Bad Boy Blogfest – William

Bad Boy Blogfest – William

Thanks to Tina Lynn for hosting the Bad Boy Blogfest! Click to look at the other entries!

So despite having a plethora of Bad Girls, I don’t really have many Bad Boys. Then I remembered I started writing a story that is a documentary (working title is “Bio”) about a man written ten years after his death. The concept is that William starts as a street punk, grows into some kind of terrorist/bad guy, then has some kind of revelation and tries to atone for his sins and is killed for those beliefs. I have about 14K written but I don’t know if it will ever be completed. Note this is rough first-draft material, and it’s told in retrospect.

William nestled himself down into the homeroom class chair, scanning the other faces in the room with hostile intent. Little did he know how much this day would affect the rest of his life. Most of the students kept their distance from him. Few dared to talk directly to him. Only the deadbeats and junkies would approach him. The aged and faded teacher brought the class to attention.

“Listen up! Today we have new student from Kansas. Her name is Kendra. I hope you all can assist Kendra in her way around school today.”

William had been staring blankly at his knuckles, calculating which terrifying phrase he should engrave. When he lifted his head to glare at the newcomer, his breath caught in his throat. Up to this moment in his life, women were simply something more to be hated. All his eyes saw up to now were wicked, greedy, selfish women. But here was a very flower, a beautiful lily in a sea of seaweed. Her hair grew short and light, her features small but clean, her eyes as bright at a bullet, her mouth a tasty treat. She shyly waved to the class before casting her eyes nervously on her neatly covered and labeled schoolbooks.

While the Principal and other school officials read off boring announcements and pronouncements, William locked his gaze on the girl’s small figure. Her apparel spoke of a wealthy upbringing, with the latest wireless gadgets and fancy computer controlled hair net garnishing her scalp. Part of William’s soul raged at what she symbolized: wealth, power, “good upbringing”, health. He imagined how “good” and proper she was. All throughout the class he glared at her profile. So clean and unmarked, in contrast to his piercings and body alterations. Her eager demeanor infuriated him. His mind filled with hateful images, of blood and strangulation, knives and nails. She represented everything he was not, she had everything he didn’t and her short flirtatious glances at the football guy did not escape his keen scrutiny. His lip involuntarily curled into a sneer. His rage consumed him and burned his heart black.

The moment the bell rang to dismiss the class, he rushed to the girl’s side, ready to find some immediate cruel way of welcoming her to his class. As he drew close to her, something stayed his hand. Something indescribable, something he had never felt before. Suddenly he stumbled for words.

“Hi,” he said to her meekly.

“Hi,” she replied, a friendly smile on her face. But that smile slowly faded as she took in the sight of the unkempt rebel. Numerous loops and studs pierced his facial features, and several tattoos littered his visage, including hate symbols. His clothes, mostly leather in various stages of disrepair and filth. An aura of cigarette and worse fumes arose from his body. One eye bore the mark of a recent struggle, pouting with black and green stains. Kendra slowly backed away from him, her friendly smile replaced with a curt, worried one.

“Need help finding a class,” he ventured.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I gotta run.” And run she did.

William’s face turned red upon hearing the mocking laughs of his class mates, but inside a terrible churning ripped through him. He clenched his fists in suppressed rage and stomped down the hall, determined to make this humiliation right.

My idea for Kendra is that she becomes his nemesis/mentor in later years and is the catalyst for his eventual reformation.

Breaking the Rules Blogfest – WTF?

Breaking the Rules Blogfest – WTF?

Thanks to Elizabeth Mueller for hosting the Breaking The Rules Blogfest! The idea is to highlight your crappiest writing from your past, showing how you used to break the “rules” of writing.

Well, I searched around for some crappy writing but it’s really hard to find docs I wrote some 20+ years ago, but then I remember I had written a small prologue (ding!) that is quite purple (ding!) with a strange typo (ding!) and makes little sense (ding!). At the time, I thought it was some of my best writing. I’ll let you judge. I believe this dates back to December 1988 although I might have edited more in the following years.

