement for which so many Sims had given their virtual lives ...
Well ... the basement wasn't happening. Neither wall nor porch on the second story could extend out to the hill's edge. I couldn't even get it close enough to make the gap invisible in world-map view. I experimented a little more, but quickly figured out the basement dream was dead; the programmers simply hadn't anticipated any sort of abuse like what I was trying to perpetrate.
So I was left with a big volcano-thing with a lot of gravestones and a cramped two-story house-like thing inside of it. What else could I do? All this work had to count for something.
Clearly the graveyard had to stay; too many Sims had given their lives to dishonor their sacrifice like that. I crowded the tombs all together in the crater, added some landscaping, and (to keep the Sims from spending all their time wandering around the graves and weeping for the fallen) threw in a circular lake around the whole thing. Now the ghosts could wander the property freely at night, safe from the meddling of future owners.
But what to do about the house itself? The building couldn't go on the outer slope (the game forced the entire house to be on the same ground elevation), and there was very little room left after the graveyard. After some deliberation, I built a tiny kitchen and workout room in the crater and added a few external staircases along their walls. With judicious use of support pillars at lake's edge and in the graveyard, I was able to build a modest second-story-only house that acted almost like a roof over the graveyard, leaving it in spooky eternal shadow.
Fortunately for David once he moved back into the Crater Lake Mansion of Death, I discovered that Sims ghosts cannot climb stairs. After he got home from work and ate, he would retire upstairs for leisure activities and/or sleep, and he would do his thing, blissfully unaware of the half-dozen ghosts marauding through the property underneath his feet.***
At least until he went downstairs for a midnight snack.
--
* There are some notable exceptions to this rule, such as my discovery that under the right conditions, you can cause enemies to lose their turn in Final Fantasy Tactics by shooting your own allies in the back. This is my favorite gaming story OF ALL TIME. I'm pretty sure I've told it somewhere, but I'll have to dig it up again.
** Appropriately enough, by this time David had climbed the Science career path all the way to the top rank, Mad Scientist.
*** This really cries out for pictures. Unfortunately, the CLMoD was created on ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) elynne's computer something like 7 years ago; my suspicion is that it's long lost to the ages. If she still has access to that old computer, you should totally bug her to load it up again, get some screencaps and upload the results. :)
Current Location: ~/brainstorm
Current Mood: 32
Current Music: Oingo Boingo, "Heard Somebody Cry"
Tags: birthday, games, roleplaying, writing
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01:50 am
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Hi again! (and LOH: 056-058 ++)
The momentum of silence has gotten pretty overwhelming around here. The longer I go without saying something, the greater the urge to have that "comeback" post be the greatest thing ever, the Nobel Prize-winning, sliced-toast-beating collection of devastating witticisms that will cure cancer, poverty, starvation, cholera, and the Republican party.
Pretty clearly, that isn't happening. I mean, not even my writing can fix Sarah Palin.[*]
But anyway! I should at least say something and start trying to kick the silence habit. After all, I've kept myself pretty busy -- just not here. Witness:
- Oh hey wasn't there this novel I was posting to the Web? Even though I haven't mentioned anything about it since ... um ... May?
Then there was a month where I disappeared off the radar. I'm better now. And I came back with:
- Change of Mind -- even if you've been giving the novel a pass, this short story (~7500 words) about a mage's experiences with telepathy-as-mental-health-tool should be worth your time. A tip o' the hat to dragonzuela, who challenged me with the original concept in my Writing Requests thread.
- And
Racing Stripes by ~baxil on deviantART
-- a tongue-in-cheek self-portrait. Oh, and you knew I had an art gallery, right? The newest piece of art there is from around the time of John McCain's bar mitzvah[*], but it's the first time I've ever posted them so let's just call them "new" and be done with it.
There's much more to say, as ever and always; but for now i'll be content with re-breaking the ice.
Current Location: ~/Brainstorm
Current Music: Brainpool, "Who's That Man?"
Tags: legend of hero, multimedia, writing
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04:12 pm
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Writing Quicktakes: Escape from Below
A quicktake from the recent Writing Requests thread. More are on the way; read the others via the above link or my microfic tag. Thank you all again for your creative kickstarts. :-)
As with my other quicktakes, bonus trivia is in the comments (as an incentive to click through).
That hollow knock again, a burst of sound from every direction, inside and out. William woke with a start. Pressed up against the window, lit only by the almost-glow of his radium-handed wristwatch, were the eyes of an inhuman face.
Adrenaline sheared through his bloodstream, and he jerked backward, smacking his head against the curved steel wall of his tiny prison. Color exploded into his vision.
