Fishing expedition
Okay, so the next chapter of The Protege' will be up within a day or two, and I have the second half of That Which Remains outlined, so it's not as if I don't have plenty of writing on my plate, but I've been thinking about resuming an original novel I started almost a year ago.
It began as a story for submission to an open anthology with a post-apocalyptic theme. The twist for the anthology was that in most post-apocalypse stories, it's survival of the fittest, but they wanted stories that showed keeping one's civilized values promoted survival. I lost my nerve to submit it, but I really liked the idea and saw that it was quite easily a novel length work.
I thought I'd throw out the intro, and see if I'm deluding myself about its appeal.
Snow fell softly over the ocean, the flakes vanishing as they touched the water. If she squinted, Chris could just make out the snow capped peak of Mt. Ada rising above Catalina Island. She wondered if the buffalo there were finally happy, returned to the climate of their Great Plains ancestors. Or maybe like her, they missed the warmth of the California sun. But though her hands tingled from the cold, she only stuffed them deeper into her jacket pockets, refusing to go back inside. There was plenty of time to sit in the darkened house.
Behind her the sliding glass door opened, then closed and the teak deck vibrated with the stomp of Heather's footsteps.
"There's nothing to eat, you know," Heather said.
"You couldn't have eaten all the cereal. There must have been ten different boxes in the pantry," she said, still facing the ocean.
"All gone. No crackers, no oatmeal, no soup either," Heather said.
"What about the ice box? There's got to be something at the bottom."
Heather joined her at the railing of the balcony. "Maybe. But you need to restart the fire."
"And you need to collect some more wood," she said.
"I think we should just burn the dining room chairs. We never use them," Heather said.
"Are you kidding? Dr. Moore would kill me if we did that," she said, finally looking her sister in the eye. Snowflakes were perched in a crown atop Heather's dark hair, and she couldn't resist brushing some of them away."Besides, they'd be gone in a couple days and then you'd just have to get more wood anyways."
Heather raised her eyebrows. "You're not really worried about the Moores, are you? You know they're never coming back. No one is."
It began as a story for submission to an open anthology with a post-apocalyptic theme. The twist for the anthology was that in most post-apocalypse stories, it's survival of the fittest, but they wanted stories that showed keeping one's civilized values promoted survival. I lost my nerve to submit it, but I really liked the idea and saw that it was quite easily a novel length work.
I thought I'd throw out the intro, and see if I'm deluding myself about its appeal.
Snow fell softly over the ocean, the flakes vanishing as they touched the water. If she squinted, Chris could just make out the snow capped peak of Mt. Ada rising above Catalina Island. She wondered if the buffalo there were finally happy, returned to the climate of their Great Plains ancestors. Or maybe like her, they missed the warmth of the California sun. But though her hands tingled from the cold, she only stuffed them deeper into her jacket pockets, refusing to go back inside. There was plenty of time to sit in the darkened house.
Behind her the sliding glass door opened, then closed and the teak deck vibrated with the stomp of Heather's footsteps.
"There's nothing to eat, you know," Heather said.
"You couldn't have eaten all the cereal. There must have been ten different boxes in the pantry," she said, still facing the ocean.
"All gone. No crackers, no oatmeal, no soup either," Heather said.
"What about the ice box? There's got to be something at the bottom."
Heather joined her at the railing of the balcony. "Maybe. But you need to restart the fire."
"And you need to collect some more wood," she said.
"I think we should just burn the dining room chairs. We never use them," Heather said.
"Are you kidding? Dr. Moore would kill me if we did that," she said, finally looking her sister in the eye. Snowflakes were perched in a crown atop Heather's dark hair, and she couldn't resist brushing some of them away."Besides, they'd be gone in a couple days and then you'd just have to get more wood anyways."
Heather raised her eyebrows. "You're not really worried about the Moores, are you? You know they're never coming back. No one is."