The blasted desolation of the North American Glacier crouched frozen in time, mute testimony to the psychotic destruction of dead ages past. A torrent of years swept across the huddled land, thrusting great glaciers skyward, a massive enematic[SIC] force. Pitiful, hopeless in comparison was the microscopic infestation which presumed to multiply in and upon the surface of the barren wasteland. The lethal climate beat upon this infection mercilessly, expending all its efforts upon destruction. Yet the miserable particles survived.

Deep below the layers of ice and dirt and bitter remains, a whispery, elusive force lay dormant, its forgotten glory like battered rags on its slumped shoulders. The infestation had danced and sang to its almighty song until it thrilled with ecstasy, never hearing the black dirge of death and destruction the tiny motes chorused. Not until now, when the only song brought to its withering consciousness was the fearsome wind, screaming across the barren wasteland in a fit of mockery. But it watched, and waited, while the hated radiation beat upon its infertile soil, while the last remnants of its finest achievement pleaded to survive one more day, one more hour, in a desperate struggle for life. The force waited, steeped in sorrow and shame, for the day when Spring would return, to try a new experiment in creation, correct the horrid errors of its past. But its last experiment still survived, and had no intention of being hurled back into creation's bleak mixing pot.

I have no idea what the heck all that means.

Character Interview Blogfest – Sophia Responds

Character Interview Blogfest – Sophia Responds

So after yesterday’s post, Sophia has been relentlessly hounding me for a response, so I conducted another interview. Sophia is the main character of Steam Palace.

ANDREW: Hello, Sophia. What’s so urgent that I must make another post?

SOPHIA: Thank you very much for your indulgence in my petition, Mr. Rosenberg. I shall drive straight to the point. I am quite upset at your portrayal of Miss Viola as an Evil Villain. Nothing could be further from the truth.

ANDREW: Okay…

SOPHIA: It is true that she is quite challenged, but I believe her to be good. She performs many heroic acts.

ANDREW: I know she’s your lost twin sister, and you feel you must defend her, but at some point you must open your eyes.

SOPHIA: No, it is you with eyes shut. You are always seeing the worst in people.

ANDREW: Sophia, in the last scene I wrote yesterday, Viola is holding a knife to your throat as you sleep. You are in denial about her true nature. You are an inherently good, loving person, and you refuse to see what is right in front of your face. Evil.

SOPHIA. Nonsense. Did she kill me? No. You want me to believe she is beyond repair, broken, a fractured soul. I do not—I cannot believe that. She can change. She can be redeemed.

ANDREW: Do you understand that this is what makes you the Hero? You would lay your life down for Viola, wouldn’t you.

SOPHIA: Not only would I, I nearly did if you recall.

ANDREW: Would she do the same for you?

SOPHIA: …

ANDREW: Well?

SOPHIA: Of course she would. We have had our differences, yes, but there is love and compassion in her heart. And I know deep inside she wants to change, to better herself. You could do this. You have the power to fix her, to set things right. Please, good sir, please have compassion for one of your characters and help set her on a better road.

ANDREW: You know I can’t do that. Viola is who she is. You need to accept that.

SOPHIA: And you need to accept that I will never stop fighting for her. No matter how evil you write her, how vicious and mean she becomes, I will always be there for her.

ANDREW: Even if she kills your aunt, your sister, or your mother?

SOPHIA: You would not write such things. Tell me you would not do that. Please, please, kind sir, do not do this to Viola. Even you are not so cruel. If you set her to such tasks, I will refuse to participate in this novel. I will simply sit and do nothing—I shall go on strike.

ANDREW: Are you beginning to understand what you’re up against?

