Saturday, August 14, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Review of The Key by James N. Frey
Short Story Plots
While struggling with developing good plots for short stories, Ruve Draba suggested reading more James Frey. So I went through The Key with highlighters and sincere interest. When I finished, I have to say it was pretty good. The book is all about using the power of myth for plot development. I won't get into the details except to say it was thoughtful, comprehensive and helpful. The method requires quite a bit of structure and detail, and I'm not sure how you could use this in flash fiction, but I gave it my best shot for fixing an old short story that didn't have a storyline that made sense to anyone. So, here it is:
Ship of Slaves Carnival
Randy Martin looked around his empty waiting room. His was business dying, he owed people money and a hearing in two days would decide if he kept his license. Then, the holo buzzed. He answered, "Martin Investigative Services."
Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, his father's scowling image appeared, turned, looked down his nose and spoke. "Son, why don't you stop wasting your time and education and come work for me?"
Randy cringed. If he didn't need the work so badly, he wouldn't have answered the call. After ten minutes of his father's rant, Randy tightened his fists and exhaled. "I'm really busy this morning, Dad. Can we talk later, maybe over lunch in a few days? Call me. Got to go." He closed the connection and wiped his brow.
The holo buzzed again. This time he looked at the signal ID. His landlord. Randy answered.
"Good morning, Randy. I suppose you know I didn't receive my credit."
"I know. Business has been slow since the big stink about not revealing my source for the Desmond case, and I'm a little short." Randy waited for any response.
Finally: "Okay, I'll give you five more days before I petition for eviction. This isn't a charity, you know."
He knew. "Thanks for the time, Calvin. I appreciate it."
Just as the holo went dark, the waiting room door beeped, and he looked up at the office monitor.
A young woman, twenty-five max, entered. She wore a short skirt that ended more than a foot above her knees and a halter that she had to adjust to hold back its contents. Her shoulder length frizzy, blond hair made a perfect backdrop for her delicate, smiling face.
Randy poked his head into the room and smiled.
“Please come back into my office and have a seat.” He pointed to the couch across from his desk. The young thing entered, stood directly in front where Randy sat and adjusted her skirt.
“What can I do for you, miss?”
The woman's brown eyes looked down. “My name is Olga Stem, and I represent The Renowned Carnival of Everywhere. Are you familiar with us?”
Olga shook Randy’s hand and sat, placing her jacket next to her.
“I’m Randolph Martin,” he said. “I’ve been in this business for the last five years, and I guarantee my work. If you’re not satisfied, you don't pay. Your carnival is a cosmic menagerie, isn’t it?"
“Not exactly. We offer zoological gardens representing sentient beings in their natural habitat.”
“I think I read something about that. The aliens serve in the zoo under contract.”
“That’s right. We pay them, provide their transportation to Earth and do everything practical to create a legitimate, natural habitat.”
"What can I do for you, Ms. Stem? Why do you need a private investigator?”
Olga crossed her bare arms, took a deep sigh and leaned back. “We’ve lost one of our exhibits. The newest one, he’s left us--fled.”
“Tell me about your missing alien.” When Olga crossed her legs and readjusted her skirt, Randy had to catch his breath.
“Stangoné is a Mud Dweller from a distant system. He’s a little guy with a tail and cilia grippers instead of hands and feet. When my brother, Jonathan, our operations director, signed him, everything looked like it would go smoothly. The Dweller needed the money, and Jonathan provided him with a female companion as part of the package. The couple seemed to get along well. We wrote the contract for two years plus his star transit time, and he's been here six months.”
“Then what happened? Why did he leave?”
“I’m not sure. Jonathan thinks someone offered him a better deal, but his mate believes he's been abducted. I need him back here so he can finish his contract. Else, we'll have to find a replacement and that takes years.”
Randy looked at her again. She seemed sincere. "I’d need a thousand credits a day plus expenses. Can you afford me?”
“Not really,” Olga answered, “but Jon authorized me to hire you. We’ve never lost a delegate before, and this could ruin us. We spent a great deal of our financial resources advertising the exhibit, and now it’s gone.”
"I will need my money."
"Jonathan is making arrangements."
"Do you have any idea where I might find this Mud Dweller?"
"There's an old Vardiaan in the Australian Outback who's on Earth gathering exhibits there for his show in The Hub. It's an orbiting city above their home world, Vardiaa. That'd be my guess. He's a lowlife." Olga spent the next twenty minutes detailing her knowledge about the missing dweller, adjusting her halter and bringing perspiration to his forehead.
"Oh, the Outback. I really shouldn't leave the country. I have to appear in court in a few days. I really am sorry."
Olga stood and turned to his bookcase. "What's this?" She touched his old marksmanship trophy. "National Champion?"
"That was several years ago. I'll show you out."
He escorted her to the door where she shook his hand and stepped into a hover-bus. Returning, he flopped on the couch. Damn, he needed the work. With his forehead planted in his hands, he sighed.
That night his brother called, ranting and raving about his wife learning about the money Randy had borrowed. Allen needed it back now. Next day he found himself in a small restaurant, the Star Crossed Diner, sipping coffee across from Olga, again.
"I'll take the job. I changed my mind and maybe it'll be interesting. I will need to meet Stangoné's mate. I can get started right away, but I need to know more about these Dwellers.”
She smiled deeply, reached out and hugged him. "Thank you. I've heard so much about you; I didn't want to go to anyone else. I've been following you problems with the legal system." She blushed when she said she knew about the threats to have him jailed and his license removed, for protecting an informant. The softness in her eyes; was that kindness?
They sat, she spoke and he listened. He asked questions, and she answered. Finally he said, "Thanks. I'll call you if I need something more."
"I must warn you, though." Her expression turned grave. "Jae Basee is a dangerous man, a wild man of sorts. I've heard he's killed a lot of people. You must be careful."
Randy finished his coffee. "Olga, I'll be fine. I can take care of myself. No problem. I believe I can help you." Randy stood for a whole minute, before Olga looked up.
"Okay." She held out a credit slip, gave him a smile that would last him all day and then left.
Randy grabbed his hand-held computer, his coat and hat and boarded a hover-bus outside the restaurant's front door.
After enough time to browse a few holo-ads, he glimpsed the carnival as he landed. The alien reserve waited below, a large, wooded area bordered by the North American megalopolis. This place appeared a comfortable and inviting oasis in this world of steel, concrete and plastic. The transport dropped him at the gate where he paid to enter and walked toward the missing Mud Dweller exhibit.
Down a smooth, tiled trail with rails to limit access, Randy came to the first exhibit. Ghosts from the planet Medimos. One of the aliens sat in a chair on a grassy lawn in front of a modest dwelling. Randy couldn't quite focus his eyes on the fuzzy little guy who could separate himself into two identical parts, each occupying different time and space
He came to a second exhibit, the new one with the missing male. Mud Dwellers. Beneath the ground with a clear, overhead view through the roof, a series of tunnels in the mud rose to the top of the wet, brown surface. Inside, a lone female rested with her head face down in her palms. He called the house using the number Olga had given him. Minutes later the Dweller woman walked out of a doorway in the ceiling. She stood no taller than a child.
“My name is Randolph Martin, and I’m an investigator hired to find Mr. Stangoné. I hope you’ll help me?”
The little creature with a pretty, human face held up her--something where her hands should have been, but more like a fist of six-inch long wiggling noodles, or worms. He tried to shake her whatever, but she actually gripped his hand, and they shook. “I’m Ieason. Thanks for coming. How can I help you, Mr. Martin? If he doesn’t come back, they’ll close the exhibit and send me home. I need the money.”
“What happened to Stangoné? Where did he go?”
“I really don’t know. We were getting to know each other, and I thought the arrangement was working out. Then with no warning, he went out to swim in the mud and never came back.”
“That’s all?”
“He wasn't alone.” A small, lonely tear slipped down her face. "He walked away with a woman. The same human who was hanging on to that Vardiaan creep, Jae Basee, that approached when we arrived at the Alice Springs spaceport."
They spoke nearly an hour, going over everything she could think of, answering his questions. Randy shook her thing, shivered, thanked her for her time, smiled and left.
Two hours later, packed and ready, he sprinkled some fish food in their tank and said goodbye to his Blue Discus and Tin Foil Barbs. He'd be back tomorrow.
***
Randy's big mistake had been Harvard. If he hadn't gone, maybe chosen Minnesota or Kentucky, his father might not be pushing so hard, expecting so much. He wished. It felt like the world was crashing in around him. It just wasn't easy running a business when bad publicity was driving all the customers away. Even his mother had quit calling, no messages, nothing. If Mom had been herself, before her breakdown, she wouldn't have his father to treat him this way. But, his dad had shoved her out the door the same way he was pushing Randy toward becoming someone he wasn't.
