Monday, December 28, 2009

Christmas Vacation

I'm starting to think Paris Hilton can pull off Magenta if that Rocky Horror remake is ever done. Don't believe me, check out Repo: The Genetic Opera, if you had told me Paris would be in one of my soon to be favorite movies, i would have laughed and scorned. Next Digression

My alarm clock is gone, rolled away in a sheet of plastic bubble rap to be opened after New Years, praise be to holiday vacations. I go back to work on the 5th, in the meantime, there is shopping to dabble in, Dragons Age Origins to be played, and Dark Shadows is in the mail. Next Digression

Doctor Who, and the inconvenience of the End of Time, not to mention a Buffy flashback or two. Praise Andrew and his favorite Bond, Timothy Dalton, mines Sean Connery. I love Obama as much as the next non-committed person, he's ok, but why are people in England hoping that he has the power to save them from this nasty recession. Like Obama is on tv tonight, and the recession will be over with his great plan, he's going to save us. No, Doctor WHO is going to save us that's why I'm watching this thing called Doctor Who, not Doctor Obama, but i could use a little Doctor Paul. Someday, someone is going to do something about Obama not passing your basic spellcheck, it's been a year already, and I'm tired of seeing Obama signaling he's been misspelled. I may be a minority here, but i don't mind when things don't stay dead, i love those swooping in to ruin your day spiels. I'm crossing galaxies just so i can kick your ass.

It fills be with an urge to cuddle.

All the redlines under Obama have just vanished, should i be praying, a sign of God this.

Other than that, and Catherine Tate being around for ten seconds before the headaches came, she better be front in center next time, because you see, I'm in love. AM I BOVVERED

Then there was June Whitfield, and i was excited maybe Patsy Stone would stop in to give the good Doctor a slash. Ah, i love British TV cause at some point you get to see everyone again. The Digressions are over.

I'm looking at two sections, and then I'm done. Thursday and Friday, the setup may not be entirely original, but it works for me. Strict order for what is going to be a multiplexed ending. The interludes throughout the book take place on Friday, the day when everything happened, and our friends are making their way north to O'Hare, and getting acquainted with each others fallacies. TEH FANCY

I made this very hard for myself, keeping control of a big cast, and the way i cut up the time zones. Jake and company race to O'hare while recounting the events that led to that fateful Friday full of drugs, contempt, and the usual disdain for central authority. With a few stops for cross words, petty crimes, and recreational refreshments, our trio makes it to the Windy City as the trains arrive, dropping off their cargo that survived the calamity down south. Until that point, Jake was ready to tag along with whatever magical destination Rain/Ozma had in mind, but with a bout of melancholy and an opportune brain fart, Jake leaps off the top of a luxurious grand patio, and beats it. It was one of those moments where the story took over from what i had in mind, a thankful occurrence. I had planned on all three taking the blueline into the airport, racing upstairs to yada yada yada. I'm not ready to talk about that yet, only the events leading up to it.

The scene on the blueline is partly written, like saintly anti-authoritarians, they dump the remaining passengers at Rosemont, god that must suck, and take control of the train, tearing it from the tracks to crash into the danker parts of the airport. No one notices, why, because everyone is upstairs dealing with Mark Tavers, and his anti-authoritarian scheme. A little late to the party, but that will be the least of Jake Fastet's problems.

Anyways, besides that garbled mess few will understand, Jake ran away from Ozma. Turns out it makes my ending a little easier to manage, and adds another conflict. God, the race to DC should be very interesting, but Thursday and Friday have to be finished first.

I had a big problem. I had fifteen pages of material that i was about to trash, the mood, the location, all seemed wrong, what was the point of going back to class, and sitting at a desk with the events of the last few days under his belt. If you're leaving town on Friday, beggar the consequences, then why go to class on Thursday? See my problem, but someone must be watching out over me, it took a week, finally, i figured it out. Just delete a few names, he didn't go to class, just switch it around a little, and Viola, character development for Doctor Morrison. Not sure what he and Jake have to talk about, but he only has one more day to do it. He's the only person from the Government under the stairs that is still down there, the rest have moved on to Chicago to study/poke at Mark Tavers.

Then there's the other half of Thursday still to be done, the ghost with the laptop, and Jake's last few moments alone.

That's my plan for this week, finishing Thursday. Until next time, laters

Monday, December 7, 2009

I was on my way home thinking about Chapter 17

The snow that i was so excited about this morning was already gone, but i still shook my boots as i got out of the car. It's proper to be ready for when it gets worse and worse, soon I'll be wading through snow, watching as it shifts through the streets like dirt from a shiv. Imagining how it will look when it passes under the carriages of the passing cars while realizing nothing looks familiar. Due to cuteness, not the cold, i don a pair of ear wraps and black gloves, already that routine is embraced. The harsh air has never been kind to my hands. It's still early winter where the cold offers comfort, instead of rushed bitterness, the hurry and get done pursuit, because it's just too cold. The cold where things die. This cold dies upon touching your medium jacket, and if you were clothed as i was, with gloves and sleeves, then i say, you'd probably didn't feel much of it at all. You could be, as i was, free to look at the gray sky, and wonder if this was perhaps England. Where the sky is permanently gray, and the sun is half covered, kept in check.

For a Monday, it was peaceful, almost serene. Words, conversation, flowed effortlessly from my lips. There was no lag, or slag, it was a Monday made for confidence, carrying me through the day.

