"Like even today. I woke up this morning and the sun was shining and everything was nice, and I thought... this is going to be one terrific day, so you better live it up, boy, because tomorrow, maybe you'll be gone." James Dean. Rebel Without a Cause
Well, this is annoying. Earlier today I took a shower. That’s not unusual. I shower all the time. But this time, I plotted out an entire post that I really wanted to write, based on an idea I had earlier in the week. It was a non-fiction piece, another personal diary entry.
But I’ve just been sitting here staring at a blank screen, searching through a blank mind, failing to recall even a hint of what my genius idea was. Honestly, I kinda hoped that by starting to type, something, anything would come to me. But I’m exactly 100 words in and still nothing. Seriously. The figure “100” is actually the 100th word in this post. Though now I can’t edit anything that comes before.
I just checked my notes and it’s full of really interesting ideas for posts. I’ll make an effort to use one of them tomorrow.
I wanted to flex my storytelling muscles a bit, and had an idea for a… thing? Not a story, not a setting, just a fun element of a bigger idea. But in order for that to make any sense outside of my own head, I felt I needed to set up the world, even just in very broad strokes. So this post is a World Building exercise for a fantasty setting. I hope it’s even vaguely interesting.
***
Massive creatures roam the land and seas, magic is wielded by those who can and those who can’t seek to survive through cooperation or corruption.
But that is now. This is After.
In the Before, the world was order. Mother Earth slept and the planet was calm. The Wardens could not access magics and creatures were hunted for mundane resources. The largest animals on land were of the likes of elk or elephant, while the seas were rich with whales and massive schools of fish. Few people ever travelled further than the horizon around where they were born.
Then there was the Between. Over a millennia ago, the stories tell of a time when the stars fell from the skies day and night. The land was reformed and reshaped, and parts of the ocean bubbled and boiled. New monstrous creatures arrived in the wilds, and over a short few generations, the Wardens were awoken by Mother Earth to protect the people from the new, magical threats. The planet cooled for a time, and weather grew more erratic. But as the stars came back to the night skies and the day skies returned to blue, the planet calmed and settled into it’s new normal.
That was generations ago. Since the Between, truth has mixed with tale, becoming legend, myth and religion. Mother Earth has worked to bring balance to all once again, but while it is no longer the chaos of the Between, neither is it the order of the Before.
The After is a time of agriculture and adventure. Humanity has settled across the globe, guided by the knowledge and gifts of the Wardens. They thrive and have adapted to living in any climate or territory. A few regions are controlled by some of the larger wild creatures, such as certain species of pyrvians or the swarming and burrowing cicabras. Those are generally respected as off limits by anyone nearby, but brave or foolhardy adventurers sometimes quest for resources unique to these creatures.
But creatures migrate and expand and seek out new homes for any number of reasons. The Wardens help to influence them away from large settlements when possible, and when not, assist in relocating the population affected.
Occasionally, this results in ghost towns. Even more occasionally, it can result in a ghost city. Our heroes live in one such city. The once great city of Grand Port Cove is now more pirate than politician, brigand than baker, mercenary than merchant. Those who live there live in relative peace through mutual understanding that everyone else doesn’t want to be here too.
That, and the issue with the krakataur. But that’s for another day.
First off, this isn’t a “Sorry I haven’t been writing, I promise to do better” post. The last post in this blog is from December 2020, and that’s fine. There’s a very good chance that there will be a big gap between a similar post this December and November of 2022, when I do this Buck Fifty thing all over again!!
That’s right! It’s back! So I’m back. This time last year I joined in with a small but passionate community to write just 150 words a day for the month of November. Others do NaNoWriMo, where they try to write the first draft of a novel in a month, or Movember, where they try to grow a mustash in a month. I can’t do either of those things, the former because that is typically around 50,000 words, so, yikes!, and the latter because it’s itchy. So, so itchy.
But 150 words I can do. In fact, I already did it! I successfully wrote 30 posts during November last year, each at least 150 words. Actually, not to brag, but my shortest post last year was 180. You have no idea how much I had to talk myself out of making this post check in at exactly 150 words.