Sitting in the sleek, individual seat, he studied his hand-held: police reports, personal information, traits, habits and general information regarding Basee and Vardiaans in general. The last three times he'd been seen had been near Alice Springs, and indeed, he'd been linked to a long list of killings. Then, an alarm announced their arrival.
Alice Springs. After three hours in a hypersonic transit tube, his body trembled with numbness from the ride. When he released himself from his restraint netting, he got out, he stepped up to the surface and steadied himself in the dry warm breeze. This guy he wanted to question was known to frequent lower class establishments, spend time in the streets and routinely set up public auditions for his show. Randy went into the streets to look for the sort of place where that kind of folk might gather. Then he saw a thirty-meter-tall holo, shimmering like the aurora borealis above the main street in the heart of town. Likely visible anywhere in the city, above thousands of rowdy, partying aliens, a series of words strung across the sky, first in Earthen, then other languages: Ship of Slaves Carnival auditions, tonight.
Randy arrived after a short turbo-ride. Pandemonium was the first word that came to mind. He remembered Olga's words: "The laws of each alien species applies in the Outback." The big holo overhead reminded him that slavery was still legal as hell on Vardiaa and consequently here as well. He'd also read that if a Vardiaan killed his own slave, it wasn't considered murder. Perhaps the reason no one had tried to charge him.
He pushed his way through Ghosts, Onionheads whose flesh molted as they walked, Ramasese, the winged blue-skinned born pregnant species that looked female but weren't, and others he couldn't identify. The blue maidens wore no clothing and looked sexy--but weren't. The crowds of these party animals flocked to beverage islands like ants around fallen sugar. His head spun from all the activity. He needed to find where the auditions were being held, so he worked his way to the nearest bar.
After a long wait, he placed both forearms across the counter, swallowed and looked the bartender in his palm-sized faceted eyes. Oh... The two-meter tall Scimenon looked down over his mandibles.
"Speak up or make room for someone else. I'm loosing money while you stand there with your head up your ass."
"A Heineken please."
The segmented insectoid with tri-pronged pincers handed him a brew with surprising grace.
"Thanks." Randy picked up his beer. "Where are they holding the auditions? I heard they might need humans."
"Not likely," the big guy answered. "There are still too many of your kind around here. Over there." The Scimenon pointed to a three-story structure less than a hundred meters away.
"Thanks." Randy pushed his way back through the crowd that filled the void he just left at the counter. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. He took no more than three steps away from the swarming mass of customers when someone gently gripped his upper arm. He turned.
"Hello, mister." A redhead, every bit as tall as Randy, looked him in the eyes. "I'm Naomi. You're looking for the Ship of Slaves?"
Randy nodded, not exactly wanting to advertise the fact.
"I know the main guy. We spent time together, sometimes."
I bet you do. Randy almost laughed, but he did follow the skinny, woman through the crowd. At least once, the masses shifted, sending a logjam of aliens right into him: some black and hulled, some small and some with such an obnoxious stench that he wanted to puke. He nearly stumbled back, but regained himself and moved on, the woman still by his side. Over the building entrance, a sign flashed "Ship of Slaves" in multiple languages.
She led him into a crowded atrium, wall-to-wall humanity, but he knew that wasn't the right word, not for a sea of aliens.
"Jae's office is on the top floor. If you want to meet him..."
Randy followed, through the pneumatic lift, a corridor and into a large room with humans. No--they were Vardiaan, seated behind large desks and a few thuggish looking men, also with pink eyes and pale faces, milling around. They looked like albino Earthens from the outside, but internally--all the differences in the world. Naomi spoke to one, turned around and pointed at Randy.
"Him!" She pointed at him like one kid blaming another.
Randy had been set up. Damn!
While Naomi went the other way, two men grabbed him by the arms and ushered him back through the door he'd just entered.
"What is wrong?" Randy tried to free his arms. "I haven't done anything." Both of them were stronger than him, and no matter how hard he pulled or pushed, he couldn't break free.
With silence as an answer, they carried him down the corridor toward a doorway and the end. Randy's heart began to race, and he had a very bad feeling about the rest of his day.
When both men let go, Randy turned, prepared to take advantage of whatever had saved him and the sight of Olga with a pistol the size of a small baseball bat aimed at both men floored him. He darted in her direction, but he could here footfalls coming fast behind him.
When her gun discharged, Randy glanced back. An area of floor the size of a pitcher's mound between him and the remaining man had vaporized. Olga dashed into the lift and two step later, Randy lunged in that direction as well.
About the time his head entered the passenger chamber where Olga waited, a laser burst, truncated by the closing door, cut a deep path through his leg. The lift dropped three floors before he recognized the growing pool of blood beneath him. A growing sensation of warmth and pain almost matched the anger in his heart. Loosing fluids like he was, he wouldn't make it long.
He looked up at Olga. He'd never be able to thank her enough for this. "Lock the door. I need a minute." He could hardly speak.
Randy took a deep breath, slipped off his belt and tied his leg above the wound. The horrible pain sent shivers through his body. Finally he made it to his feet and while Olga took him by the hand, he hobbled through the crowd.
An hour later, they'd come no closer to refuge. Against a building in plain view, he loosened and re-tightened his tourniquet. My God that hurt! A few more seconds to catch his breath, and they moved on.
Olga stopped and looked him square in the eyes. "You need a doctor."
He guessed she might have seen the tears in his eyes or the darkness of his leg. "I'm sure they're looking for us. We need to lay low. I have an idea."
Randy checked his hand-held and looked up. "There might be something up ahead, a block, maybe." Two blocks later they came to a storefront with an overhead holo: "Golden Paradise."
She gave him a dirty look as they entered the one place Randy thought no one would look. The pungent-sweet smell of ruined lives filled the air. He spoke to the little old woman who greeted them at the inner door. Cash credits for a room, a med-pack and some stuff. All the while, Olga's nails dug deeper into his hand.
When the entered their small room, both sat with backs against opposite walls and leaned against the tiny bed. "We should be safe here," he whispered while he released the deadly grip of his belt. Again, his blood flowed from his tingling, stinging half-numb leg. He opened the pack and wrapped it around the wound. Antibiotics, pain relievers, anticoagulants and tissue regeneration accelerators. Now, what he needed was rest.
Olga's anger must have subsided. "I followed you," she said, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear while the sweetish pungent scent of self-destruction crept into their room. The small lump of black tar he'd purchased to spend the night would still be in his pipe's bowl when the morning's next occupants arrived, but drew no one's gaze.
"You shouldn't have. This is a dangerous place."
She smirked. "And where would you be if I hadn't? And besides, I've come here frequently on business and had an appointment tonight, until I saw you and--that bitch."
"You know her."
"She came snooping around Stangoné's hotel room the night he arrived from the Dweller World."
Rand and Olga shared a few stories about themselves in the stench of burning opium from the other rooms. Finally the pain in his leg subsided, and he drifted off to sleep and ignored the hopeless humanity and alienity around him. He pitied them.
Morning arrived with a headache...and Olga's smile. Raised his finger to his mouth to shush her as she helped him to his feet. His leg, stiff but better, supported his weight. They moved out of the den, him limping and her, a bright spot in a sea of darkness.
You didn't have to go far in Alice Springs to find what you wanted. You just needed credits. Randy's head throbbed like he thought his leg should have as he entered the dark cellar store.
"Good morning." The tallish Onionhead, bald except for a single lock of long auburn frizz that dropped to mid-tunic, looked down. "I don't get many Earthen customers."
Randy smiled and showed his hand-held to the proprietor. The list he'd made last night: transit scooter, laser pistol, defensive vests, a rifle with sabot rounds, maintenance worker uniforms and information. "Andrew's Place." This shop sold everything. "I need both equipment and information if you can help me." While he spoke, he felt Olga's hand holding the back of his arm.
The vendor examined the list, rubbed his chin and turned back. "This will be expensive, especially the information."
"I have a rich friend."
Just after he felt Olga's fist poke him in the ribs, a clump of molting flesh fell from the vendor's forehead and landed on the floor. Randy suppressed the impulse to gag.
Nearly two hours later, Randy and Olga donned their new attire, left the shop, loaded the scooter and reviewed the information. A little nervous but determined, he throttled the drives and guided the sparkling, new Jetstream manually into the Alice Springs morning with Olga seated behind him with her hands around his waist.
The tower where he expected to find Jae rose against the horizon during their approach. Five stories tall, surrounded by a sea of concrete at its base, it stood alone, the only interruption of arid terrain in sight. He parked, stowed his helmet and turned to Olga.