Blind, William fumbled under his seat for the reassuring chill of the two-foot iron rod. The hatch had a habit of sticking shut once back on the surface; that had been his excuse for stowing a prybar in the bathysphere when he went down. But really, it was a psychological tool. Stuck in a tiny circle of steel amid miles of open water, William found it all too easy to feel helpless, and having a weapon to hold -- as useless as it was -- gave him back a sense of control.
The colors spread, danced, and cleared only gradually; departed, and left the merman at the porthole behind.
Oh. Them. William's heart started to beat again.
William put down the prybar and groped for the electrical connectors at his right. As his fingers found the wire, he reflexively glanced at his watch face. The glowing hands formed a perfect corner, rigid, perpendicular, the only sharp angle in the cramped globe of the bathysphere: nine o'clock. Huh, William thought. There was something about nine o'clock, teasing at the edges of his memory, but it didn't seem pressing -- a merman was back.
( (2,000 words) )
Current Location: ~/computer_desk
Current Mood:  awake
Current Music: "Metal Gear Uh Oh! The Beat Have Started To Move" OC Remix
Tags: microfic, ttu, writing
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12:48 am
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Legend of Hero: 015-016
Tonight was Tuesday night -- when the local Go club meets in downtown Nevada City. I missed it again. Came home to help the AT&T tech try to fix our sporadically dying Internet connection, and sink my brain into writing.
I do miss Go, even if I feel like I don't have the bandwidth for it right now. It's become a hobby of one of my main characters, the scheming Shadow King, and I have an unfinished short story where he engages in a friendly game with a random theri while the Archon kibitzes with intent.
But I do have to admit it is nice to reclaim the time. Instead, I finished another short story that's been on the queue since October, one of the quicktakes from the requests thread. I figure I'll post it this weekend.
Speaking of posting stories! ttustories' Wednesday update will be slightly delayed; I can't save the most recent version to HTML from this computer. (Which is fine -- it gave me an excuse to post this instead.) And besides, if you haven't been manually checking that journal when its M/W/F updates come in, there's already new material for you there. In Hall of Heroes: Act III, our heroes finally meet some Shadowlands residents -- and run into some complications on their way home. Meanwhile, David's girlfriend stars in Crissy: Act I, trying to find out what's happening to her gaming buddies.
A thought occurred to me today that I thought I'd share. I'm reaching the age where a number of my friends seem to be refocusing their lives around child-rearing, and it's certainly something kadyg and I have discussed ourselves (even if there are no child plans on the horizon). There may be something to the whole "biological clock" after all.
And: The way my journal has shifted focus so dramatically in the last month or two to my writing is making me start to believe I'm being hit too. But in a different way. In a very real (if literal) sense, child-rearing is a creative process ... I just happen to be devoting that nurturing instinct to my muse instead.
Suits me fine. I'm better with ideas than with kids anyway, and I did commit to working on my writing this year.
Current Location: ~/computer_desk
Current Music: Mike Oldfield, "The Source Of Secrets"
Tags: legend of hero, writing
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09:11 pm
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winnah, winnah, chicken dinnah*
![[NaNoWriMo 2008 winner!]](http://www.tomorrowlands.org/images/lj/nano_08_winner_viking_100x100.jpg)
As a celebration, I'm posting Premonitions: Act VIII a day early! Yay!
Next week's Wednesday/Friday posts are going to find us in a different world ... a world where reality doesn't quite work the same way it does here; a world where new characters are introduced; and a world where Bax recovers from November and does no story writing at all. Back here in this one, feel free to let me know what you think of the story so far.
I'll continue to post new sections three times a week over at ttustories, but I may scale back the notifications over here. Are you folks actually following them regularly, or do you prefer to read novels in bigger chunks instead of the webserial way?
--
* kadyg requests that any actual chicken dinnahs mailed to us be packed in dry ice.
Current Location: ~/Brainstorm
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: "Victory Fanfare," Final Fantasy IV OST
Tags: legend of hero, ttu, writing
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12:56 am
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Legend of Hero: 002
In the interests of collecting the webserial a little more cleanly, I've moved my NaNoWriMo novel -- which seems more and more to be stuck with its working title -- off to its own journal:
ttustories
Updates will remain Monday/Wednesday/Friday.
I have arbitrarily decided -- and I am very open to persuasion on this note -- to post the story there uncut; I will post a one-sentence link here when ttustories updates. So, you can friend me to get simple update reminders, or friend TTUstories to see the entire thing on your friends page. If you're the feed-readin' sort, Livejournal has you covered -- add http://ttustories.livejournal.com/data/rss to your RSS reader.
For those of you who missed or skimmed the last post, you can still start reading from the beginning. Today's installment is Premonitions: Act II.