SOPHIA: Yes, the most evil creature ever devised. The most hideous, despicable, and utterly gutless character in the entire Universe. The Author. I will fight you with every means at my disposal. In the words, on the pages, across the hard disk. You will not win this fight, Mr. Rosenberg. Viola will have her redemption, I promise you. And now that I see your thoughts, I will act to prevent such occurrences. Now I must be off. Good day.

ANDREW: Okay, Sophia, take care. And watch your back.

Character Interview Blogfest – Viola

Character Interview Blogfest – Viola

Thanks to Sangu Mandanna for hosting the Character Interview Blogfest. Follow the link to read all the other entries!

You might remember Miss Viola Willimante from other blogfests such as the Let’s Talk and Bad Girl Blogfests. So I decided to sit down with her and here’s the edited transcript of that conversation (I removed some of her more saucier language).

ANDREW: Hello, readers. Today we’re going to interview Miss Viola Willamante, a character from my latest WIP Steam Palace. Viola, could you tell my readers a little about yourself?

VIOLA: No.

ANDREW: Uh, hold on, readers. Viola, what’s up?

VIOLA: I’m a tad perturbed at how you are conducted the writing of your novel, so I respectfully decline.

ANDREW: Viola, you’re an important part of the story, and our gentle readers want to learn more about you.

VIOLA: So you can continue to portray me as some low-born gutter prowler? I think not.

ANDREW: You’re a huge part of the story. You make Steam Palace what it is.

VIOLA: Why not interview precious Sophia?

ANDREW: Oh, boy. Let me explain to the readers. Sophia is the main character, Viola’s twin sister in fact. Steam Palace is a chronicle of Sophia's adventures as she navigates the strange alternate history of North America.

VIOLA: You failed to answer my question. Because deep inside, you consider me to be the main character, not Sophia.

ANDREW: No, I just think the readers—

VIOLA: You invest vast amounts of energy on my character,  providing me with grand flaws and ribald passion. I bring the book alive. I suffer the most. I sacrifice the most. By all rights, I should be the Hero.

ANDREW: Yes, you are very flawed, but I—

VIOLA: You have challenged me with steep mountains and great challenges. What has Sophia ever achieved? Ever lost? Why does she even appear in the book?

ANDREW: Viola, I don't know how else to say this, but you're not the Hero. In fact—

VIOLA: Well, I should be. What does Sophia have that I do not? You said yourself that we are identical.

ANDREW Viola! You need to face facts. You are not the Hero. You’re—well—you’re the Villain. You are Sophia’s greatest challenge.

VIOLA: Ha ha ha ha. Snarf. Oh, I understand. It is that “Evil Twin” meme, is it not? How many posts have you crafted railing against it, how you despise and loathe Evil Twin as a cheap gimmick? So, I am Sophia’s Evil Twin. Excellent. She is good where I am bad. She is sweet where I am cross. She loves where I hate. Predictable. Well, it reeks of foul putrefaction. I am not the Villain. The true Villains are the Duke and the Fuhrer. I save the day. I am the Hero. I would wager more readers care about my story than hers.

ANDREW: Okay, name one way you’ve changed during the course of the book.

VIOLA: Change? For heaven's sake, why would I do that?

ANDREW: Because that's what Heroes do. Yes, you are the most interesting character by far. You outplay Sophia from time to time. But she has the capacity to transcend things, to forgive, to change her way of thinking, to rise above the muck.

VIOLA: Sophia is a one-dimensional caricature. “Ooh, poor me, I am but a lowly milkmaid seeking more. I shall ‘Mary-Sue’ my way to becoming Queen.” It shares the redeeming qualities of rat urine. You know why I do not alter my outlook? Because I know who I am—a top-tier temptress and a vengeful adversary. I take what is mine and I care not whom I hurt. I do not care who dies.

ANDREW: Does that include Charlotte?

VIOLA: …

ANDREW: Well?