Weirdly, while writing what you’ve read so far, I almost felt Iike I was cheating. I had originally sat down with an entirely different post in mind, but as I started typing, this is what flowed out. For a brief moment I caught myself thinking “Is writing about the Buck Fifty challenge itself a valid post?” But the answer is “Yes! Absolutely!!”.
And I like it. It sets the scene for the next 30 days.
The joy of Buck Fifty is that it doesn’t have to be a single novel length coherent story, or a perfectly manicured facial hair. It can be whatever you make it. A stab at that script idea you’ve had bouncing around. A series of tabletop RPG ideas. Designs for a board game or video game. Movie or game reviews. Short stories. Not a whole novel, but 150 words at a time on an aspect of the world. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a month of daily blog posts written to amuse and inform, but mostly, written for you, the writer, to look back on in years and decades time and think “I’d totally forgotten about that hilarious day. I’m sure glad I wrote it down in this online public diary format that I can reference at any time.”
Well! I did it! I successfully wrote a minimum of 150 words each day in November. While I didn’t have to post every day, as. long I wrote the required amount, as it turned out, I ended up writing 30 separate blogs! Here’s some interesting facts about the month. Or, at least, interesting to me facts.
The longest was also one of my favourites, Murder, They Streamed, at 732 words. However, a large part of that was actually written over the course of the summer, and just edited in to new material. I actually only wrote around 300 new words that day. For the rest of the math in this post, I am taking an educated estimate of 311 words for Murder, They Streamed in relation to the challenge requirements. Adjusted, that would make Christmas Started Tonight In Ireland the longest, at 678 words.
Only two posts broke 500 new words published, Christmas Started Tonight In Ireland, and the post immediately preceding that, Teaching Inis, at 503 words. Both were written in the final week.
I published 8306 words in November. I wrote a lot more, but they got deleted or edited out before posting. That’s an average of 276.86 words per day. The mean word count was 251. That is to say, if ordered by word count, there are 15 posts of less than or equal to 251 words, and 15 posts with a greater than 251 word count. By coincidence, Day 16, Distance Grandparenting is the post with 251 words.
At the time I’m writing this, My Nightly Ritual has the most views, at 41. Though that was posted on Day 4 and has had all month to accumulate that number. By contrast, The End Of All Now from Day 28 already has 37 views.
If you did, thanks for joining me on this process. I really enjoyed this month, and hopefully it’s gotten me back into writing. Only time will tell. My next project, I think, will be a video I really want to do. I’ll post about it here if I succeed.
I've rarely had a plan for what I'm going to write from day to day during this challenge month. For over half of the posts so far, I've sat down at my iPad with a blank page before me and a blank mind inside me. My days are too busy to spend it thinking up great ideas, my evenings are spent relaxing and doing exercises.
So what usually happens is that I sit down and start writing something with a plan on where it will go. Then about a paragraph or two in, I realize I have a much better thing I want to talk about, and I just scrap the whole bit I've written up to then.
What I end up with after that is mostly a stream of consciousness tale. I just let the story of what I want to write flow, and I've been happy with them like that. They read more natural in the end, and they feel more personal when I look back on them.
It does mean that, while I aim to write at least 150 words for the challenge, I usually end up at around the 220 word mark, but it takes writing about 300 words to get there.
I actually did plan this post ahead of time, and it's exactly 220 words.
I’ve wanted to be a dad since before I knew what that meant. I grew up in Ireland, the eldest in a family of four kids. Many of my cousins have four kids in their families. And then I fell in forever love with an amazing person who has three other siblings. Basically, I’d been conditioned to believe that four was the perfect number of kids in a family.
Then I moved to Vancouver.
Then I became a dad.
I mean, a lot of other stuff happened too, but that’s not relevant to this story.
Honestly, it could have ended there. One was enough. My life was full and complete.
Then I became a dad again.
And that’s where it does end. For now. As much as I love kids, two of our own is enough. That’s how many we can fit in our car. Kids are expensive here in Vancouver. And while they don’t exactly steal your free time, they do trade it in for unconditional love. It’s a good trade.