"I wish you let me go in there with you. I'm a big girl, you know."
"No. I need to do this alone. Pick me up on my signal." Both synchronized the settings on their hand-helds. He watched her slip into the sky on the scooter and then turned to the building.
Randy checked in at the worker's entrance using his fake ID and worked his way toward the basement. He'd done this before. If you knew what you were doing and looked like you belonged there, you had a chance.
Working his way upward, he measured the airflow in the ducts on the third floor and found an access door to a crawlspace where he could work without uninvited eyes. He clogged the ventilation ductwork leading to the building's top level with a self-inflating balloon and stopped. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he re-entered the service hall.
He hadn't noticed his heart racing, but it was. Then a passing suit spoke.
"Morning, son. You new here?"
The Vardiaan's voice seemed more curious than alarmed.
"First day, sir. Just conducting airflow inspections. Once a year whether it needs it or not."
"You work for Lastima?"
"No, sir. I'm an outside contractor for Advance Environmental. I just came in on a scooter."
The suit nodded and walked on.
After ending the flow of cool air to building's top floor, Randy called Olga and worked his way toward the service entrance. Outside, under blue-white Outback skies, Olga sat on the back of the scooter, waiting. Her smile could light up a cave.
Randy stowed his gear and both zipped off toward Alice Springs and some coffee. They sat in a somewhat clean shop, sipped java and waited until the summer temperatures had enough time to make Jae's office unbearable.
"I passed by the holding cells on the third floor. My service pass opens the main door there. The place was teeming with slaves inside individual cages. I didn't see any guards but there were lots of holo-cameras."
Olga placed her hands on the back of his, which were face down on the table. "You worry me."
"Trust me. I'll be fine."
When Randy decided that they had waited long enough, they returned, she dropped him off and he went back inside.
The back entrance receptionist looked up. "You here again?"
"I won't be long. I just got called back."
Randy climbed into the turbo, and with a whoosh that pulled at his stomach he entered the top floor. His service pass opened the door into the VIP area and he walked into the master offices where the temperature was stifling and wet. He strode like he owned the place, past working office folk and a variety of aliens that seemed unusual even for the Outback.
A receptionist sat at a desk guarding a large office.
"The climate system is out up here?" He smiled. At thirty-three degrees C, they were miserable or already dead.
"Go right on in." She pointed to an aisle behind her desk. No guards, no thugs and no one had paid any attention to his brown eyes. He drew his pistol as he entered and held it behind his leg.
A man--no a Vardiaan sat behind a polished desk the size of most hover buses. Randy recognized Jae, who stood. In spite of his more dignified Extranet images, the pink-eyed executive with receding hair and thick black mustache still gave the impression of a thug. His crumpled white shirt, jeans, leather vest and bandanna clearly defined his personae.
"I need to work in here a few minutes and I think I can get this fixed. The main duct-way runs behind this office."
According to plan, Jae walked toward the entrance and Randy raised the pistol. "Stop, or I will shoot."
"What are you doing?" The Vardiaan glared.
"You have a Dweller on the second floor. I'm taking him back. I need the pass-key to your holding cells."
"And I'm going to let him go with you?"
"I'll leave with him and you can go on about your business. You haven't broken any laws here...yet, but murdering a human is illegal even in the Outback. Give me the pass." With the comm-system shut down for the top floor and the VIP turbo disabled, these aliens were isolated. The only way in or out was this floor's service door.
Jae placed the key on a table and moved away.
"If this works, I'll call your security and send someone up to let you out. Otherwise, we'll see how long you last with the temperature in here gets worse than outside."
"The key works."
Randy grabbed it, but something hit him hard on the back of the head. Stars swam in his mind while Naomi moved between him and Jae.
"I came to tell you, Jae, that the human might be back, but I see you know."
Randy raised his pistol again and Jae came right at him. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot an unarmed person in his own office. Before Jae reached him, the woman jumped him. The pistol fired, Naomi dropped and Randy fled for the service door, pulled it shut and leaned against the other side. Jae's grimacing face looked back through the clear, ceramic-steel window as the sound of his fists pounding against the door, echoed through the service hall.
Randy ran down two flights of emergency stairs and used the service key to enter the third floor holding area. A circular hallway surrounded hundreds of locked cells, and each step brought new aliens into view. Angry anxious creatures of all forms shouted and shook their fists and claws and finally a whatnot at him. The Mud Dweller.
"Stangoné?"
"In person," the little guy answered. "Jonathan sent you?"
"Olga." Randy place Jae's key into the slot. It opened, and he exhaled. "Let's go."
Randy and the Mud Dweller ran to the service hallway, jumped into the turbo and exited at the main floor. No guards, in fact no one, the place seemed empty. Thank God.
Ten minutes later, he rode off into the sky with Olga and the Dweller on the seats behind him. He rented a room with local credits, and while sitting on the floor, with his arms around Olga who sat with her back against his chest, the three planned the last leg of their escape till dawn. No one came.
Next morning, the three ate breakfast at the local pub and then headed for the hypersonic transit. Randy parked as near the tube entrance as he could and they walked toward the main station.
"I never thought I'd get back to the Carnival, or anywhere else on this world," Stangoné said.
"You have Olga to thank." Randy looked around them as he walked. "She could have chosen to replace you."
Olga remained quiet; perhaps the ordeal of the last two days had drained her. "You, milady are the hero of the day. Those thugs would have killed me if you hadn't stopped them." She was still one of the best lookers he'd ever seen, but what he liked was her loyalty and humanity. She cared about people and made him feel good.
With all the heavy equipment sold back to the dealer who would pick the scooter up later that day, they traveled light. Now, a modest sense of euphoria crept back inside him, pushing away the frustration of recent events. He even smiled.
The brilliant sky shone through ahead, an opening for hover-bus landings and fresh air without the effervescence of steaming oil and heavy CO2.
A flash of light announced laser fire and the warmth that spread across his chest. He looked at the others who seemed to be okay. Randy' heart began to pound, and two more flashes turned his chest hot as fire. He looked up; they were only shooting at him, but a head shot would kill any of them.
Jae and two armed thugs dropped from above wearing turbo packs.
"Get back!" Randy pushed his arms out before he dove for the cover of a parked bus. With his armor still burning his chest, he aimed the pistol he had planned to surrender at security and fired three times. Jae's body slumped and turbo pack slammed him head-first into an adjacent building at a hundred klicks an hour, exploding into a ball of plasma. The others fled.
A hollow feeling crept over him. He'd never shot anyone before, and today's events would likely stay with him as long as he lived. Contrary to popular belief, Alice Springs did have police. They arrived minutes later and cordoned off the area. They confiscated everyone's armor and weapons, checked everyone's identity and ushered them to their own private holding area, away from the other prisoners.
Initially it looked as though they be released, but someone had complained from Jae's desert tower and by the time the investigation had finished, Randy and Olga had gotten to know each other and six days had passed.
Randy returned home to good and bad. First and foremost, he and Olga had begun seeing each other. Perhaps the events of the last few days had caused them to bond. That was good, because now he had lost his license. That hearing he had needed to attend had gone on without him...at his expense.
He would never work for his father, but perhaps he'd use this experience to push him into some new direction. If his dad could build an Extranet empire in just five years, Randy could surely do something with his life. He knew he could. So, all in all he'd had better days, but he'd had worse ones as well.
While struggling with developing good plots for short stories, Ruve Draba suggested reading more James Frey. So I went through The Key with highlighters and sincere interest. When I finished, I have to say it was pretty good. The book is all about using the power of myth for plot development. I won't get into the details except to say it was thoughtful, comprehensive and helpful. The method requires quite a bit of structure and detail, and I'm not sure how you could use this in flash fiction, but I gave it my best shot for fixing an old short story that didn't have a storyline that made sense to anyone. So, here it is:
Ship of Slaves Carnival
Randy Martin looked around his empty waiting room. His was business dying, he owed people money and a hearing in two days would decide if he kept his license. Then, the holo buzzed. He answered, "Martin Investigative Services."
Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, his father's scowling image appeared, turned, looked down his nose and spoke. "Son, why don't you stop wasting your time and education and come work for me?"
Randy cringed. If he didn't need the work so badly, he wouldn't have answered the call. After ten minutes of his father's rant, Randy tightened his fists and exhaled. "I'm really busy this morning, Dad. Can we talk later, maybe over lunch in a few days? Call me. Got to go." He closed the connection and wiped his brow.
The holo buzzed again. This time he looked at the signal ID. His landlord. Randy answered.
"Good morning, Randy. I suppose you know I didn't receive my credit."
"I know. Business has been slow since the big stink about not revealing my source for the Desmond case, and I'm a little short." Randy waited for any response.