Current Location: ~/Brainstorm
Current Mood: awake
Current Music: Nobuo Uematsu, "Dreams Fade," FFX OST
Tags: legend of hero, ttu, writing
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04:31 pm
[Link] |
My novel - let me show you it!
Now that my brain can set aside politics again ... it's NaNoWriMo time! If you're writing too, remember to friend me in between bouts of typing, and let me know in comments if you're posting your story anywhere. As for me sharing my writing? I'll let y'all call the shots.
Poll #1292743 NaNoWriMo presentation
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 31How should I share my novel? Should I share it now, while I'm writing, or later, after November?
Current Location: ~spiral
Current Music: Jonathan Coulton, "Still Alive"
Tags: writing
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04:11 pm
[Link] |
Writing Quicktakes: The Winchester Experiment
A quicktake from the recent Writing Requests thread. More are on the way; read the others via the above link or my microfic tag. Thank you all again for your creative kickstarts. :-)
As with my other quicktakes, bonus trivia is in the comments (as an incentive to click through).
That night, the sun rose, reddening the cloud-studded sky.
Wearing uneasy expressions, the assembled scientists considered it. "Gentlemen," Winchester said soothingly, "I can assure you my team's safety standards are the strictest possible, and experimental modeling has concluded there was no danger whatsoever from what we just saw. We'll study the effect, but there's no reason for concern." Then, almost offhandedly: "Cassie, hit the lab's circuit breaker."
"I hope this isn't an omen of worse to come," Donovan blurted out.
"Winchester," Cassie said urgently from behind the control panel, "it's still on."
"I know," Winchester -- still seated -- said in a controlled voice.
Cassie pressed some buttons. The console lights dimmed into standby.
"Doctor Winchester, nothing remotely like this was in any of the analyses!" Vorga shouted.
"Are you sure?" Cassie asked. "Let me check."
"I don't mean to alarm you," Donovan said, "but I think the machine's still running."
"Er ... no?" Cassie said, looking confused.
Suddenly, the illumination winked out. They all looked around uncertainly, eyes adjusting to the soft glow of the control panel and the colorful limn around the isotope in the test chamber. Then, from O'Toole: "Just to be clear. You turned that off, right?"
As if in answer, the isotope's glow turned from green to a menacing red. Then, with a flash of noise that sounded like cotton candy and rotten eggs, the color burst outward through the clouds.
But, incredibly, nothing seemed to change. "Cut power! Cut power!" Vorga shouted.
Cassie got up and wildly swung her fist at the large red cutoff button. It slammed back into the console.
There was a loud subsonic thump that jarred their bones, and a shower of sparks.
As one, the scientists leapt up and scrambled backward -- except for Winchester, who was already against the back wall, staring at his colleagues in the manner of a priest who caught children vandalizing the church. In the chaos, Cassie smacked into Donovan; O'Toole went down in a tangle of folding chairs; and Makunouchi tripped, his foot caught in a loop of cable. The regulator's cord popped out from its socket.
Every head in the room turned. Cloudy, transparent glows -- as if the air itself was afire, in a pale, sickly green -- had puffed from the isotope, billowed past the thick quartz shielding as if it wasn't even there, and were rolling outward at them.
"Something's escaping the isolation chamber!" Donovan shouted, pointing.
"Wait, no, it's alright," Cassie said, looking more relieved. "That's what our projections said it would do."
The isotope's glow turned the shade of freshly cut grass.
"Okay, we weren't expecting that," Cassie confided, worry creeping into her tone.
The room went dark again. As everyone blinked to adjust their eyes, the isotope's glow quickly increased again to its normal levels.
"At this point," Winchester said with a satisfied tone, "the isotope has just finished charging. That was the end of the show. Everything else will be a matter of ensuring energy is appropriately distributed to match the observed effects, within the parameters predefined by the experiment."
As the isotope's glow grew to the edge of painful intensity, the circle of light behind the test chamber winked out.
"Yes," Cassie said, looking at Winchester. "All readings so far have matched exactly the simulations we ran."
"Are you really sure this is safe?" Donovan asked.
"Nope," Winchester said, smiling.
The isotope's glow doubled. The lenses focusing its light whirred into a new orientation to compensate.
"Not much longer now," Cassie told O'Toole, eyeing the wall clock.
"Well, Mark," Winchester said, fixing his eyes on the worried-looking Donovan. "Note the isotope is now discharging stored power. That's why there's no danger of overload; nothing's being added to the system until after it's done. You'll see us charge it later."
"And when should your demonstration end? Or," O'Toole said with a smile, "as the case may be, begin."
"Heh," Winchester chuckled.
"Mark," Donovan said, glancing at the wall clock himself.
The scientists felt a slight tug against their bodies, though it didn't move or unbalance them. Later, in interviews, with the benefit of hindsight, they'd realize it wasn't in any of the directions they could point.