Some people, my own wife included, like to take the month of November to write a novel in just 30 days. You’re only expected to write a first draft, so no polish or deep editing required, but it’s still a lot. A whole lot. The idea is just to get the framework out and on the page, not to have something publisher ready. But, yikes... That’s a lot of words.
I’ve decided to join some friends online trying to write just 150 words a day for the month instead. It’s called the Buck Fifty Challenge. Started by someone I follow on twitter, it sounded like a good idea. Rather than try to build a book in a month, build a habit. Just write, even a little.
Not everything I write will get blogged. Unlike the the novel challenge, this doesn’t have to be one continuous story. It can be letters, (<-150!), journals, poems, short stories, whatever takes your fancy. But, also unlike the bigger parent, you don’t have to make up missed days. Didn’t do your 150 yesterday? No stress, just move on with your week and try for 150 today.
To learn more about the Buck Fity Challenge, follow this link to the creators tweet, and great, short video, all about it!
You got this!
Post Script: I realized that, once I had highlighted the 150th word in this post, I couldn’t easily go back and edit before that. So, although I’d like to change a few things, I’m going to leave it. On to tomorrow!
It’s been almost a year since I blogged. My one and only post in 2019 was in January. This isn’t a post to excuse that or explain away why that was so, instead it is about 2020. The future. Now.
I’ve never been one for resolutions. I think they fail too often and make you feel bad about not succeeding at yet another thing in life. But then I saw a video that explained a lot to me. Veritasium’s, one of my favourite educational YouTube channels did a video about the science behind resolutions and tips on how to keep them, and it really resonated with me. Watch it below, then read on.
A few points stood out. Resolutions made for January 1st actually are statistically more likely to be met than ones made at any other time of the year. Don’t make big, sweeping changes, but instead small alterations that will grow to much more as you develop them into a new, ongoing habit. Honestly, the video covers everything, so if you’re reading this and you still haven’t watched, then go back and do that now. It’ll explain why my resolutions seem so inconsequential.
I’ve come up with four resolutions that I want to keep to. That seems like a lot in itself, but I honestly think they small enough to be manageable, but smart enough to grow into a life changing routine if I can just keep doing them. They are:
1. Drink one glass of water every day.
I drink a lot of fluids every day, but mostly in coffee, tea and the carbonated water drink Bubly. I’m not overly concerned about not getting fluids, but I do want to drink more water by itself. So one glass every day. I aim to try to get this done right at the start of each day, drinking it while the kettle boils for my morning coffee. Genius! Resolution 1.5 is to try to maintain a full water jug in the fridge, as it’s much easier choose that over a can of Bubly when I open the door and it’s there.
2. Draw a box every day.
I want to draw more, but instead of setting a goal to draw a full character or even a face, I’m just going to make sure I draw at least a box every day. And a 2D box, or “square”, counts, as long as it’s done with the intention of meeting this resolution. Obviously, I hope to commonly draw more, but I should be able to commit to and do something as simple as this, and once the routine is there, drawing more should come.
3. Write one sentence every day.
It doesn’t have to be poetry, it doesn’t have to be fancy, but I want to write more, and like the drawing one, this is how I’ll start. To accomplish both 2. and 3., I’ve pulled an unused notebook off my shelf and I’m going to keep it near me. I can draw and write in it at any time, but, along with the water, I hope to do it first thing in the morning. My mornings usually involve watching the night’s uploads on YouTube, so I’m confident I can take five minutes to draw and write one thing while I drink a glass of water. Also, blog posts count, so, no promises, but you might see more of me back here in 2020.
4. Read one book with the kids every week.
This is an odd one. I do read a lot with both my kids. I love when we read together, and I love how much they both enjoy books. This isn’t some huge change, as if before now I never read books with them, but I also know that too often, life can zip on by and it’s been a couple of weeks since I sat down and read something with them without any other distractions. I’m honestly hoping that this one evolves into “Read one new book with the kids every week”. But for now, I’m keeping it very simple.