Finally: "Okay, I'll give you five more days before I petition for eviction. This isn't a charity, you know."
He knew. "Thanks for the time, Calvin. I appreciate it."
Just as the holo went dark, the waiting room door beeped, and he looked up at the office monitor.
A young woman, twenty-five max, entered. She wore a short skirt that ended more than a foot above her knees and a halter that she had to adjust to hold back its contents. Her shoulder length frizzy, blond hair made a perfect backdrop for her delicate, smiling face.
Randy poked his head into the room and smiled.
“Please come back into my office and have a seat.” He pointed to the couch across from his desk. The young thing entered, stood directly in front where Randy sat and adjusted her skirt.
“What can I do for you, miss?”
The woman's brown eyes looked down. “My name is Olga Stem, and I represent The Renowned Carnival of Everywhere. Are you familiar with us?”
Olga shook Randy’s hand and sat, placing her jacket next to her.
“I’m Randolph Martin,” he said. “I’ve been in this business for the last five years, and I guarantee my work. If you’re not satisfied, you don't pay. Your carnival is a cosmic menagerie, isn’t it?"
“Not exactly. We offer zoological gardens representing sentient beings in their natural habitat.”
“I think I read something about that. The aliens serve in the zoo under contract.”
“That’s right. We pay them, provide their transportation to Earth and do everything practical to create a legitimate, natural habitat.”
"What can I do for you, Ms. Stem? Why do you need a private investigator?”
Olga crossed her bare arms, took a deep sigh and leaned back. “We’ve lost one of our exhibits. The newest one, he’s left us--fled.”
“Tell me about your missing alien.” When Olga crossed her legs and readjusted her skirt, Randy had to catch his breath.
“Stangoné is a Mud Dweller from a distant system. He’s a little guy with a tail and cilia grippers instead of hands and feet. When my brother, Jonathan, our operations director, signed him, everything looked like it would go smoothly. The Dweller needed the money, and Jonathan provided him with a female companion as part of the package. The couple seemed to get along well. We wrote the contract for two years plus his star transit time, and he's been here six months.”
“Then what happened? Why did he leave?”
“I’m not sure. Jonathan thinks someone offered him a better deal, but his mate believes he's been abducted. I need him back here so he can finish his contract. Else, we'll have to find a replacement and that takes years.”
Randy looked at her again. She seemed sincere. "I’d need a thousand credits a day plus expenses. Can you afford me?”
“Not really,” Olga answered, “but Jon authorized me to hire you. We’ve never lost a delegate before, and this could ruin us. We spent a great deal of our financial resources advertising the exhibit, and now it’s gone.”
"I will need my money."
"Jonathan is making arrangements."
"Do you have any idea where I might find this Mud Dweller?"
"There's an old Vardiaan in the Australian Outback who's on Earth gathering exhibits there for his show in The Hub. It's an orbiting city above their home world, Vardiaa. That'd be my guess. He's a lowlife." Olga spent the next twenty minutes detailing her knowledge about the missing dweller, adjusting her halter and bringing perspiration to his forehead.
"Oh, the Outback. I really shouldn't leave the country. I have to appear in court in a few days. I really am sorry."
Olga stood and turned to his bookcase. "What's this?" She touched his old marksmanship trophy. "National Champion?"
"That was several years ago. I'll show you out."
He escorted her to the door where she shook his hand and stepped into a hover-bus. Returning, he flopped on the couch. Damn, he needed the work. With his forehead planted in his hands, he sighed.
That night his brother called, ranting and raving about his wife learning about the money Randy had borrowed. Allen needed it back now. Next day he found himself in a small restaurant, the Star Crossed Diner, sipping coffee across from Olga, again.
"I'll take the job. I changed my mind and maybe it'll be interesting. I will need to meet Stangoné's mate. I can get started right away, but I need to know more about these Dwellers.”
She smiled deeply, reached out and hugged him. "Thank you. I've heard so much about you; I didn't want to go to anyone else. I've been following you problems with the legal system." She blushed when she said she knew about the threats to have him jailed and his license removed, for protecting an informant. The softness in her eyes; was that kindness?
They sat, she spoke and he listened. He asked questions, and she answered. Finally he said, "Thanks. I'll call you if I need something more."
"I must warn you, though." Her expression turned grave. "Jae Basee is a dangerous man, a wild man of sorts. I've heard he's killed a lot of people. You must be careful."
Randy finished his coffee. "Olga, I'll be fine. I can take care of myself. No problem. I believe I can help you." Randy stood for a whole minute, before Olga looked up.
"Okay." She held out a credit slip, gave him a smile that would last him all day and then left.
Randy grabbed his hand-held computer, his coat and hat and boarded a hover-bus outside the restaurant's front door.
After enough time to browse a few holo-ads, he glimpsed the carnival as he landed. The alien reserve waited below, a large, wooded area bordered by the North American megalopolis. This place appeared a comfortable and inviting oasis in this world of steel, concrete and plastic. The transport dropped him at the gate where he paid to enter and walked toward the missing Mud Dweller exhibit.
Down a smooth, tiled trail with rails to limit access, Randy came to the first exhibit. Ghosts from the planet Medimos. One of the aliens sat in a chair on a grassy lawn in front of a modest dwelling. Randy couldn't quite focus his eyes on the fuzzy little guy who could separate himself into two identical parts, each occupying different time and space
He came to a second exhibit, the new one with the missing male. Mud Dwellers. Beneath the ground with a clear, overhead view through the roof, a series of tunnels in the mud rose to the top of the wet, brown surface. Inside, a lone female rested with her head face down in her palms. He called the house using the number Olga had given him. Minutes later the Dweller woman walked out of a doorway in the ceiling. She stood no taller than a child.
“My name is Randolph Martin, and I’m an investigator hired to find Mr. Stangoné. I hope you’ll help me?”
The little creature with a pretty, human face held up her--something where her hands should have been, but more like a fist of six-inch long wiggling noodles, or worms. He tried to shake her whatever, but she actually gripped his hand, and they shook. “I’m Ieason. Thanks for coming. How can I help you, Mr. Martin? If he doesn’t come back, they’ll close the exhibit and send me home. I need the money.”
“What happened to Stangoné? Where did he go?”
“I really don’t know. We were getting to know each other, and I thought the arrangement was working out. Then with no warning, he went out to swim in the mud and never came back.”
“That’s all?”
“He wasn't alone.” A small, lonely tear slipped down her face. "He walked away with a woman. The same human who was hanging on to that Vardiaan creep, Jae Basee, that approached when we arrived at the Alice Springs spaceport."
They spoke nearly an hour, going over everything she could think of, answering his questions. Randy shook her thing, shivered, thanked her for her time, smiled and left.
Two hours later, packed and ready, he sprinkled some fish food in their tank and said goodbye to his Blue Discus and Tin Foil Barbs. He'd be back tomorrow.
***
Randy's big mistake had been Harvard. If he hadn't gone, maybe chosen Minnesota or Kentucky, his father might not be pushing so hard, expecting so much. He wished. It felt like the world was crashing in around him. It just wasn't easy running a business when bad publicity was driving all the customers away. Even his mother had quit calling, no messages, nothing. If Mom had been herself, before her breakdown, she wouldn't have his father to treat him this way. But, his dad had shoved her out the door the same way he was pushing Randy toward becoming someone he wasn't.
Sitting in the sleek, individual seat, he studied his hand-held: police reports, personal information, traits, habits and general information regarding Basee and Vardiaans in general. The last three times he'd been seen had been near Alice Springs, and indeed, he'd been linked to a long list of killings. Then, an alarm announced their arrival.
Alice Springs. After three hours in a hypersonic transit tube, his body trembled with numbness from the ride. When he released himself from his restraint netting, he got out, he stepped up to the surface and steadied himself in the dry warm breeze. This guy he wanted to question was known to frequent lower class establishments, spend time in the streets and routinely set up public auditions for his show. Randy went into the streets to look for the sort of place where that kind of folk might gather. Then he saw a thirty-meter-tall holo, shimmering like the aurora borealis above the main street in the heart of town. Likely visible anywhere in the city, above thousands of rowdy, partying aliens, a series of words strung across the sky, first in Earthen, then other languages: Ship of Slaves Carnival auditions, tonight.
Randy arrived after a short turbo-ride. Pandemonium was the first word that came to mind. He remembered Olga's words: "The laws of each alien species applies in the Outback." The big holo overhead reminded him that slavery was still legal as hell on Vardiaa and consequently here as well. He'd also read that if a Vardiaan killed his own slave, it wasn't considered murder. Perhaps the reason no one had tried to charge him.