"Mark," Winchester said, consulting a watch. Then he turned to Donovan. "What's your name, sir?"
The isotope began glowing with a soft orange hue. The lenses inside the test chamber shifted to focus its light through the chamber's solid quartz sides, and projected the light into a small circle against the far wall, where sensors were set up to record its intensity.
"Pay him no mind," Doctor O'Toole said. "I think this should be interesting. When does the show start?"
"Oh, please, doctor," Makunouchi said, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not sure I like this," Doctor Donovan said. "While I appreciate all of the care you've put into safety, can we even contemplate what might happen in the event of an overload?"
"That's what we came here to see," Doctor Makunouchi said cheerfully.
"Certainly," Winchester said. "We've isolated a source of pure tachyons, a particle with positive weight in the fourth-dimensional axis. By bombarding the isotope with carefully controlled gamma ray bursts -- which we will do, in our frame of reference, after the experiments -- we can induce the source to reverse polarity, leading to carefully controlled localized time reversals."
"Good afternoon, Winchester, Cassie. Doctor, would you mind summarizing the project for our visitors?" Research Director Vorga asked.
"I don't know," Cassie said. She straightened. "Here they come."
"For the last time, Cassie," Doctor Winchester said, "it'll be fine."
Current Location: ~/brainstorm
Current Mood:  devious
Current Music: David Bowie, "Space Oddity"
Tags: microfic, writing
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09:30 am
[Link] | Quick question to the silent audience. Have you been enjoying my recent writing? Any feedback? I'm not doing it for the accolades*, but it's nice to hear it's leaving an impression.
--
* "So why are you doing it?" ... Well, it ain't for the money, and no really I don't write for the egoboo, though it's admittedly a positive factor. The act of creativity itself is the important thing. And sharing it. I could say it's for the practice -- it's like a muscle; you have to stretch it or it atrophies -- but that would only be a partial answer. Closer would be that I feel like writing is something that defines me. It's a way I can be not just another guy whose life is filled with work, friends and video games. Plus I seem to have a knack for distilling life into Story, and I might as well use the darn thing.
Current Location: ~spiral
Current Mood:  tired
Current Music: David Bowie, "Space Oddity"
Tags: writing
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05:56 pm
![[User Picture]](http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/9758787/240226) [Link] |
Writing Quicktakes: Legislative complaints
A quicktake from the recent Writing Requests thread. More are on the way. Thank you all again for your creative kickstarts. :-)
Dear Citizen,
Thank you for your submission about politician Rand-231. We value all feedback and are constantly trying to make your civic engagement more meaningful.
We take all claims of product defects very seriously. Your report has been examined and automated testing has been completed, and we would like to confirm that Rand-231 is working correctly and as designed.
In order to address your specific concerns, our technical support system has automatically reproduced several items from our list of Frequently Asked Questions. If you feel you have concerns that have not been addressed, please open another support request, reference your prior request number (#27B-6/10984262001) in the submission, and one of our technical support agents will contact you.
Best Regards,
Eliza Sharopnikel
Diebold-Halliburton-Meshuggener Automated Feedback Response Team
support@robosenate.gov
---
Thank you for submitting your request to our Frequently Asked Questions Retrieval System. Your original request follows for your reference. FAQ responses are automatically chosen via matching of keywords in your request. For the complete FAQ, visit dev.robosenate.gov and click on "FAQ."
Original Message:
> you damn godless commies. this is the LAST STRAW. i keep telling you
> our senator rand is broken. now it's getting worse. this week he voted for
> polygamy marriage with multiple guys. it's not bad enough the homos can
> marry, now they have to take OUR WOMEN too? i thought he was supposed
> to represent us and pocatello-brigham is the second most conservative
> (AMERICAN) district in the sixty-three UNITED STATES according to
> fox global's two-minute infuriating facts. I would expect this from a copy
> of senator clinton but there's NO WAY a rand should support that kind of
> abomination of a bill! HOW DARE YOU!!!~ next it'll be abortion and then
> maybe he can make it legal for your mom to abort YOU and dump your
> fetus in the SAN FRANCISCO bay. then we can code our own senator
> and finally get some real AMERICAN values in the heartland of our
> country. and bring back flag worship - we need theocratic rule - GOD
> BLESS THE USA you atheist nazis. LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Relevant FAQs:
22. What models of RoboSenator are available?
In order to begin the transition from polarized gridlock to automated progress, RoboSenator Version 1 shipped in 2032 with support for several classic lawmaking styles then in favor: the Clinton, the Kennedy, the Gingrich and the McCarthy. Two years later, several moderate models were prototyped -- the "Waffler," the "Apathetic," and the "Compromiser" -- as well as beta releases of ideological models released by political party coders: the Rand, the Reagan and the Roosevelt.