So there we are. My resolutions. Purposefully very basic. I’ll update if I fail. I’ll update in a year if I succeed. But to kick things off, I’ve already drank a glass of water today, we read four books together on the couch this afternoon and I wrote this post this evening. As soon as I publish this, I’m off to christen that notebook with the first drawing, but also to note that I blogged, drank and read. I think I’ll use it to track my progress, though noting that will not count itself toward writing one sentence.
In the last few months I've had lots of ideas for fresh blog posts, from board game or movie reviews, to random thoughts, to cataloging cool stuff I've done, but I've never made the time to sit down and write anytihng. I have had plenty of time to do that if I wanted, I just didn't, so, my bad.
I've heard it said that writing is like any exersice, if you don't keep at it, you start to lose the skill. Maybe not as fast as you might lose fitness by spending a few weeks sitting on a couch, but certainly after a few months without writing, you start to lose "the flow", the ability to just sit and write and be happy with what flows onto the page or screen. I can feel it even now, writing this.
But I'm going to make a fresh effort. Like I said, I've certainly had lots to write about this last year, so let's see what happens.
I've also been lax on my drawing and uploading photos to Flickr, but we'll take this one step at a time. At least I still post to Twitter... Hopefully some of you who read this thing are still around. Welcome back.
Firstly, why is "doubt" spelled with a B. It just doesn't make any sense!
Anyway, it's Friday, November 27th, so we are, by definition, 27 days into November, and 27 days into my NoBeProMo attempt to post 30 blog posts in the months. I currently stand at, including this very one, which totally counts, 23 posts, putting me a whole four posts behind.
I'm not confident I can make that up.
Mostly, I've just been lacking in inspiration for what to write about. Inspiration comes from all kinds of places. A whole lot of the posts have been about Ada already, because they're easy to write. Her and Claire and all that are on my mind some days. My previous post on trailers came about because of the recent Captain America: Civil War first trailer.
I've been desperately trying to write some short story stuff as well, but I'm having major minor writer's block. Why "major minor"? Well, it's only a short story for my personal blog, not the fifth installment in a massively successful fantasy series. It would suck to not be able to write the next book in a series millions of people are waiting for. I'd honestly love to write something again, as my short story posts are ones I enjoy going back and reading again years later. But it's just not happening.
Work hasn't helped, even though I can't complain. I've been crazy busy and it's been lots of fun. I've been working with the toddlers and infants a lot, which is always an enjoyable experience. But all this fun has meant little time for writing.
So, I'm behind. I'm honestly going to do my best over the weekend to catch up, but... well... the post title says it all.
November is, for some, a chance to write a lot in a short amount of time, aided by the support of others doing likewise. Most popular is the NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writers Month, during which folks like my wife try to bang out a whole novel. Just the first draft. Editting and subsequent refining are left for another time.
I don't write novels, so instead, I'm trying my own version of November activity, NoBeProMo, November Be Productive Month. I'm going to try to write 30 blog posts over the month of November. The last time I tried this was way back in 2011, and I managed it! It wasn't quite one per day, but it was 30 posts in the month. Hopefully I can manage it again. But more than that, I'm going to try to do video editing stuff, art and more, all of which I'll update about here. So some of the posts this coming month might be short on content themselves, but hopefully I'll have put work into other areas for those days.
This time I'm also going in with a plan. I have a few types of posts I want to do, including movie and board game reviews, a short story or two, and general life stuff, mostly related to babies. I have a few outlines scribbled up in advance to help me manage this task.
If you enjoy what you see, please feel free to comment. Similarly, if you think some post is weak, then let me know. This should be an interesting month!
So here's the thing: I spend a lot of time thinking of stories. Some people like to sing in the shower, I like to plot out scenes. Usually, that's all I get. One scene, one encounter, with a handful of characters.
But when I come to write them out, I often second guess myself and start to see the flaws in the story, or the simplicity of the writing. Or maybe I just don't like how it flows on the page. But for whatever reason, the story gets scrapped and I move on.