He pushed his way through Ghosts, Onionheads whose flesh molted as they walked, Ramasese, the winged blue-skinned born pregnant species that looked female but weren't, and others he couldn't identify. The blue maidens wore no clothing and looked sexy--but weren't. The crowds of these party animals flocked to beverage islands like ants around fallen sugar. His head spun from all the activity. He needed to find where the auditions were being held, so he worked his way to the nearest bar.
After a long wait, he placed both forearms across the counter, swallowed and looked the bartender in his palm-sized faceted eyes. Oh... The two-meter tall Scimenon looked down over his mandibles.
"Speak up or make room for someone else. I'm loosing money while you stand there with your head up your ass."
"A Heineken please."
The segmented insectoid with tri-pronged pincers handed him a brew with surprising grace.
"Thanks." Randy picked up his beer. "Where are they holding the auditions? I heard they might need humans."
"Not likely," the big guy answered. "There are still too many of your kind around here. Over there." The Scimenon pointed to a three-story structure less than a hundred meters away.
"Thanks." Randy pushed his way back through the crowd that filled the void he just left at the counter. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. He took no more than three steps away from the swarming mass of customers when someone gently gripped his upper arm. He turned.
"Hello, mister." A redhead, every bit as tall as Randy, looked him in the eyes. "I'm Naomi. You're looking for the Ship of Slaves?"
Randy nodded, not exactly wanting to advertise the fact.
"I know the main guy. We spent time together, sometimes."
I bet you do. Randy almost laughed, but he did follow the skinny, woman through the crowd. At least once, the masses shifted, sending a logjam of aliens right into him: some black and hulled, some small and some with such an obnoxious stench that he wanted to puke. He nearly stumbled back, but regained himself and moved on, the woman still by his side. Over the building entrance, a sign flashed "Ship of Slaves" in multiple languages.
She led him into a crowded atrium, wall-to-wall humanity, but he knew that wasn't the right word, not for a sea of aliens.
"Jae's office is on the top floor. If you want to meet him..."
Randy followed, through the pneumatic lift, a corridor and into a large room with humans. No--they were Vardiaan, seated behind large desks and a few thuggish looking men, also with pink eyes and pale faces, milling around. They looked like albino Earthens from the outside, but internally--all the differences in the world. Naomi spoke to one, turned around and pointed at Randy.
"Him!" She pointed at him like one kid blaming another.
Randy had been set up. Damn!
While Naomi went the other way, two men grabbed him by the arms and ushered him back through the door he'd just entered.
"What is wrong?" Randy tried to free his arms. "I haven't done anything." Both of them were stronger than him, and no matter how hard he pulled or pushed, he couldn't break free.
With silence as an answer, they carried him down the corridor toward a doorway and the end. Randy's heart began to race, and he had a very bad feeling about the rest of his day.
When both men let go, Randy turned, prepared to take advantage of whatever had saved him and the sight of Olga with a pistol the size of a small baseball bat aimed at both men floored him. He darted in her direction, but he could here footfalls coming fast behind him.
When her gun discharged, Randy glanced back. An area of floor the size of a pitcher's mound between him and the remaining man had vaporized. Olga dashed into the lift and two step later, Randy lunged in that direction as well.
About the time his head entered the passenger chamber where Olga waited, a laser burst, truncated by the closing door, cut a deep path through his leg. The lift dropped three floors before he recognized the growing pool of blood beneath him. A growing sensation of warmth and pain almost matched the anger in his heart. Loosing fluids like he was, he wouldn't make it long.
He looked up at Olga. He'd never be able to thank her enough for this. "Lock the door. I need a minute." He could hardly speak.
Randy took a deep breath, slipped off his belt and tied his leg above the wound. The horrible pain sent shivers through his body. Finally he made it to his feet and while Olga took him by the hand, he hobbled through the crowd.
An hour later, they'd come no closer to refuge. Against a building in plain view, he loosened and re-tightened his tourniquet. My God that hurt! A few more seconds to catch his breath, and they moved on.
Olga stopped and looked him square in the eyes. "You need a doctor."
He guessed she might have seen the tears in his eyes or the darkness of his leg. "I'm sure they're looking for us. We need to lay low. I have an idea."
Randy checked his hand-held and looked up. "There might be something up ahead, a block, maybe." Two blocks later they came to a storefront with an overhead holo: "Golden Paradise."
She gave him a dirty look as they entered the one place Randy thought no one would look. The pungent-sweet smell of ruined lives filled the air. He spoke to the little old woman who greeted them at the inner door. Cash credits for a room, a med-pack and some stuff. All the while, Olga's nails dug deeper into his hand.
When the entered their small room, both sat with backs against opposite walls and leaned against the tiny bed. "We should be safe here," he whispered while he released the deadly grip of his belt. Again, his blood flowed from his tingling, stinging half-numb leg. He opened the pack and wrapped it around the wound. Antibiotics, pain relievers, anticoagulants and tissue regeneration accelerators. Now, what he needed was rest.
Olga's anger must have subsided. "I followed you," she said, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear while the sweetish pungent scent of self-destruction crept into their room. The small lump of black tar he'd purchased to spend the night would still be in his pipe's bowl when the morning's next occupants arrived, but drew no one's gaze.
"You shouldn't have. This is a dangerous place."
She smirked. "And where would you be if I hadn't? And besides, I've come here frequently on business and had an appointment tonight, until I saw you and--that bitch."
"You know her."
"She came snooping around Stangoné's hotel room the night he arrived from the Dweller World."
Rand and Olga shared a few stories about themselves in the stench of burning opium from the other rooms. Finally the pain in his leg subsided, and he drifted off to sleep and ignored the hopeless humanity and alienity around him. He pitied them.
Morning arrived with a headache...and Olga's smile. Raised his finger to his mouth to shush her as she helped him to his feet. His leg, stiff but better, supported his weight. They moved out of the den, him limping and her, a bright spot in a sea of darkness.
You didn't have to go far in Alice Springs to find what you wanted. You just needed credits. Randy's head throbbed like he thought his leg should have as he entered the dark cellar store.
"Good morning." The tallish Onionhead, bald except for a single lock of long auburn frizz that dropped to mid-tunic, looked down. "I don't get many Earthen customers."
Randy smiled and showed his hand-held to the proprietor. The list he'd made last night: transit scooter, laser pistol, defensive vests, a rifle with sabot rounds, maintenance worker uniforms and information. "Andrew's Place." This shop sold everything. "I need both equipment and information if you can help me." While he spoke, he felt Olga's hand holding the back of his arm.
The vendor examined the list, rubbed his chin and turned back. "This will be expensive, especially the information."
"I have a rich friend."
Just after he felt Olga's fist poke him in the ribs, a clump of molting flesh fell from the vendor's forehead and landed on the floor. Randy suppressed the impulse to gag.
Nearly two hours later, Randy and Olga donned their new attire, left the shop, loaded the scooter and reviewed the information. A little nervous but determined, he throttled the drives and guided the sparkling, new Jetstream manually into the Alice Springs morning with Olga seated behind him with her hands around his waist.
The tower where he expected to find Jae rose against the horizon during their approach. Five stories tall, surrounded by a sea of concrete at its base, it stood alone, the only interruption of arid terrain in sight. He parked, stowed his helmet and turned to Olga.
"I wish you let me go in there with you. I'm a big girl, you know."
"No. I need to do this alone. Pick me up on my signal." Both synchronized the settings on their hand-helds. He watched her slip into the sky on the scooter and then turned to the building.
Randy checked in at the worker's entrance using his fake ID and worked his way toward the basement. He'd done this before. If you knew what you were doing and looked like you belonged there, you had a chance.
Working his way upward, he measured the airflow in the ducts on the third floor and found an access door to a crawlspace where he could work without uninvited eyes. He clogged the ventilation ductwork leading to the building's top level with a self-inflating balloon and stopped. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he re-entered the service hall.
He hadn't noticed his heart racing, but it was. Then a passing suit spoke.
"Morning, son. You new here?"
The Vardiaan's voice seemed more curious than alarmed.
"First day, sir. Just conducting airflow inspections. Once a year whether it needs it or not."
"You work for Lastima?"
"No, sir. I'm an outside contractor for Advance Environmental. I just came in on a scooter."
The suit nodded and walked on.
After ending the flow of cool air to building's top floor, Randy called Olga and worked his way toward the service entrance. Outside, under blue-white Outback skies, Olga sat on the back of the scooter, waiting. Her smile could light up a cave.
Randy stowed his gear and both zipped off toward Alice Springs and some coffee. They sat in a somewhat clean shop, sipped java and waited until the summer temperatures had enough time to make Jae's office unbearable.
