Ask the Madame. She does continuity.*
Life: Worked out standard error for densities, copped out on doing the same for Jacobs' Indices because I don't wanna and have no idea how I'd go about it anyway. Edited article so it's pretty from Cover Page to Discussion header. Still missing a lot of results and maps, which, woe.
Nano: Win. Plot hasn't advanced, but we've learnt more about Chip's paranoic "think the worst of people because they may just want to kill you" thought process, and have a dream which sorta kinda flashes back to an outbreak. Only I got carried away with coffee and mitten imagery, and of course it's a dream so it doesn't make sense and run-on sentences and comma-abuse are the norm. Obviously. Next scene, the angel, I swears! And I just need to note that at one point Saunders and Agatha are going to show that they have dealt with bad people before and can deal pretty well. Also, Chip's going to examine a blanket and think about humanity. Or maybe I've done enough of that for now. Yeah... I'm still ahead on the wordcount-per-day minimum, but bear in mind I'm going to visit my folks for a few days starting this weekend, so that's just me trying to tie a rope before I fall.
Well, considered Chip as he rearranged the pillow beneath his head, whatever happened, in this room or in this city, he was going to make damn sure he got out alive (preferably in one piece). He was best at running, but he could fight, and he had no qualms left about what had to be done. All he had to do was keep going, never stopping, just him, his well-meaning paranoia and his memories. Although he really wished he could drop the memories…
Chip fell asleep to thoughts of lamb racks as wholesome meals, as surprise weapons, and finally as a horrifying mix of frozen yet cognizant hairless yeti-like monsters dragging themselves along the ground, trailing blood and gravy. This last thought may have been a dream, however. Chip was too tired to care, and for the next few hours he was deeply asleep, not even stirring as the crowbar slipped down to lie between him and the couch or as the first rays of daylight slipped awkwardly into the room, squeezing between the cracks of heavy curtains and nailed boards. Eventually, he even dreamt.
The coffee was hot - too hot to hold, much too hot to drink - but Chip kept trying to drink it, kept burning his tongue on the scalding liquid, and the mittens he was wearing weren’t helping, just made everything harder to hold so he had to squeeze tighter, burning himself deeper. He didn’t know why he was wearing the mittens - ratty, holed bright blue mittens from his college years, maybe they’d even been Steven’s, they were always sharing things, “being selective communists”, as Steve would put it. Winter was over, spring was in, and mittens on men weren’t, but that was okay, Chip didn’t care what people thought, he just wanted to drink his damn coffee.
It was bad enough he was standing out in the street - and yes, it may have been spring but it was still cold - because he was trying to smoke, or trying to convince himself not to smoke, trying to quit, five years and still trying to quit, some days more quitting than others, some weeks or months even, but he always found a reason to slip back, thought maybe he was addicted to standing around outside more than anything. The whole city was quiet, muted, like in a black-and-white movie where you don’t even expect sounds, just take the world as it’s presented, mute and grey. He could see cars drive past, people walk up and down the streets, the usual traffic for a Seattle week-day, and then the streets were full, absolutely full of people and cars, everyone running or speeding until they collide and block the way for everyone and themselves too, lock themselves in the middle of the street.
Sounds drifted across to Chip, as if from far away, coming through a cheap motel wall, the world with the volume turned low. Screams, honks, clattering heels and falling briefcases, crushed bicycles squealing as they rubbed against metal. People were fighting, trying to get past each other, trying to get out from under each other, jumping over car hoods and bodies, then just fighting, hitting and scratching and stabbing with anything that was within arm’s reach and Chip’s coffee was still hot in his hands and it burned right through, his mittens were red now, red and dripping and he was in the middle of it, people to his left and right and under his feet, literally under his very feet, and he could feel them jostling and pushing and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to drop his Styrofoam cup, didn’t want to burn anyone, but it was slipping through his bloodied fingers and someone was screaming in his ear and he was going to go mad, was going to snap and start punching, hitting and gouging if he dropped the coffee cup, just knew the world would go to hell if he did but a woman elbowed him in the stomach and he felt it slip, saw it fall -
Chip woke with a start, eyes wide open as he lay still as a board on the couch, not daring to move or think until the images had faded from his mind.
7925 / 50000 words. 16% done!
Links of the Day:
rex_dart's Just in case people needed their life experiences posthumously invalidated by some blowhard... - "If you're in the mood for some bullshit, allow me to share with you David Halperin's brilliantly vague and waffling essay, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality [...]. And it's written by a gay man, which makes it even more facepalm-inducing. Literally, though facepalms hurt so I've mostly been channeling them into clenched, shaking fists of rage."
iconthology's Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert Moodtheme
marika_kailaya's Original Fiction Not only that but your mom's a whore - "Would you say, Meki, that you give homosexuality a bad name?"♥! Awesome dialogue interview!
maharet83's Multifandom Icons - BtVS, SPN, Dollhouse
NaNoWriMo Pep Talk from Neil Gaiman - ♥! "So keep on keeping on. Write another word and then another."
Secret copyright treaty leaks. It's bad. Very bad. - "The internet chapter of the Anti-Counterfeiting Trade Agreement, a secret copyright treaty whose text Obama's administration refused to disclose due to "national security" concerns, has leaked. It's bad."