The thing is, I really like to write. I've posted some stuff here in the past, from an idea to reboot Batman to a collection of opening paragraphs. Some of my tales come from playing in RPGs with friends, while others evolve from my desire to have an enjoyable back-story for my character. Once, I even posted a story that was inspired as a reply to a friends email!
So I'll stay writing. I'll stay scrapping works and getting frustrated. I'll stay world-building and character generating. And maybe, some day, I'll have something I really like, and I can go back to that world for a few more pages, a few chapters or even, just maybe, a few books.
I'm asleep at my desk with my hat down and my feet up when she walks in. My assistant likes to let clients through unannounced. He says it's to remind me that he's not a secretary. I remind him that I don't need an assistant either, but we both know that's a lie.
I try to right myself a little too quickly and end up on my back behind the desk. I hear her stifle a laugh, but, to give her credit, by the time I'm on my feet, she has her serious face on again. Pity. I imagine she looks much nicer smiling. I imagine a lot of things in that first second.
She's got a trenchcoat on, soaked through from the afternoon rain. The curves of her body are mostly hidden, but the hints at what sits out of sight makes my mind, and other things, run wild. The hat covers most of her hair, but a few red strands lie on her shoulder, stuck to the coat.
I hit her with my best opening line.
"How can I help, ma'am?" Hey, this is a business, not a bar.
"It's my husband..." (My heart sinks) "He's missing." (That's better).
I offer Curves a chair and some water.
"Got anything stronger?" she asks.
I shake my head. "I run a legitimate business here. I uphold the law, not break it."
"That's okay. We don't have time for drinks. We need to get to my husbands office, where he was last seen." Curves turns from the desk and heads for the door, holding it open while I grab my coat. We step out into the gloom of the afternoon. I look up at the glow of traffic, shielding my eyes from the unending rain, popping my collar against the wind. Far above I can make out the murky shape of the dome, sickly rays of sunlight bleeding through.
"My car is this way," I say as I point her toward the garage. "Tell me about your husband."
"He runs the xenogenetics division for BioDiversity, developing new strains of XNA for clients. His office is at Maginus Base. That's where we're heading, Mr. Walsh."
"Wait." I grab her by the arm and spin her around. "Maginus Base? Isn't that...?"
"On the moon. Yes. I have two tickets to Jansen Base, the nearest civilian habitat, leaving in six hours. Can I count on your assistance? As you can imagine, I can pay you for your services, and expenses. I hear you're the best, Mr. Walsh. I need you."
My heart skips a beat before my brain reminds me that she's a married woman. I unlock my beat-up old Ford and yank the door open. It's not pretty, but it gets me places.
"Thank god you got those tickets, ma'am. I don't think this thing could handle the mileage."
She cracks a smile, and I'm lost in the movie theater of my imagination all over again.
I wrote this in response to an email I received from a good friend. His mail was written in a funny noir detective style, opening with the awesome line "I was sitting counting the doors in the office, there was only one but I couldn't be sure of that, I would have to recount". I responded in a similar style, but dropped the professional comedian level of humour that my friend had reached, knowing I could never best his effort.
Once finished, I actually quite liked what I'd written and thought I'd share. Remember, I wrote in just a few minutes, with no editing or rewrites. It's not perfect, but it is fun. Enjoy.
The sun dripped through the blinds like syrup, pooling on the office floor. My first thought was that I should mop that up before someone slips on it and sues. My second thought was that those drugs were really good...
She had slipped them into my drink when she leaned over to read the casefile. Other things had slipped too, probably why I didn't notice her dropping the white power in my bourbon. The last undissolved grains sat on the bottom of the tumbler, laughing at me. Literally. They had formed a tiny face and were mocking me with their tiny laughter. I tried to throw the tumbler across the room but my arm was jelly. Strawberry, I think.
Legs stood in the shadows near the huge plastic plant I like to have the intern water every morning. Her ruby red dress was swimming across her chest and thighs, running down her leg to mix with the golden pool on the floor. Somewhere far away a voice was confirming something. Probably hers. I didn't hear an answer, but that made sense. She was on the phone. My phone. I'll have to check my wire tap I installed on my own line last fall once my head clears. If I survive that long.