Due to popular demand, several historical models are scheduled for a 2038 release: the Stalin, the Mao, the Khan, and the Richelieu.
25. How does my RoboSenator become more responsive to the needs of its constituents?
The ability that sets DHM's RoboSenators apart from the competition is the self-modifying nature of their code. Each district's senator is copied as a snapshot from the current development tree of that stock model, and then allowed to change its voting parameters based on input from its district. It does this through a combination of polling, blog-scanning, and event tracking, weighted by our proprietary metrics.
27. An issue polls at less than 50% support in my district. Why is my RoboSenator voting for it?
Because several factors are individually considered in determining a RoboSenator's parameter self-adjustment, polls by themselves do not always match a RoboSenator's voting record. Some, but not all, of the reasons for this include:
- Issues are ranked by importance in district polling. For issues weighted as "unimportant" or "marginal," polls are only a minor factor, superseded by other measures of civic engagement such as rallies or blog posts.
- Due to differences in poll wording, support numbers reported on your local newscast may differ from those collected by the RoboSenator's unbiased heuristic modeling.
- RoboSenator models start with their own weighting on various issues, viewable in the per-model source code at dev.robosenate.gov. New RoboSenators may take some time to learn the views of their exact district.
31. My RoboSenator supports an issue that most other RoboSenators of that model do not support.
Due to regional variations between different voting districts, your RoboSenator will differ from other RoboSenators of same or similar model. This is by design. Your RoboSenator is responding to the needs or desires of your district.
32. My RoboSenator supports an issue that the model's namesake would have disagreed with.
Due to parameter self-adjustments, your RoboSenator will not always retain the initial settings it had upon deployment to your region. This is by design. Your RoboSenator is responding to the needs or desires of your district.
34. My RoboSenator supports an issue that seems unlikely given my area's (conservative/liberal) rating.
Due to regional variations between different voting districts, your RoboSenator will differ from other RoboSenators representing similarly ranked districts. This is by design. Your RoboSenator is responding to the needs or desires of your district. Factors such as ethnicity or religion often play a role. For instance, areas high in members of Church of Jesus Christ of Final-Days Saints are often "conservative" but support issues such as plural marriage; and areas high in members of Church of the New Holy Roman Empire are often "liberal" but oppose issues such as abortion.
42. My RoboSenator has recently changed its opinion on an issue even though there have been no polling or district changes for months.
Due to the algorithms that guide self-modification in RoboSenator parameters, voting district changes (such as annual redistricting) can take several months to be reflected in voting patterns. This is by design. The algorithms are designed to resist manipulation by only responding to trends observed over time, discarding outlying results caused by blogbombing or flash micromobs.
78. How can I get my RoboSenator to support a particular issue?
While it is extremely hard for activists to overcome raw polling numbers on issues important to your district, your RoboSenator responds favorably to continued, consistent direct action and advocacy on most issues. Organizing rallies, news coverage or blog coverage in favor of your issue are all statistically proven ways to influence RoboSenator voting, especially on issues identified as locally unimportant or locally marginal.
163. Is your company run by atheist commies?
Eric Meshuggener is an atheist commie. However, he is outvoted 2-1 on our governing board. The other two are on your side.
164. Is your company run by theocratic nazis?
James Halliburton VI is a theocratic nazi. However, he is outvoted 2-1 on our governing board. The other two are on your side.
Have a nice day,
Hal Megillah
Diebold-Halliburton-Meshuggener Automated Feedback Response Team
support@robosenate.gov
Current Location: ~/brainstorm
Current Mood:  good
Current Music: "Awakening," Xenogears OST
Tags: microfic, politics, writing
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01:10 am
![[User Picture]](http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/44991842/240226) [Link] |
Writing By Request: A Bit Of Exposition
A quicktake from the Writing Requests thread last week. I'm going to tackle them in no particular order, though I'll try to generally work from the top down. I wrote this one first because a full scenario sprang immediately to mind. Thank you all again for your creative kickstarts. :-)
"This," Cern proclaimed, "is where I get to do a bit of exposition. I realize it's a traditional sign of hubris, the monologuing, but I have to get my practice in. I'm going to be saying this on TV eventually, you see. I have to have my delivery down."
"You're not worried that I might escape?" Bond asked, straining at his ropes.
"Oh, I'm sure you've got something up your sleeve," Cern said. "But isn't it better to take that risk, and actually enjoy victory? I mean, who else is capable of truly appreciating the struggle that took place here? We have to savor it, you and I, like a fine wine."
"Well," Bond said, "I would have to admit that you've earned the right to gloat. And I do confess to some curiosity."
