On Writing: Drive.
wiffleclaw mentioned me in a tweet the other day which made me think...
I've been kind of tired lately. Other than a couple of years during which I stopped writing completely, this is probably the least I've written since I started writing seriously with the goal of getting a novel published, at the ripe old age of thirteen. It seems like those around me are moving their writing careers forward while mine sort of stagnates in the "nothing's happening" zone.
But if there's one thing I can't stand in other people, and can't handle at all in myself, is having a complaint but refusing to do anything about it. I spent too much of my earlier twenties thinking that it was too hard to lose weight. It was too hard to get a novel published. It was too hard to get a college degree. I've never been one of those people that believes that all it takes is hard work -- there's a fair amount of luck involved in success, really, but without all the hard work on your craft, you won't be ready when you finally get a shot.
I've been focusing on writing longer stories with better descriptions, with the kind of light-hearted banter that is so key to my voice. I've been working on the beginning of the sequel to Leaven of Malice, and I've been contemplating self-publishing, even as I query agents.
So -- am I driven? Yes. I mean, this is what I want. I definitely want you guys to read what I write and enjoy it, and then maybe someday pay for it. I don't know any other way to get what I want than to put a fair amount of energy into the process of, you know, getting it.
But one thing I am working on is not getting over-excited. Not counting my chickens before they hatch, if you will. I am working on a little professional, uh... decorum. Because I tend to get arm flaily.
Anyway, that went nowhere, didn't it? You deserve a reward.
Title: The Train to Nowhere (segment)
Rating: This segment is appropriate for all ages.
Author: Me, ladychi
The Train to Nowhere
“I hate trains.”
It wasn’t the first time the passengers abroad the train passing from Deer Born to Tucker’s Station had heard the complaint, and Delilah McKay had to restrain the urge to smack her companion right across the face in order to shut him up. Instead, she went for something much more subtle.
“I swear to all that is holy, I will stab you. Right here and now.”
“Don’t they make you nauseous?” Professor Elliott Holden had long ago given up any pretense of dignity, and was laying prone on one of the bench seats, clutching his stomach.
“No.”
“It’s the rocking that does me in, I think. You know. Side to side.”
“If you’re going to puke, I’ll just put you out of your misery right now.”
The professor continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “The thing is, I much prefer the convenience, you see, of having my own vehicle.”
“Yes, well, you had one of those, once. Now you don’t. So get over it.”
“Ah. Now I remember why I vowed never to speak to you again. You blew up my Bessie.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “Never once, in the entire history of that walking death trap, did you ever call it ‘Bessie’.”
“I know. I’m mourning the missed opportunities already.”
“Look, it’s not as if I don’t feel bad about it, okay? But I did what I had to do, and you know that, and I think you should just get over it already.”
“Get over it already?” The professor drew himself up, the picture of offended aristocracy. “I worked for years…”
“Months.”
“Day and night…”
“It was more of a hobby and you know it.”
“…To provide you a manner of transportation that befitted your station!”
Delilah sighed. “You’re being petulant and annoying on purpose.”
The professor waved his hand. “Perhaps. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m down one walking machine, and it’s because you blew it to smithereens without even consulting me.”
“Next time, I will just let Vontaine Hughes’ man take you back to the ranch and you can live as a slave for the rest of your life, if this is how you’re going to act!” Delilah hissed at him.
“Mmhmm,” Elliott said lazily. “But you are beautiful when you’re spitting mad.”
“I honestly have no idea why I put up with you,” Delilah said under her breath.
He winked at her and brought his straw brimmed hat down over his eyes. Sighing, he seemed to settle down for a nap.
Delilah closed her eyes and prepared to sleep, as well.
“You know something, though?”
She sighed in exasperation. “What?”
“I hate trains.”
**
By the time the train slowly came to a stop, Elliott and Delilah had managed to get some sleep, despite Elliott’s efforts to the contrary, and most of their fellow passengers had been grateful for the break from the constant bickering, and said as much as they departed the car. It had been hot in Deer Born when they left -- summer was unforgiving in this part of the world, and the heat of the day had necessitated traveling by night, so when they arrived at Traver’s Station, morning was just breaking.
“The train stops here until the evening,” the uniformed railroad employee told everyone aboard. “We recommend you enjoy the hospitality of one of the inns in town until the heat of the day passes.”
Delilah and Elliott stepped off the train and into the bright light of day. Something immediately struck them as eerie, as they surveyed the town in front of them. “You know, it’s funny,” Elliott said, “I was expecting a bit…. More.”
“More?” Delilah looked around. She saw everything she expected. A saloon. A row of quaint little shops, full of clockmakers and dry goods stores. Something, however, tingled on the edge of her conscience. “From a little Podunk town in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yes. I was expecting, you know. People.”