Vancouver's a helluva place. The streets are clean, the broads are hot and the cars are sexy. I thought there wasn't a dark patch within city limits. I was wrong. Everywhere Legs walks, shadows follow her.
A million miles away a door opens and closes. Footsteps ring though my body, each one it's own tiny explosion of ominous foreshadowing. The creek on the fifth footfall confirms my dreamy suspicions. Someone is coming up the stairs. Legs brushes past me, her golden hair melts down into the red dress and then into the pool on the ground. I'll really have to clean that up soon. It might stain and affect my damage deposit.
A movement of air on my face tells me that Legs opened the door to my office. For a moment, I curse myself that I didn't lock it before I left. Then I remember I'm sitting in my chair, inside the office.
My vision tries to clear and for a second I focus on the face in the door. It's not a face I was hoping to see. Instinctively my body shifts in the chair to get more comfortable. I'm going to be here a while.
Guess I'll just have to get the intern to clean that pool after the weekend. I should leave her a note...
In my last post I mentioned the two adventure scenarios I had worked out on the journey home from Dublin. It seems that post caught the attention of a few people, and I've been requested, much to my surprise and joy, to write a Spirit of the Century scenario for LepreCon XXX. How could I say no?
I haven't really come up with a plot yet, but discovering that the coming LepreCon is their 30th anniversary, I was suddenly hit with a lot of inspiration. Thus, so far, while I know little about the guts of the scenario as yet, I now know that it will feature the XXX Investigations (Triple-X Investigations) private detective agency, Trinity College, possibly the Library, most likely hidden demonology within the Book of Kells (have a close look at the above image) and all sorts of wacky shenanigans in 1927 Dublin.
I think it's coming along nicely, don't you...?
As well as that, I've spent a little time on the other two scenarios, and have come up with the final blurb for each of them.
Murder On The Cambrian Coast Express Welcome aboard the 10:00 train from Aberystwyth, stopping at Borth, Dovey Junction, Machynlleth, Welshpool, Wolverhampton Low Level using the Shrewsbury Abbey Foregate curve, then on to Birmingham Snow Hill, and finally Leamington Spa, arriving at Paddington at 15:50. Sit back, relax, enjoy the company of the other passengers and prepare for a peaceful trip through pleasant English country-side, stress-free and without any incidences of ritual murder... Oh, who are we kidding. The title is a dead give-away!
Now all I have to do is create characters, add NPCs, draw up maps where appropriate, read up on key subjects, plot a bullet point, step-by-step list of the scenarios for ease of reference by willing GMs, and put everything about the actual plots that is in my head onto an easy-to-read PDF!
Last year I mentioned how my trip to GaelCon XIX had greatly renewed my interest in gaming in general, but particularly in RPGs. Having just returned from GaelCon XX this evening, I find myself in a similar situation.
Since this time last year, I have ran a very successful campaign that lasted an astonishing 14 sessions, I've bought a lot more card games and board games, and I continue to look for ways to increase my time spent at this hobby, enjoying Monday Night Gaming, and trying to play board games with friends more often.
Now, I find myself contemplating the idea of maybe, possibly giving LARPing a chance, and stranger still, giving Vampire LARPing a chance!! That is not something I would have written, spoken or even thought three days ago, but GaelCon changes me, in ways that frighten and disgust me some times...
However, not everything is bad. On the drive home from Dublin to Cork, I wrote not one, but one-and-a-half once-off, convention-friendly RPG scenarios! How did I manage to write one-and-a-half? Simple. While the first one I came up with was entirely new, the second was a development on one of the sessions from my own Spirit of the Century campaign, so I already had that one worked out. I just spent some time tweaking it. Both are potentially for WarpCon 19, in January 2009. And both will be written using FATE 3.0, the Spirit of the Century system. Here are the blurbs, in reverse order, so the second one is my brand-new idea (subject to change):
Murder On The Orient Express Welcome aboard the luxury trans-Europe train, the Orient Express. Sit back, relax, enjoy the company of the other passengers and prepare for a peaceful trip across Europe, stress-free and without any incidences of ritual murder... Oh, who are we kidding. The title is a dead give-away!