"I appreciate you being such a good sport about it," said Cern, strolling past the fifteen-foot monitor with the satellite view of the Earth, and running his hands lightly over the console's brightly-colored control buttons. "It's a relief, frankly. It's so rare to find a sense of perspective. Put together a mad scientist, a suave superspy, and a tractor beam aimed at the moon, and the whole world expects a shootout -- some sort of bloodsport ending in murder or Armageddon. No subtlety. No style. Nobody appreciates the value of a good rivalry these days, do they?"
"About that," Bond said. "Wouldn't you say that 'rivalry' implies an ongoing relationship, which is to say, at least one rematch between the same opponents, namely, you and I, which would, I'm afraid, be precluded by my unfortunate and untimely death?"
"Now you're catching on," Cern said brightly. "You see, all along, I've been hoping that someone like you would come along." He looked around. "This isn't for the cameras. But I never really meant to kill you, not after seeing your brilliance on full display." Cern paced over to the smaller, secondary monitor, typed in the command to connect the communicator to the U.N. videophone, but paused before hitting Enter. "I mean, how many people could have done what you did with the laser-guided sharks?"
"Why, thank you," Bond said with a smile. "I'm glad you noticed. Too many people think a giant gun-toting army is the solution to every challenge, when really you can accomplish so much more with a single man with some creativity and wit."
"Now, see, that's what I say!" Cern beamed. "And the best part, the very best part? When it comes down to the climactic duel, the raw brawl, mano a mano, brain to brain ... you know exactly where you stand. When you win, it's because of your own actions, not some army of faceless and incurious soldiers."
"I certainly would look forward to a rematch," Bond said. "After all of our clashes across the length of the island, to be done in by that overhanging pipe in the escape tunnel leading here is frankly something of an embarrassment."
"It was, but you put up enough of a fight that I think we can still both be proud of the game," Cern said. "But I digress. They'll be expecting my speech soon. I would hate to disappoint. Tell me how this sounds." He cleared his throat and faced Bond directly. " 'Mr. Secretary-General -- people of the world -- I speak to you from Skull Island, which was just the site of the epic clash between the evil genius holding the world hostage and the lone hero sent as their last, best hope.' "
"And soon-to-be site of a smoldering crater," Bond said resignedly.
"Well, yes, there is that little matter of the four-hour self-destruct switch neither of us can reset," Cern sighed. "But cheer up. The yacht in the harbor is afire, so I'm escaping in my mini-submarine. Who would have predicted that you'd have one too? I certainly didn't see it on the monitors in the security room. All that the world will know is that I left you for dead in a locked room as I ran to beat the timer. Your return will come as a shock to millions."
Bond considered. "And thank you for that, Cern. If I may offer a little unsolicited advice in return? If you're really serious about the rematch, then you might not want to call the U.N. from here. The fleet is only an hour away."
"I see what you're saying. They'll be swarming after the call. The mastermind's unarmed mini-sub would inevitably be found by dozens of destroyers -- and all of the sharks are dead already." Cern made a face. "You're right, I suppose. But it's a shame. My speech would have been so much more dramatic live."
"I'm sorry," Bond said. "I'll make up for it in our next meeting."
"Yes," Cern said, straightening his bow tie and smoothing the arms of his tuxedo. "I know you will."
"I'll carve out a mountain fortress," Bond said. "No pesky navies."
"Then I'll be sure to bring the grappling hook gun," Cern said with a dapper smile. "See you, Doctor."
"Next time, Jake. Next time."
Current Location: ~/bedroom
Current Mood:  okay
Tags: microfic, writing
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04:42 am
[Link] |
Epic Gaming Tales -- CSI: Luvine, Episode 5
Here's another look at the world surrounding the characters in our tabletop role-playing campaign ... only about eight months after the play session in question. Better late than never.
Those who were disturbed by the graphic violence of the previous episode will be relieved to learn that this story contains nothing of the sort.
Jailhouse
1:28 a.m.
It's never a good sign when you wake up with a splitting headache.
It's an even worse sign when you haven't been drinking.
I peeled my face off the desk and sat up; vertigo nearly took me down again. I touched the back of my head. Pain sheared out; my vision went momentarily fuzzy.
I cursed and stood up. Staggered, clutching the wall, to the jail cells in the back room.
Empty.
I moaned. As bad as the night was going, the morning was going to be worse.
( In which the Constable tussles with organized crime )
Current Location: ~/bedroom
Current Mood: tired
Tags: csi: luvine, roleplaying, writing
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03:47 pm
[Link] |
Time slips by; (and) Ask me to write!
October 1 already? Oy. Another blob down.
It's a little morbid, but the sentiment behind the link is also a good kick in the pants. My life is not infinite, and if I procrastinate on the things I want to accomplish, they may not get done at all.