"I passed by the holding cells on the third floor. My service pass opens the main door there. The place was teeming with slaves inside individual cages. I didn't see any guards but there were lots of holo-cameras."
Olga placed her hands on the back of his, which were face down on the table. "You worry me."
"Trust me. I'll be fine."
When Randy decided that they had waited long enough, they returned, she dropped him off and he went back inside.
The back entrance receptionist looked up. "You here again?"
"I won't be long. I just got called back."
Randy climbed into the turbo, and with a whoosh that pulled at his stomach he entered the top floor. His service pass opened the door into the VIP area and he walked into the master offices where the temperature was stifling and wet. He strode like he owned the place, past working office folk and a variety of aliens that seemed unusual even for the Outback.
A receptionist sat at a desk guarding a large office.
"The climate system is out up here?" He smiled. At thirty-three degrees C, they were miserable or already dead.
"Go right on in." She pointed to an aisle behind her desk. No guards, no thugs and no one had paid any attention to his brown eyes. He drew his pistol as he entered and held it behind his leg.
A man--no a Vardiaan sat behind a polished desk the size of most hover buses. Randy recognized Jae, who stood. In spite of his more dignified Extranet images, the pink-eyed executive with receding hair and thick black mustache still gave the impression of a thug. His crumpled white shirt, jeans, leather vest and bandanna clearly defined his personae.
"I need to work in here a few minutes and I think I can get this fixed. The main duct-way runs behind this office."
According to plan, Jae walked toward the entrance and Randy raised the pistol. "Stop, or I will shoot."
"What are you doing?" The Vardiaan glared.
"You have a Dweller on the second floor. I'm taking him back. I need the pass-key to your holding cells."
"And I'm going to let him go with you?"
"I'll leave with him and you can go on about your business. You haven't broken any laws here...yet, but murdering a human is illegal even in the Outback. Give me the pass." With the comm-system shut down for the top floor and the VIP turbo disabled, these aliens were isolated. The only way in or out was this floor's service door.
Jae placed the key on a table and moved away.
"If this works, I'll call your security and send someone up to let you out. Otherwise, we'll see how long you last with the temperature in here gets worse than outside."
"The key works."
Randy grabbed it, but something hit him hard on the back of the head. Stars swam in his mind while Naomi moved between him and Jae.
"I came to tell you, Jae, that the human might be back, but I see you know."
Randy raised his pistol again and Jae came right at him. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot an unarmed person in his own office. Before Jae reached him, the woman jumped him. The pistol fired, Naomi dropped and Randy fled for the service door, pulled it shut and leaned against the other side. Jae's grimacing face looked back through the clear, ceramic-steel window as the sound of his fists pounding against the door, echoed through the service hall.
Randy ran down two flights of emergency stairs and used the service key to enter the third floor holding area. A circular hallway surrounded hundreds of locked cells, and each step brought new aliens into view. Angry anxious creatures of all forms shouted and shook their fists and claws and finally a whatnot at him. The Mud Dweller.
"Stangoné?"
"In person," the little guy answered. "Jonathan sent you?"
"Olga." Randy place Jae's key into the slot. It opened, and he exhaled. "Let's go."
Randy and the Mud Dweller ran to the service hallway, jumped into the turbo and exited at the main floor. No guards, in fact no one, the place seemed empty. Thank God.
Ten minutes later, he rode off into the sky with Olga and the Dweller on the seats behind him. He rented a room with local credits, and while sitting on the floor, with his arms around Olga who sat with her back against his chest, the three planned the last leg of their escape till dawn. No one came.
Next morning, the three ate breakfast at the local pub and then headed for the hypersonic transit. Randy parked as near the tube entrance as he could and they walked toward the main station.
"I never thought I'd get back to the Carnival, or anywhere else on this world," Stangoné said.
"You have Olga to thank." Randy looked around them as he walked. "She could have chosen to replace you."
Olga remained quiet; perhaps the ordeal of the last two days had drained her. "You, milady are the hero of the day. Those thugs would have killed me if you hadn't stopped them." She was still one of the best lookers he'd ever seen, but what he liked was her loyalty and humanity. She cared about people and made him feel good.
With all the heavy equipment sold back to the dealer who would pick the scooter up later that day, they traveled light. Now, a modest sense of euphoria crept back inside him, pushing away the frustration of recent events. He even smiled.
The brilliant sky shone through ahead, an opening for hover-bus landings and fresh air without the effervescence of steaming oil and heavy CO2.
A flash of light announced laser fire and the warmth that spread across his chest. He looked at the others who seemed to be okay. Randy' heart began to pound, and two more flashes turned his chest hot as fire. He looked up; they were only shooting at him, but a head shot would kill any of them.
Jae and two armed thugs dropped from above wearing turbo packs.
"Get back!" Randy pushed his arms out before he dove for the cover of a parked bus. With his armor still burning his chest, he aimed the pistol he had planned to surrender at security and fired three times. Jae's body slumped and turbo pack slammed him head-first into an adjacent building at a hundred klicks an hour, exploding into a ball of plasma. The others fled.
A hollow feeling crept over him. He'd never shot anyone before, and today's events would likely stay with him as long as he lived. Contrary to popular belief, Alice Springs did have police. They arrived minutes later and cordoned off the area. They confiscated everyone's armor and weapons, checked everyone's identity and ushered them to their own private holding area, away from the other prisoners.
Initially it looked as though they be released, but someone had complained from Jae's desert tower and by the time the investigation had finished, Randy and Olga had gotten to know each other and six days had passed.
Randy returned home to good and bad. First and foremost, he and Olga had begun seeing each other. Perhaps the events of the last few days had caused them to bond. That was good, because now he had lost his license. That hearing he had needed to attend had gone on without him...at his expense.
He would never work for his father, but perhaps he'd use this experience to push him into some new direction. If his dad could build an Extranet empire in just five years, Randy could surely do something with his life. He knew he could. So, all in all he'd had better days, but he'd had worse ones as well.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Ruv Draba's Trainer-Wheel Recipe for Short Writing
RUV'S TRAINER-WHEEL RECIPE FOR SHORT WRITING
Ingredients:
A theme. This is an observation or idea, and will be the ‘point’ of your story. Your theme should be of the form ‘If X then Y’, or ‘When X, Y too’. Your theme can be anything. It doesn't have to be true -- just interesting, but you should have some reason to think it true. E.g. 'When cats stare at us, they're reading our minds.'
Notes:
1) If you're used to starting without a theme (with a character or situation instead say), please bear with me. Put your character or situation aside and start with a theme instead. It pays off later.
2) This is a strange form for a theme, I know. But it helps you slide your plot between X and Y.
3) If you want to write a genre story with this method, you need the right choice of theme. I have some suggestions for different genres below.
·
· A situation and a setting in which the antecedent of your theme (X) could be true.
· A Main Character (MC) who lives in that setting, and experiences the situation where X is true. Make this character interesting – a person, not just a role.
· An objective that the main character wants because of this situation. Make this objective somehow link to the antecedent X -- seeking something or avoiding something related to X.
· Some opposition to this objective, which makes getting the objective difficult or dangerous. This should emerge from the setting and situation, but it needn't relate directly to 'X'.
· The risk of disaster – something that may befall the main character, or people the MC loves if the objective is not met. Link the disaster to the consequent Y in your theme, and to the character and situation. The disaster might arise from Y happening, or from Y not happening.
You don't strictly need them before you write, but the following two ingredients help a lot (like Bread Improver if you're baking bread):
· An idea for a Climax scene – where the disaster must be fought or avoided
· An idea for an Ending and how the MC will feel. Does the MC succeed or fail? How will we know? Will the audience feel good or bad about this?
Method:
This method is meant to keep your short short and focused.
Write eight scenes at one line per scene. Each scene must feature your MC either attempting something difficult (action scene) or reacting to something new and significant (reaction scene). In listing the scene I often list the location too. (Note: the location doesn't have to change in each scene. The object of the scene is to crank the tension up a notch each time.)
To keep it short you have a scene budget as follows:
· Scenes 1-2 (Introduction): Introduce the character, setting and situation. Introduce the objective and opposition.
· Scenes 3-6 (Complication): Make the character’s objective difficult, dangerous or complicated
· Scene 7 (Climax): Here have the MC struggle mightily to prevent disaster from happening
· Scene 8 (Ending): Here, describe the aftermath.
If you want to meet a word count then divide the words by the number of scenes. That’s your average word budget per scene. (Note: these scenes don't have to change location. They each just move the tension on one notch.)
IMPORTANT GENRE COMMENTS
If you want to write genre using this method, you must start with the right sort of theme. If you pick the wrong sort of theme you may get something that looks like fantasy or horror or romance say, but doesn't feel like it. Try the following kinds of themes for these genres.