The first blurb is a proper, convention brochure style blurb. The second is far too long, but I just started having too much fun writing it. Sorry. And I know it's full of terrible, terrible gags, but I'll probably change all of them before the final draft. Probably.
May 28th, 1944 By goodness, this house is odd. The upstairs lavatory flushes entirely of its' own accord, and the piano in the dining hall randomly bangs out notes as if a tone-deaf child were playing on it. Worse, the new wing that we were using to bunk in is constantly cold at night. Even with a fire in the hearth it was too cold for a night's sleep. Today we spent the morning moving the bunks into the room we were using for storage, and moving the equipment into that hellish icebox. The storage room is smaller, but at least we'll be able to rest at night. Minor annoyances, but annoyances none-the-less.
Yesterday I was busy helping the lads set up some of the perimeter flak cannons. I've flown through fire from those things quite a few times now, and let me tell you, they're as impressive up there as they are on the ground. With enough firing into the night sky, the law of averages says you'll hit something. We now have the manor surrounded with flaks and two further anti-aircraft guns in the drive. Nothing to stop a tank rumbling up to say hello, but this far into the British countryside, I doubt those krauts will make it here on the ground. We should be fine.
June 1st, 1944 A new month. The boys and I have been here three weeks now, waiting for orders and monitoring the situation on the continent. Reports from command suggests that there is something big going to happen very soon. Thompson has been telling me that he's heard through the grapevine that we're going to assault France, but as usual, the boys here have been left out of the loop. I can't imagine we'll have anything to do. This manor has been under RAF use for four years now and it's the dead-zone assignment. Anyone who gets stationed here just sits on the ground for their term of duty scratching their hind quarters and praying for a scrap.
That is something that still unnerves me. The war is raging across Europe, yet we're here with four Spitfires, three American Hurricanes, our own Lankie and far too much anti-aircraft support for such a small area so far inland. I've seen the command centre in the study. It certainly looks the business, but I can't help feel that it's too far away from anywhere it can do any good. And why have a fully manned bomber here? The Spitfires and Hurricanes I can understand. They're here in case we do end up getting hit. But what would our target be? There's nothing for miles around this manor, and I know even our Lankie would need to refuel before carrying out a mission over the Channel. Sitting in my safe on board the bird is a sealed set of orders. I wish I knew what they said, but I'll have to wait for an attack to open them.
Honestly, I hope I never do.
June 13th, 1944
Reports on the radio say that D-Day was quite the jolly good success. Now that the smoke has cleared and a fair chunk of occupied France is no longed occupied, it looks like this war might finally be coming to an end. The boys around the manor are claiming intelligence has word that Hitler thoughtNormandy was all a decoy! Never underestimate us Brits. Best damned military in the world, despite what the Americans claim. Gretzky loves to get the boys blood boiling, talking about all the great things America has done in the war already. I know he's just having fun, and I try not to rise to the challenge, but he isn't making any friends among the lads, and we've been here long enough now.
Too long for some. Wilkinson worries me. He's gotten used to constantly being on the move, never in one place for more than a few days. Last night he told me that he's been seeing ghosts. He claims to see them moving on the back stairs, but I use that all the time and have never seen anything. If this were any other of the lads, I'd send them packing and restrict rations for a few days for trying to pull such a pathetic prank. But Wilkinson is not like that. I don't think I've ever heard him tell a joke or try something funny. He gets so focused on the task at hand, and he keeps that focus. I think it might be that. He's been focused for five weeks now. Everyone's getting on edge. We've been here too long.
God. Let this war end soon, or let us back in the air for something more than test and maintenance runs. We have a lousy two hours scheduled for tomorrow in the air. We haven't spent more that a few hours among the clouds since we first got here five weeks ago. This is the longest most of us have been on solid ground since the war broke out.