VIOLA: That was a cruel blow. She did not have to die. And now I must carry on as if it never occurred? I intend to make the rest of your manuscript writing a living hell. Everything that Sophia does, everywhere she goes, I will be there to ruin it. Do you comprehend my position? You gave me hope, and then yanked it away. I hate you, you [redacted]. This interview is over. Good fortune finishing the revision, [redacted].

ANDREW: Viola, wait! Damn. Well, readers, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed our little chat. Now I need to run off and calm Viola down before she does some serious damage…like deleting every chapter Sophia appears in or changing Sophia’s name back to Prudencia or over to Hortense. Thank you for listening.

NEW! Sophia responds to this interview!

Title Blogfest – Steam Dawn’s Singularity Palace Rise Matrix

The Next Top Title Blogfest

Thanks to Slushpile Slut (love that name) for hosting The Next Top Title Blogfest! Follow the link to view all the other entries.

The rules are: No background, no log lines, no information. Just 3-5 titles. Okay, maybe I’ll explain in the comments. Well, here we go.

Steam Palace

Steamerica

Pride, Prejudice, and Goggles

Sophia Stratton and the Fury Lords

The Stratton Chronicles. Book One: The Fury Lords

Okay, after I posted this, I thought the last couple sounded too YA so I had to add a really raunchy one:

The History of Steam Sluts of the Early 20th Century

Well? Well?

Suggested by Valerie:
Sense, Sensibility, and Steam Sluts

More Ideas:

Corsetocracy

Sophia Stratton and the Search for the Sea Key

Tea, Corsets, and Brass Goggles

Steam Twins

 

Dream Scene/Beach Scene Blogfests – Dawn’s Rise

Dream Scene/Beach Scene Blogfests – Dawn’s Rise

Thanks to the great Amalia T. and the powerful Rachel Batemen for hosting the Dream Sequence and the Beach Scene blogfests. I have a scene that (hopefully) satisfies both!

Turns out that Steam Palace has neither beaches NOR dreams (what’s wrong with me?). So I had to go back a couple WIPs to Dawn’s Rise. Here, our heroine has just fallen and hit her head, and she wakes up to experience some weird dreams, one of which occurs on the beach!

 Where am I?

Towering fir trees menaced her, extending up to the sky. A mat of soft moss tickled her fingers.

Great, I’m dead.

Dawn gesticulated and then poked her skull. “Location. Map me. Call Rose.” Her implants remained silent and blank.

“Come on!”

A chilling breeze rustled the trees, prickling her skin and showering Dawn with needles. She rubbed her arms and stood, studying the verdant forest for signs of civilization.

I’m not dead. Trees bent and branches snapped from a sudden gale. I’ve seen this before. A tree splintered in a loud crack and slammed the ground mere feet from Dawn. Wind rumbled and moaned.

Dawn scrambled among the swaying trunks. A gap under downed tree beckoned. Dawn huddled, shivering in the freezing air. “Come on, this is enough!” Her breath blew clouds of steam as she panted.

The wind snatched her words away. Trees bent and creaked, snapped and fell. A tremendous rush of air tugged her, clawed her, and then yanked her up into the sky. Trees scattered like twigs blasted by a leaf blower. A hail of snow whited out the world, clinging to her with numbing cold.

A vast cityscape appeared. The slush coating her limbs slid off. Yet Dawn flew, suspended in the air. Her heart pounded and her arms swam through the sky, seeking anything to grasp.

What’s happening to me? It’s a dream, it must be. Or a premonition. She gasped for air as the city sat far below. It’s happening again. The night monsters. The violent days are coming, days of disaster and death. She swallowed. Her medplants had kept the terrors at bay for years. No. Not coming. The truth of it slammed her bones. Those days are here.

She covered her eyes, but the vision remained. The murmur of normal city life bubbled up, cars and planes and construction. Picturesque skyscrapers soared above the nearby clouds. Her gut clenched. Those days are here. “Nonononono. Please! I don’t want to see it!”