Fantasy: Write a theme about morality, psychology and society. Pick one that you can explore using interesting symbols. E.g. My theme might be: 'If we forgive too soon, we make things worse'. Forgiveness might be represented by a princess. Badness might be represented by an ogre.
Science Fiction: Write a theme about the 'people' face of technology or frontiers. 'Technology' could be machines or just methods and sciences. 'Frontiers' could be any place or state in which we're uncomfortable and out of our depth. Think about your theme from the perspective of a consumer, a victim or a pioneer, and make it something you could explore theoretically. E.g. 'If we could all read minds, we'd go mad from the amount of evil hidden inside us'. (This is a 'frontier' theme - breaking down the barriers between people)
Horror: Write a theme that focuses on exaggerating, inverting or perversifying something we want to believe. Make it personal and emotional. E.g. 'When your mother is at her kindest, she hates you most', or 'If you tick off a policeman, he can become the worst enemy you've ever had', or 'Cats are not pets in pitch dark'.
Mystery/Suspense: Write a theme that focuses on challenges to community expectations, social order or justice. Make it something that could be investigated factually. E.g. 'When parents give their children everything, then nothing has value', 'Sometimes the best revenge is to fail', 'If you can't find a motive, maybe there isn't a crime'.
Romance: Write a theme that focuses on morality, relationships and personal growth. Make it something you can explore from personal, emotional and sensory perspectives. E.g. 'When he always knows exactly what you want, it's because he's making you want it.' 'If you can't stop thinking about her then you're in love -- even if you hate her.'
WORKED EXAMPLE
For this example, I've chosen a SF story using my sample SF theme above: 'If we could all read minds, we would go mad from seeing the evil hidden inside us.’ (As I said, it doesn't have to be true - just interesting). Here is my choice of ingredients
Situation and Setting: It’s modern day in our world, and scientists make a breakthrough on a retrovirus that helps people read minds. The retrovirus works by increasing the production and connection of mirror neurons in the brain. (These neurons are thought to be responsible for empathy and learning - so maybe some autistic kids have problems with them?) Intended to help autistic children; the mind-reading is an unexpected side-effect.
Character: Mary Lee supports her young autistic brother Simon. (Note: she needs more character detail than just that, but this is just a sketch!)
Objective: She’s heard of Glass – the experimental retrovirus that’s supposed to help autistic children learn, and wants to get her brother put onto a course.
Opposition: While the treatment has near-miraculous results, the scientists insist on giving it to only the worst cases of autism, and only to the young. Simon is a teenager and not profoundly autistic.
Disaster: In cases where users already have near-functional mirror neurons, Glass gives them such high empathy that they can actually read minds. But this sends them mad and often suicidal – because human minds are actually far more nasty than we realise.
Climax: After getting Glass for Simon, Mary’s shocked that his rapid improvement is followed by terrible deterioration. In desperation she takes Glass herself to try to gain understanding of what’s happening to him.
Ending: Mary begins to see into peoples’ minds and she realises just how horrifically evil and selfish we are underneath. Horrifically, she realises that she is going mad -- as her brother already has.
Scene Outline (Action, reaction scenes are marked (A) and (R) respectively)
1. (Intro) At home, Mary struggles with the difficult task of helping her autistic brother Simon through dinner (A)
2. (Intro) At Simon’s special school, Mary hears about Glass – how one of the school children has improved, but how difficult it is to get on the program (R)
3. At the offices of the manufacturer (invent a name), and despite Mary’s strenuous arguments, Simon is refused entry to the Program on grounds of age and condition (A)
4. At work, Mary seethes over the injustice and fakes Simon’s application (Note: it might help if Mary’s job would assist this – eg a medical clerk) (A)
5. At home, Mary sees the marked improvement in Simon (R)
6. At home, as Simon starts to deteriorate, Mary tries helplessly to save him from self-harm (A)
7. (Climax) Desperate to save her brother’s life, Mary takes Glass herself to try to understand what he needs (A)
8. (Ending) Looking out with her brother’s eyes, Mary realises just how much evil is hidden in peoples’ minds – and prepares her own death and her brother’s (R)
COMMENTS
This method isn’t for utter beginners. You need a reasonable understanding of character, setting, narration, plot, dialogue and tension for it to work. It’s meant for writers who understand the basics, but are still having some trouble producing solid short story designs.
This is a learning method. The whole point of this method is to put some discipline and focus around the design process so you can think about other writery things (like themes and characters and settings and narrative and dialogue) instead. If you hate discipline and focus -- or if you already have enough discipline and focus through some other good method -- then don't even think of using this!
Using this method, key to getting a good story is to start with an interesting theme. If you're writing genre, you should realise that what makes genre feel like genre is common concerns and common treatments. Pick a theme that reflects a genre concern, and that makes it easy to treat using genre conventions. Regardless of whether it's genre or not, the theme should be easy to 'prove' when you set up the story.
Another key to a good short is to have the MC either change drastically or make a strong, definitive character statement just at the climax.
This eight scene structure is based on a conventional Three Act structure (Beginning, Middle, End), and adapted for shorts. You can make it shorter by dropping some middle scenes or even scene 2. You can also add some more middle scenes if the story requires it – but I find that 4 middle scenes makes a fairly happy medium.
Scene length may vary depending on story and style. It might be as few as 100 words, or as many as 1,000. It’s often good practice to try and make your scenes as short as possible, and pack the most punch into the fewest words.
Cut down, this method adapts okay for some flash fiction, but I wouldn’t try and beef it up for novella or novel design. I feel that it’s too inflexible and predictable to deal with the way that novels need to unfold. Use another method.
Using this method, you can produce some very capable, workmanlike shorts. But there are some shorts you can’t tell well in this structure, and there are many shorts that just tell better in other structures. However, once you have shorts popping out reliably, you can think about other ways to design and tell your story ideas.
I hope this is useful. If you try it, let me know how it goes!
I've reprinted this with Ruv's permission and hope you all find this useful.
Ingredients:
A theme. This is an observation or idea, and will be the ‘point’ of your story. Your theme should be of the form ‘If X then Y’, or ‘When X, Y too’. Your theme can be anything. It doesn't have to be true -- just interesting, but you should have some reason to think it true. E.g. 'When cats stare at us, they're reading our minds.'
Notes:
1) If you're used to starting without a theme (with a character or situation instead say), please bear with me. Put your character or situation aside and start with a theme instead. It pays off later.
2) This is a strange form for a theme, I know. But it helps you slide your plot between X and Y.
3) If you want to write a genre story with this method, you need the right choice of theme. I have some suggestions for different genres below.
·
· A situation and a setting in which the antecedent of your theme (X) could be true.
· A Main Character (MC) who lives in that setting, and experiences the situation where X is true. Make this character interesting – a person, not just a role.
· An objective that the main character wants because of this situation. Make this objective somehow link to the antecedent X -- seeking something or avoiding something related to X.
· Some opposition to this objective, which makes getting the objective difficult or dangerous. This should emerge from the setting and situation, but it needn't relate directly to 'X'.
· The risk of disaster – something that may befall the main character, or people the MC loves if the objective is not met. Link the disaster to the consequent Y in your theme, and to the character and situation. The disaster might arise from Y happening, or from Y not happening.
You don't strictly need them before you write, but the following two ingredients help a lot (like Bread Improver if you're baking bread):
· An idea for a Climax scene – where the disaster must be fought or avoided
· An idea for an Ending and how the MC will feel. Does the MC succeed or fail? How will we know? Will the audience feel good or bad about this?
Method:
This method is meant to keep your short short and focused.
Write eight scenes at one line per scene. Each scene must feature your MC either attempting something difficult (action scene) or reacting to something new and significant (reaction scene). In listing the scene I often list the location too. (Note: the location doesn't have to change in each scene. The object of the scene is to crank the tension up a notch each time.)
To keep it short you have a scene budget as follows:
· Scenes 1-2 (Introduction): Introduce the character, setting and situation. Introduce the objective and opposition.
· Scenes 3-6 (Complication): Make the character’s objective difficult, dangerous or complicated
· Scene 7 (Climax): Here have the MC struggle mightily to prevent disaster from happening
· Scene 8 (Ending): Here, describe the aftermath.
If you want to meet a word count then divide the words by the number of scenes. That’s your average word budget per scene. (Note: these scenes don't have to change location. They each just move the tension on one notch.)
IMPORTANT GENRE COMMENTS
If you want to write genre using this method, you must start with the right sort of theme. If you pick the wrong sort of theme you may get something that looks like fantasy or horror or romance say, but doesn't feel like it. Try the following kinds of themes for these genres.