Amazon's Top 10 Books: Science Fiction & Fantasy
CRKiernan (greygirlbeast)'s Short Story Fiction: The Belated Burial
* Alfred Hitchcock
Nano: Win. Plot hasn't advanced, but we've learnt more about Chip's paranoic "think the worst of people because they may just want to kill you" thought process, and have a dream which sorta kinda flashes back to an outbreak. Only I got carried away with coffee and mitten imagery, and of course it's a dream so it doesn't make sense and run-on sentences and comma-abuse are the norm. Obviously. Next scene, the angel, I swears! And I just need to note that at one point Saunders and Agatha are going to show that they have dealt with bad people before and can deal pretty well. Also, Chip's going to examine a blanket and think about humanity. Or maybe I've done enough of that for now. Yeah... I'm still ahead on the wordcount-per-day minimum, but bear in mind I'm going to visit my folks for a few days starting this weekend, so that's just me trying to tie a rope before I fall.
Well, considered Chip as he rearranged the pillow beneath his head, whatever happened, in this room or in this city, he was going to make damn sure he got out alive (preferably in one piece). He was best at running, but he could fight, and he had no qualms left about what had to be done. All he had to do was keep going, never stopping, just him, his well-meaning paranoia and his memories. Although he really wished he could drop the memories…
Chip fell asleep to thoughts of lamb racks as wholesome meals, as surprise weapons, and finally as a horrifying mix of frozen yet cognizant hairless yeti-like monsters dragging themselves along the ground, trailing blood and gravy. This last thought may have been a dream, however. Chip was too tired to care, and for the next few hours he was deeply asleep, not even stirring as the crowbar slipped down to lie between him and the couch or as the first rays of daylight slipped awkwardly into the room, squeezing between the cracks of heavy curtains and nailed boards. Eventually, he even dreamt.
The coffee was hot - too hot to hold, much too hot to drink - but Chip kept trying to drink it, kept burning his tongue on the scalding liquid, and the mittens he was wearing weren’t helping, just made everything harder to hold so he had to squeeze tighter, burning himself deeper. He didn’t know why he was wearing the mittens - ratty, holed bright blue mittens from his college years, maybe they’d even been Steven’s, they were always sharing things, “being selective communists”, as Steve would put it. Winter was over, spring was in, and mittens on men weren’t, but that was okay, Chip didn’t care what people thought, he just wanted to drink his damn coffee.
It was bad enough he was standing out in the street - and yes, it may have been spring but it was still cold - because he was trying to smoke, or trying to convince himself not to smoke, trying to quit, five years and still trying to quit, some days more quitting than others, some weeks or months even, but he always found a reason to slip back, thought maybe he was addicted to standing around outside more than anything. The whole city was quiet, muted, like in a black-and-white movie where you don’t even expect sounds, just take the world as it’s presented, mute and grey. He could see cars drive past, people walk up and down the streets, the usual traffic for a Seattle week-day, and then the streets were full, absolutely full of people and cars, everyone running or speeding until they collide and block the way for everyone and themselves too, lock themselves in the middle of the street.
Sounds drifted across to Chip, as if from far away, coming through a cheap motel wall, the world with the volume turned low. Screams, honks, clattering heels and falling briefcases, crushed bicycles squealing as they rubbed against metal. People were fighting, trying to get past each other, trying to get out from under each other, jumping over car hoods and bodies, then just fighting, hitting and scratching and stabbing with anything that was within arm’s reach and Chip’s coffee was still hot in his hands and it burned right through, his mittens were red now, red and dripping and he was in the middle of it, people to his left and right and under his feet, literally under his very feet, and he could feel them jostling and pushing and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to drop his Styrofoam cup, didn’t want to burn anyone, but it was slipping through his bloodied fingers and someone was screaming in his ear and he was going to go mad, was going to snap and start punching, hitting and gouging if he dropped the coffee cup, just knew the world would go to hell if he did but a woman elbowed him in the stomach and he felt it slip, saw it fall -
Chip woke with a start, eyes wide open as he lay still as a board on the couch, not daring to move or think until the images had faded from his mind.
7925 / 50000 words. 16% done!
Links of the Day:
rex_dart's Just in case people needed their life experiences posthumously invalidated by some blowhard... - "If you're in the mood for some bullshit, allow me to share with you David Halperin's brilliantly vague and waffling essay, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality [...]. And it's written by a gay man, which makes it even more facepalm-inducing. Literally, though facepalms hurt so I've mostly been channeling them into clenched, shaking fists of rage."
iconthology's Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert Moodtheme
marika_kailaya's Original Fiction Not only that but your mom's a whore - "Would you say, Meki, that you give homosexuality a bad name?"♥! Awesome dialogue interview!
maharet83's Multifandom Icons - BtVS, SPN, Dollhouse
NaNoWriMo Pep Talk from Neil Gaiman - ♥! "So keep on keeping on. Write another word and then another."
Secret copyright treaty leaks. It's bad. Very bad. - "The internet chapter of the Anti-Counterfeiting Trade Agreement, a secret copyright treaty whose text Obama's administration refused to disclose due to "national security" concerns, has leaked. It's bad."
Amazon's Top 10 Books: Science Fiction & Fantasy
CRKiernan (greygirlbeast)'s Short Story Fiction: The Belated Burial
* Alfred Hitchcock