The spires swayed, shudders rippling along their flanks. The glass blew out in a haze of white, and then the concrete exploded into clouds of dust. Spires toppled sideways; others sank into the streets in boiling cauldrons of death. Dawn reached out as if she could grasp the towers and pull them back. Screams and cries shivered Dawn’s soul as the city disintegrated into dust in a massive quake. “No, no! Stooooppp!”

Dawn twisted and wriggled but nothing ended the destruction. She plummeted.

Burning sand seared her skin. Dawn jumped to her feet and hotfooted it to the shade of a palm tree, blowing on her blistered hands. A turquoise ocean lapped against a white sandy beach, but Dawn recalled this scene from the blanket-tearing dreams of her childhood. The sun blazed overhead. It’s here. It’s here. Nothing can be done. The low hum of a motorboat pulled her gaze to the ocean where a parasailor practiced, his rainbow-printed chute billowing out behind him. She studied the figure, an element she had never dreamed of before. The smell of salt wafted on the light breeze. Dread crept up her spine. The parasailor’s chute snapped and he plunged.

“No!” Dawn raced down the beach, ignoring the blistering of her feet. This is a sign, a signal. He must be rescued. She plunged into the waves, the warm waters supporting her body. The waves grew in size and force, until she battled boiling waters. A vast curling wave collapsed, driving her down into the depths. Where is he? Where is he? Burning liquid consumed her lungs as her breath escaped.

Dawn convulsed, seawater pouring out of her mouth. She dripped with liquid and coughed up more. An ugly landscape surrounded her. Smoldering ruins lay crumpled on the ground, nothing but empty skeletons of buildings and vehicles in all directions. A murmur arose. Huddled figures approached her. “Dawn,” they cried. “Dawn, Dawn, save us.”

They sported terrible injuries, weeping sores and matted blood, with only primitive wrappings to protect them. Their ribs protruded through their tight skin, and their eyes sunk into their skulls. They approached Dawn, their hands reaching towards her. Dawn jumped and backed away. Her legs shook and her breath wheezed and gurgled.

“Please, stop. Stay away from me, I can’t help you. This isn’t real. None of this is real.” But it is. This is all real. Their hands grasped her clothes and the stench of unwashed bodies and infected wounds sickened her.

Blinding light swept the sky. Pure heat slammed the ruined city. The supplicants’ flesh ignited, burning them to skeletons. Dawn’s own hands flamed to bone and dust, yet she continued to witness the scene.

The ground shook and an ocean half a mile high tumbled across the landscape. It washed over the city, covering it in black waters, and then receded, leaving nothing but an empty plain of mud in its wake. It has come. It has come. All this has come. The Days are here.

Dawn screamed.

My Favorite Ken Griffey Jr. Moment

My Favorite Ken Griffey Jr. Moment

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this important post.

Yesterday, Ken Griffey Jr. announced his retirement. He’s the greatest baseball player I’ve ever seen, and I was privileged to witness in person most of his greatest moments, including The Double, where he scored the winning run against the hated Yankees. (see picture below)

But my favorite moment came a few years later. The night of April 30, 1999 was my bachelor party. As a Seattle Mariners Season Ticket Holder (as I still am today), the night would not be complete without a trip to the Kingdome to see the Mariners take on the Toronto Blue Jays. Of course, as these things go, we didn’t arrive until the bottom of the eight inning. We got some cheap seats in the outfield. By the time we made it to our seats, up stepped Ken Griffey to the plate as if on cue. Friday night, bases loaded, one out, down by two runs, and all thirty thousand fans were up on their feet screaming.

First pitch swinging and it was get out the rye bread and the mustard grandma, it’s grand salami time! (It was a grand slam).

I consider that Ken Griffey Jr’s wedding present to me. The next five batters were retired in order and the game was over, but the bachelor party continued.

Thank you for everything you’ve done, and I can’t wait for your Hall of Fame Induction!