When all that was over, the last line between duty and leisure about to be crossed, i noticed the building door was open, and everything was dark.

Pushing it all the way open, i stepped on the pieces of the lock that had been broken off. It was then i realized no one was in the building except me. All the other apartments were vacant, in the distance i heard dogs barking, but these were petty, more yips and yaps. My phone rang breaking the silence, and i scrambled to find a light switch as i heard feet fleeing down the stairs. I looked up, the light from my phone showing two dimly lit and dimly moral'd people. Later, i would learn they had a crow bar in their hands, but for now i was stuck, frozen. Panic time lasted only a brief second, but thinking back it was more like stupid time, because i was still stuck. The red and blue of their jackets struck me as they raced out, braver than i ever was, only now noticing how young they were.

Someone had tried breaking into my apartment, the conclusion no longer hesitating to cross my mind. The first time dialing an emergency number on my phone wasn't an accident, stupid blackberry, refreshingly talking to a stranger, eager to impress.

"The cops will be right over."

Then i checked around the building, ignoring official advice to stay put, but i was the girl who goes upstairs and the guy who checks the basement. All was there, and nothing more.

The cops wanted the landlord, and not me, a little crusted, a hot cop would have brightened my day. they wanted to leave, no owner no problem, we go. They might as well have used broken English to accent their intent. Seems that i caught the burglars in time, before they could go into other apartments, other doors, and since the only door they broke belonged to the landlord, it was him they wanted or they would just go.

So they left, and i wondered if i should be scared of the rest of the day or maybe tomorrow. But i never take these thoughts seriously, believing deep down every person thinks of peace. Naivety always has been my downfall, but that is a problem for another day, not even tomorrow.


This is all true, and i normally do not write this way.

But i wanted to try something different, a little bit of nature. I always love first snow, and wished it had snowed all day. So i could stand in the flurries, smoking a square, before it gets too cold, before the ice.

Friday, December 4, 2009

The Government Under the Stairs and the road to completion

Just checking in to drop off a quick passage, heroically, i would label this as my beginning of the end narrative part 2. Just fifty pages later, I can never make up my mind with how close to the end i am. I have a few hesitations before i can say this chapter (16) is good to go. Language, something is just not right, one character is fine, Rebecca Fastet was never meant to take a commanding lead in this chapter, just a brief reminder that she is still alive. I never expected that Jake's mother would have a bigger part after she was debriefed way back in chapter 4. But without her, the last chapter wouldn't be tantalizing as i hope.

My problem, i think, is the Downstairs President, how i identify him, and his lack of qualities. He doesn't strike me as anybody. This probably stems from my not having any planned use for him after this chapter. It's nice to star in one chapter, most get nothing, but I'm sure he will pop up again, just not until I'm done with this book. After chapter 16, the only time he pops up again is in a recon scene that I'm not even sure will be kept. This is a long chapter, with all the micro events that play out here, I'd think I'd be more comfortable with this character. I need to realize who he is, so far he's just generic secret underground boss guy, and i can do better than that.

I will leave you with the pot hole narrative, heralding chapter 16. Stressed out, I leave you this Friday night so i can hash this out, and nurse my crush on the new guy at work.

Remember friends, don't shit where you eat.

Peace

I agree, it’s abrupt, especially, considering the last time you saw me, I was walking out of Rain’s rented room in my old, albeit brief, friend Chad’s house. Maybe you were expecting something different, like a sign of a conclusion, but I regret to inform you it is time for another change of scenery, inconvenient, but necessary. There is one more cast of disreputable characters, then, and I promise, I will tell you what caused me to leave Southern, racing North destination unknown. We shall see if Chad’s vision has any bearing on reality, if Maddy and Box get there in time, and just when will Angel and Vasili arrive to haul my ass to hell. If it proves too much, then let me provide a heads up, even after the events in Southern, this story is just starting. At the time, all signs pointed to this being a trippy adventure, a few psychedelics here, being thrown through a building there, and street fights in the sky. I was wrong, later, months later, when I finally stood in the Office of the President of the United States, and I saw no amount of validation would ever keep me as sane as that man in the chair who lost his. I looked into the president’s eyes and knew I was fucked; this road would take me much farther then one world. It takes many people to establish control in this world, from the aggressors to the get along crowd more commonly mislabeled as sheep, and all the lives caught in between. It is my hope to put an end to the control that many strive to safeguard, the system, which many people unwillingly prop up in our daily attempt to make it through another day. Our daily grind feeds, and nourishes Leviathan.

At this point in our story, I must return you to that segment of antagonistic delight that I comically refer to as the government under the stairs. They were the ones behind the raid on my house as I was conveniently trying to slip away to make my train. Angel’s abode was also victim to their nefarious door busting ways. To make matters obscenely worse, my mother works for them. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry, but they are big, bigger than any other government entity I have ever learned to despise. The IRS, bigger, and unbelievably more sinister, they have similar powers, but the downstairs people have farther reach, and use of the army. Thankfully, the IRS doesn’t have the military at their disposal, yet. Every federal police agency, pick any three letter, even them, can be reallocated and directed on a whim, to add in the wicked tasks that governments feel compelled to dabble in.

Of utmost distinction, the government under the stairs has supernatural levers. Imagine the pork handling, regulatory enforcing, or those confiscating gritty mitts with magical tools at their command. It is time to see how they plan to put their skills to use, and more importantly, how much do they know about what is going on in Southern, who are they keeping tabs on in Chicago, and it would be nice to see how my mother is doing.