June 15th, 1944 While I was dropping off yesterdays flight check reports to the command room I noticed the pins on the wall-map. Seems like the Luftwaffe is making pushes into the English countryside under the dead of night. I'm not sure what they're looking for, or why it's so important that they are willing to come this far into enemy territory, but if I didn't know better, I'd say those pins were coming here.
The butt of the handgun smashed a small hole in the corner of the church window. Quaid pushed the barrel through the opening and fired twice into the thick cloud of dust and hooves. One of the riders fell.
Immediately two rifle-shots rang out. The one hit below the window, sending splinters of wood into the air, the other caused thick, warm fluid to run down Quaid's face. Recoiling in shock, Quaid rubbed the blood away from his eyes and felt for the wound. Instead, he saw the villager beside him slump to the floor, the right side of his face missing several vital components, first and foremost of which was his cheekbone.
Explosions went off overhead. A grenade exploded somewhere above, shattering the remains of the window on top of the few that could still shoot. Within seconds Quaid and the others in the church could see the old, dry wood of the roof begin to smolder. Firing twice more at the attackers, he spotted Anna being dragged across the graveyard by the bounty hunter.
"Ta Ma Duh. That ain't gonna end well."
Vaulting out the window, Quaid ducked a nearby handgun blast and returned the favour with pin-point results. The bounty hunter was gone, but there was only one place he could possibly be heading for. The Nirvana.
The streets were filled with dust kicked up from a dozen horses, and racing behind a nearby building was easy, even with his peg-leg. Quaid decided to bee-line for the General Store and from there, grab some guns and head for the ship. Rounding the first corner brought him face-to-face with one of the raiders. Arms full of looted goods from some locals home, even Quaid's less than stellar reflexes were fast enough to but a bullet cleanly between the opponents eyes, dropping the body before the goods could even hit the earth.
Across the main street was the store. From here, the high-tech holo-field windows and glistening polished steel of the store front stood in stark contrast to everything around it. Quaid looked up and down, considering his options. He had seen the weapons that the store sold earlier that day, and right now he knew he needed something more than his six-shooter. Pausing to reload, he darted across the empty street and ducked down below a window. Inside, the android sales assistant was repeating "Defense mode" over and over again in her soft, Chinese accent. He smiled for a moment, before kicking in the main doors.
"Chui se, ya wong ba duhn!" A lone raider standing firing at the android received a round to the temple. Quaid jumped sideways behind a counter as a shotgun blast juiced the hydrated apple stand. "Aw. Not the apples," Quaid exclaimed, as he took aim in the direction of the shotgun blast, squeezing tightly on the trigger. He never even saw the third raider.
For just a moment, everything stopped. The pellets seemed to freeze on his ribcage, and thoughts of Emily flooded his mind. Sweet Emily. His only love, his only reason. The sun rising through the upper layers of the gas giant. Even a billion miles away, it was still where he wished to be. On a colony station, orbiting a gas giant, wrapped in her arms.
Then everything started up again, and a blackness darker than anything the Verse could throw contain swallowed him whole.
Stepping out into another time was a really weird feeling. It did not matter if it was your first time doing it, or the last. It always felt odd.
The air was different. John breathed it in in deep gulps. A noticeably higher level of oxygen per breath. Not just that, but it smelled different too. This air lacked the additives and nutrients that home had. And the ultraviolet radiation was greater. The control centre had been right to advise him to wear a sunblock and carry vitamin tabs.
John looked up to see that the sky was blue. Heh. Now that was something that people at home had not seen in a long time, he thought, and felt an unexpected jump in his heart-rate. He missed the old sky of home already. This was going to be a long trip.
The lightning flashed in the night sky, illuminating the thick clouds below. Sam stared out the window and counted slowly. The thunder clap reached the station, and Sam guessed that the flash was roughly 10 miles below. The lights in his quarters were off, not for any safety measure, just to avoid any glare on the window and provide a clearer view of the storm.
If they had been on, he probably would never have seen it. A tiny shifting of the clouds, visible against the flashing storm further below. It could have been mistaken for an air current causing the clouds to churn from their resting place, except that, as he watched, it took a ninety degree turn and started towards the station.
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