So. Writing. Something I ostensibly want to do; time to kick-start it. After staring writers' block, other projects, distractions, and basic laziness in the face for seven goddamn months, I finally pushed through the last 2% of the 98%-done "CSI: Luvine" episode sitting around from February. I'll post it tonight after I leave the office.
Also: I'm going to publically commit to this year's NaNoWriMo. I actually have a story I'd like to write, about some kids in TTU sucked into a strange land where magic takes an ... oddly recognizable ... format. Another month to plan it -- and to figure out the most graceful way to put my social life on hold -- and then, hopefully, a novel!
And in the meantime, I'd like to give my muse some exercise. ( Will you help me out? )
Current Location: ~spiral
Current Mood:  ambitious
Current Music: Yuko Fukushima, "To The Darkness of Hell," Arc the Lad: TOTS OST
Tags: ask me a question, writing
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09:33 pm
![[User Picture]](http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/80952186/240226) [Link] |
Video game poetry
THE HAVING OF GUNS
(From "Old Hero's Book of Practical Guns," by T. R. Iggerman)
The Having of Guns* is a difficult issue,
For a hero in video games that are fun;
Many guns he must tote, lest he shoot and then miss you,
So I tell you, our man must have THREE DIFFERENT GUNS.
First of all, there's the gun that he shoots if he's near you,
like a flamethrower, shotgun, a D'eagle or Uzi,
If need be, a crowbar or chainsaw can smear you,
All deal death at close range; don't be choosy.
But I tell you, a man needs a gun in distinction not lacking,
A gun that shoots farther, and less broad and wide;
How else can he snipe from afar while wall-hacking?
Or clear out a level before stepping outside?
The guns of this nature will now be highlighted,
Such as his sniper rifles, or railguns, or AWPs,
Such as guns that shoot lasers, or by lasers are sighted --
All guns that at long range I promise are tops.
But above and beyond there's still one gun left over,
And that is the gun that no shooter omits;
The gun that makes game players sigh like a lover,
The gun that kills HALF OF THE MAP when it hits.
When you notice a gunhaver laugh with abandon
Then, no matter the game, you will know what he's done:
His mind is fixated on firing at random
With explosives, explosives, explosives so fun
With unbeatable, l33table
Bee-eff-gee-eetable
Blow up the map-able
Havable
Guns.
--
* If the "Gunhaver" reference for video game shooters hasn't crossed your path yet, then at least there's this for some context.
Current Location: ~/bedroom
Current Music: "teh noob song," teh pwnerer
Tags: games, geekery, wordplay, writing
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03:19 pm
![[User Picture]](http://l-userpic.livejournal.com/57248126/240226) [Link] |
500 words
I pulled to a stop and cracked open the passenger side window. "Is everything alright?"
The man leaned down, and I saw brown eyes through the opening and days of stubble through the glass. "Yeah," he said in an unconcerned voice. "Wouldn't mind a lift, if you're headed east."
"Where's your car?"
"I'm walking. Just gotta hit Fort Denver for some supplies."
"Seriously? No car? Hop in." I leaned over and yanked the door handle.
He stepped back as the door swung out, then leaned back down, making no move toward the car. "It's only fair to warn you. I've got two handguns on me. If that's a problem, I don't blame you for leaving."
The sense of duty that had compelled me to stop for a man alone in the woods kept me from stomping on the accelerator, but it didn't prevent the awkward silence. I tried to recover: "Hey, out here with the zeds, who could blame you?"
"Away from the cities, the danger is really overstated." He shrugged and lifted his coat to show a holster at his belt. "You need to stay armed, but they don't travel in packs."
The sight of the actual gun again halted conversation. "Uh," I hedged, "truth be told, I'd be more comfortable if you kept them unloaded in the car."
"That's fair." He unslung his backpack, fished a pistol from the holster and a second from under his arm, and removed both clips, making a show of zipping them into his pack's main pouch.
"The chamber too," I said, remembering an old gun safety video. He pulled back both slides to show the guns were empty.
"I'll ride shotgun if you hit a swarm," he said. "And if we don't make it to the fort tonight I'll keep you safe camping."
"Don't be crazy," I said. "I'm not stopping outside the walls."
"You just did, didn't you?" he said with a smile, and sat in the car.
I'd just barely started the old Chevy rolling when his smell hit me. I wrinkled my nose and rolled down my window. "Not a smoker?" he asked. "Sorry."
"It's okay," I said, trying to sidestep to the usual hitchhiker formalities. "I'm Dave."
"Jim," he said, putting on his seat belt. "I didn't smoke until this started. Then I discovered it was nicer to stink of tobacco than to stink of a week's worth of B.O."
"Try sponge baths."