Fantasy: Write a theme about morality, psychology and society. Pick one that you can explore using interesting symbols. E.g. My theme might be: 'If we forgive too soon, we make things worse'. Forgiveness might be represented by a princess. Badness might be represented by an ogre.
Science Fiction: Write a theme about the 'people' face of technology or frontiers. 'Technology' could be machines or just methods and sciences. 'Frontiers' could be any place or state in which we're uncomfortable and out of our depth. Think about your theme from the perspective of a consumer, a victim or a pioneer, and make it something you could explore theoretically. E.g. 'If we could all read minds, we'd go mad from the amount of evil hidden inside us'. (This is a 'frontier' theme - breaking down the barriers between people)
Horror: Write a theme that focuses on exaggerating, inverting or perversifying something we want to believe. Make it personal and emotional. E.g. 'When your mother is at her kindest, she hates you most', or 'If you tick off a policeman, he can become the worst enemy you've ever had', or 'Cats are not pets in pitch dark'.
Mystery/Suspense: Write a theme that focuses on challenges to community expectations, social order or justice. Make it something that could be investigated factually. E.g. 'When parents give their children everything, then nothing has value', 'Sometimes the best revenge is to fail', 'If you can't find a motive, maybe there isn't a crime'.
Romance: Write a theme that focuses on morality, relationships and personal growth. Make it something you can explore from personal, emotional and sensory perspectives. E.g. 'When he always knows exactly what you want, it's because he's making you want it.' 'If you can't stop thinking about her then you're in love -- even if you hate her.'
WORKED EXAMPLE
For this example, I've chosen a SF story using my sample SF theme above: 'If we could all read minds, we would go mad from seeing the evil hidden inside us.’ (As I said, it doesn't have to be true - just interesting). Here is my choice of ingredients
Situation and Setting: It’s modern day in our world, and scientists make a breakthrough on a retrovirus that helps people read minds. The retrovirus works by increasing the production and connection of mirror neurons in the brain. (These neurons are thought to be responsible for empathy and learning - so maybe some autistic kids have problems with them?) Intended to help autistic children; the mind-reading is an unexpected side-effect.
Character: Mary Lee supports her young autistic brother Simon. (Note: she needs more character detail than just that, but this is just a sketch!)
Objective: She’s heard of Glass – the experimental retrovirus that’s supposed to help autistic children learn, and wants to get her brother put onto a course.
Opposition: While the treatment has near-miraculous results, the scientists insist on giving it to only the worst cases of autism, and only to the young. Simon is a teenager and not profoundly autistic.
Disaster: In cases where users already have near-functional mirror neurons, Glass gives them such high empathy that they can actually read minds. But this sends them mad and often suicidal – because human minds are actually far more nasty than we realise.
Climax: After getting Glass for Simon, Mary’s shocked that his rapid improvement is followed by terrible deterioration. In desperation she takes Glass herself to try to gain understanding of what’s happening to him.
Ending: Mary begins to see into peoples’ minds and she realises just how horrifically evil and selfish we are underneath. Horrifically, she realises that she is going mad -- as her brother already has.
Scene Outline (Action, reaction scenes are marked (A) and (R) respectively)
1. (Intro) At home, Mary struggles with the difficult task of helping her autistic brother Simon through dinner (A)
2. (Intro) At Simon’s special school, Mary hears about Glass – how one of the school children has improved, but how difficult it is to get on the program (R)
3. At the offices of the manufacturer (invent a name), and despite Mary’s strenuous arguments, Simon is refused entry to the Program on grounds of age and condition (A)
4. At work, Mary seethes over the injustice and fakes Simon’s application (Note: it might help if Mary’s job would assist this – eg a medical clerk) (A)
5. At home, Mary sees the marked improvement in Simon (R)
6. At home, as Simon starts to deteriorate, Mary tries helplessly to save him from self-harm (A)
7. (Climax) Desperate to save her brother’s life, Mary takes Glass herself to try to understand what he needs (A)
8. (Ending) Looking out with her brother’s eyes, Mary realises just how much evil is hidden in peoples’ minds – and prepares her own death and her brother’s (R)
COMMENTS
This method isn’t for utter beginners. You need a reasonable understanding of character, setting, narration, plot, dialogue and tension for it to work. It’s meant for writers who understand the basics, but are still having some trouble producing solid short story designs.
This is a learning method. The whole point of this method is to put some discipline and focus around the design process so you can think about other writery things (like themes and characters and settings and narrative and dialogue) instead. If you hate discipline and focus -- or if you already have enough discipline and focus through some other good method -- then don't even think of using this!
Using this method, key to getting a good story is to start with an interesting theme. If you're writing genre, you should realise that what makes genre feel like genre is common concerns and common treatments. Pick a theme that reflects a genre concern, and that makes it easy to treat using genre conventions. Regardless of whether it's genre or not, the theme should be easy to 'prove' when you set up the story.
Another key to a good short is to have the MC either change drastically or make a strong, definitive character statement just at the climax.
This eight scene structure is based on a conventional Three Act structure (Beginning, Middle, End), and adapted for shorts. You can make it shorter by dropping some middle scenes or even scene 2. You can also add some more middle scenes if the story requires it – but I find that 4 middle scenes makes a fairly happy medium.
Scene length may vary depending on story and style. It might be as few as 100 words, or as many as 1,000. It’s often good practice to try and make your scenes as short as possible, and pack the most punch into the fewest words.
Cut down, this method adapts okay for some flash fiction, but I wouldn’t try and beef it up for novella or novel design. I feel that it’s too inflexible and predictable to deal with the way that novels need to unfold. Use another method.
Using this method, you can produce some very capable, workmanlike shorts. But there are some shorts you can’t tell well in this structure, and there are many shorts that just tell better in other structures. However, once you have shorts popping out reliably, you can think about other ways to design and tell your story ideas.
I hope this is useful. If you try it, let me know how it goes!
I've reprinted this with Ruv's permission and hope you all find this useful.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Spring's First Breath
I'm posting this because it's so cold outside.
Spring's First Breath
The woods' first spring breath
Ambles up my hill, clean and dry,
While a few birds bark their praise,
And a fox leaps toward the ridge.
My feline friends rest under the sun
Against a near windless afternoon;
My bare oaks silhouette a milky blue veil,
And far away highway sounds stray to my mind.
I remember dreams of tomorrow,
And why I love this place so very much.
Two birds far apart sing different songs to each other,
And then when it becomes music,
Silence pours over the hillsides.
Most of all, it is peace that fills me here
And the sunshine warms my face.
Spring's First Breath
The woods' first spring breath
Ambles up my hill, clean and dry,
While a few birds bark their praise,
And a fox leaps toward the ridge.
My feline friends rest under the sun
Against a near windless afternoon;
My bare oaks silhouette a milky blue veil,
And far away highway sounds stray to my mind.
I remember dreams of tomorrow,
And why I love this place so very much.
Two birds far apart sing different songs to each other,
And then when it becomes music,
Silence pours over the hillsides.
Most of all, it is peace that fills me here
And the sunshine warms my face.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
What aspect of writing proved most difficult for you?
Today, I'd like to pose a question for anyone with time to post a reply.
What aspect of writing proved most difficult for you and what did you do to get past it?
Larry
What aspect of writing proved most difficult for you and what did you do to get past it?
Larry
Monday, October 26, 2009
The books that most influenced my reading and writing.
Good morning,
Since the subjects of reading and writing can hardly be keep too separate, I thought today I'd list my top most influential books, mostly older. I’d love to hear which books most influenced you. Here goes:
The eleven most influential books I’ve read (I couldn't stop at ten.):
Last and First Men Olaf Stapledon
Foundation Series Isaac Asimov
Stranger in a Strange Land Robert Heinlein
Brave New World Aldous Huxley
Childhood's End Arthur C. Clarke
Lord of the Rings Trilogy JRR Tolkien
I Ching Unknown
The Book Alan Watts
Narcissus and Goldmund Hermann Hesse
The Stand Stephen King
The Mote in God's Eye Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
Larry
Since the subjects of reading and writing can hardly be keep too separate, I thought today I'd list my top most influential books, mostly older. I’d love to hear which books most influenced you. Here goes:
The eleven most influential books I’ve read (I couldn't stop at ten.):
Last and First Men Olaf Stapledon
Foundation Series Isaac Asimov
Stranger in a Strange Land Robert Heinlein
Brave New World Aldous Huxley
Childhood's End Arthur C. Clarke
Lord of the Rings Trilogy JRR Tolkien
I Ching Unknown
The Book Alan Watts
Narcissus and Goldmund Hermann Hesse
The Stand Stephen King
The Mote in God's Eye Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
Larry
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