"I was in Phoenix on Z-day. We lost water when the dam blew. It was tough just finding enough to drink. We spent our zed watches reminiscing about being clean."
I smiled wryly. "Kansas City flooded."
He laughed. "We should have been so lucky. Zeds don't swim."
"They wade just fine," I said, and changed the subject. "Do you tell everyone who stops about the guns?"
"Always."
"How many rides has it cost you?"
"Three," Jim said, and shrugged. "All we've got is each other, now. Each other, and trust. That's bigger than any ride."
Current Location: ~/bedroom
Tags: hitchhikers and other random encounters, microfic, writing
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09:24 pm
[Link] |
Quick take: "The L33t Starfighter"
"The Last Starfighter" satire fanfic, based on discussion in this f-locked post about hacking "Starfighter" to beat it.
(ETA: Gods. How is it possible that I am the first person to riff on this theme? The Internet was supposed to contain everything, dammit!)
=========================================
The monotone voice again: "A candidate has qualified."
Centauri stared at the screen, muttered something unintelligible, and hit the space bar to acknowledge. "Weapons guidance hack?"
"Affirmative," his computer answered.
"Auto-steer cheat?"
"Affirmative."
"Faked lag evasion?"
"Affirmative."
Centauri rolled his eyes. "Bring him up."
( It's not long )
Current Location: ~spiral
Current Mood: devious
Current Music: DJ Liljo, "Inspired Reality"
Tags: fanfic, microfic, writing
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09:25 pm
[Link] |
Dragon 0, snow zombies 1
... Wow. I never thought I'd have an excuse to use my zombie icon in context based on real-life events.
The following story is 100% true. And 100% unintentional.
--
While my second job -- at the grocery store -- generally involves me sitting in front of a computer all evening, I've been working a cash register a great deal lately. Due to some poorly timed staff turnover, we're short on closing-time personnel, and I'm one of the few managers who's reliably around during the evening shift.
One of the tiny fringe benefits of this is that the store has developed something of a tradition as the clock ticks toward closing time. The last cashier, at 8:50, will pick up the intercom and announce to shoppers that they've only got 10 minutes left to shop; and at 9 p.m. will make a second announcement that the store is now closed.
The reason this is a fringe benefit is that it's a chance for some improvisational creativity. As long as it's not work-inappropriate, any message that gets the point across is tolerated (if not actively encouraged, depending on who happens to be working). And when it's my turn at the helm, I try to make the messages as memorable as possible.
Tonight, as closing time drew nigh, it was just me and a few other employees in the store. A freak snowstorm had blown in, blown through, and left a rare daytime layer of fresh powder on the ground. Most of our customers had chosen to stay home and stay warm rather than drive through dark, icy streets.
The restaurant and deli had already closed up, but Alicia and Tristan were still there, finishing up the paint job on the rear doors and hallway. I was manning the lone cash register.
It was time for the first announcement. I glanced out the window at the white bushes and sidewalks, and inspiration hit.
"Attention California Organics shoppers," I said. "It's now about 9:00, and I'd like to let you know that the snow zombies have finally broken into the store. We're fighting them off as best we can, but it's time to begin a calm and orderly evacuation. We've got just enough time to check you out if you stop by the counter on your way out. Thank you."
I heard some laughter and cheering from the back of the store. <Not bad,> I thought. <I haven't eaten for eight hours, my blood sugar is in the basement and I could lose a staring contest with a ferret -- but I can still crack a good joke or two.>
After confirming there weren't any customers in the store (or driving into the parking lot), I started going through the usual closing routine: lock door, water and cover produce, turn off freezer case lights. When there was nothing left to do but hit the switches that killed the store lights, I picked up the intercom again.
"Attention California Organics shoppers," I quipped. "Aaaah! The zombies have reached the power generator!" I hung up, lunged for the switches, and the store descended into twilight.
<... Not bad!> I thought, and smiled to myself.
As I pulled the drawer from the cash register and gathered my belongings so I could resettle in the office and count out my drawer, the other two employees clocked out and started walking out toward the rear door. "G'night!" Alicia called out. "Have fun fighting off those zombies."
"I'll be fine," I called back. "I'm pretty sure I brought my shotgun."
Then I started walking through the dark and desolate store.
The very dark store. With nobody in it. Except me.
And the zombies.
Something at the front of the store must have caught my attention. Because just as I was walking into the back hallway, I turned around.
There was a muffled impact against my left arm. I staggered sideways.
I caught my balance and whirled around. Nobody in sight. I glanced down at my jacket sleeve to see a spattered line of bright crimson.
( AAAH! Zombie attack! )
Current Location: ~calorg
Current Mood:  amused
Current Music: "Triangle (Retriangulated)", Bluetech, via net radio
Tags: work, writing
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