“There are people here.” Delilah gestured broadly. “They’re just-a little slow to get up this morning.”
“I doubt it. Listen.” The professor held a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Exactly. There’s none of the bustle of life. Where are the animals? Where are the early-morning peddlers and the children crying from their cribs?”
“I just knocked on the door of the hotel. Damn thing’s stuck or something,” said one of the passengers from their car, an older lady named Irene. “Doesn’t appear to be anyone there.”
“Nor at the saloon,” said a red-faced Timothy Dulan. “Though the door’s wide open.”
“Yes, we can see that,” the professor drawled, and then smacked his hands together. “Well. This is indeed a…”
“Mama!” One of the children from the train shouted from a few hundred yards away. “Mama, look! Water!”
Delilah looked over at Elliott. “Water.”
He was already crossing the field to investigate. Delilah had to rush, her full traveling skirts impeding her movement. She was out of breath and red in the face before she stopped, joining the professor and the boy over an open pool of… water. Far larger than a pool, or a puddle, it stretched out as far as the horizon. It might have been called a lake. Her mouth dropped open.
“Oh, my dear sweet Lord in heaven. It’s a miracle.”
The professor raised an eyebrow at her. “It might be.”
“It might be? Professor, I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve never seen open water like this.”
“Yes, I know.” The Professor shook his head. “Why do you suppose that is?”
Before he could say any more, the other passengers aboard the train flocked to the shoreline, murmuring to each other and oohing and aahing.
“Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting,” the professor said in a loud voice, until everyone was paying attention to him. “I know, you’ve never seen anything like it in all your years, et cetera… but I must insist that whatever happens, you do not have any contact with the water.”
“What?” The red-faced Timothy Dulan asked incredulously. “It’s a hundred degrees out here, easy! I can’t think of anything I’d like more than a good dip in that water.”
“Yes. It’s a large body of water. Outside an abandoned town.” Elliott raised his eyebrows and waited for folks to do the math. It took considerably longer than he might have expected.
“Wait. You’re saying… the water may have something to do with it?”
Elliott sighed. “Top of your class, Irene. Top of your class.”
“So, what do we do now?” Delilah asked.
“We’ve got a large body of water and an abandoned town.” Elliot raised his eyebrows. “What do you think we’re going to do?”
“So what you’re saying is we’re stuck here for a little bit.”
“It might not take me that long to figure it out.”
“You’ve got one night,” the conductor said, approaching the group standing around the water. “Frankly, we’re all a little freaked out right now. I’ve got a crew willing to work doubles just to get away from this place.”
Elliot looked genuinely puzzled. “Why aren’t you taking them up on it, then?”
“Not the best idea to have exhausted engineers driving a multi-ton machine, I’ve found. It’s a good way to ensure you have accidents.”
A crowd of railroad employees was starting to gather behind the conductor, grim expressions on their faces.
“Are you going to have a revolt on your hands?” Delilah asked.
“No.” The conductor’s voice was firm. “I think everyone from the train should stick together, though. There’s enough room at the old hotel that we can all stay there. No one wanders off, no one gets lost, no one gets dead, and we leave in one piece tomorrow.”
“That’s a good plan,” Elliot said approvingly. He waited until the conductor was out of earshot before he turned to Delilah. “I have a feeling that man is out of his depth.”
“You think so?” Delilah shrugged. “Who knows. This could turn out all right.”
“Delilah, my darling, I do love your optimism.”
Delilah adjusted her hat and straightened her skirt. “A little hope, professor. Looking on the bright side. Something terrible doesn’t happen every time we run into a weird situation.”
“Perhaps not,” the professor allowed, “but the numbers are on my side.”
**
The rest of the travelers had prepared a simple meal from what they had found in open cupboards and unguarded pantries - all sealed and vacuumed packed and basically tasteless, but edible all the same. They found bottles of the sterilized and metallic water the Central Authority assured everyone was safe, and split them evenly between everyone at the dinner. Conversation was quiet but earnest - something about the abandoned town seemed to demand the respect of a church.
The subject of that conversation was the only two passengers who weren’t at dinner: the professor and his assistant.
**
“What are you doing? We’ve been out here for hours and you don’t seem to have any more answers than when we started, and to be honest with you, I’m starting to get hungry and bitchy.”
The professor was hip deep in the water, ignoring his own advice to stay clear of it, his hands skimming the surface, and his brow furrowed in concentration. He’d only entered the water after hours of staring it, his hands hovering over the water, absorbing information the way only he could.
“Patience, Delilah. I will be able to tell you more in a few minutes.”
“You know, your voodoo is usually a little more visually impressive.”
One of the professor’s eloquent eyebrows rose significantly. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying. Usually there’s fireworks. You know - something goes boom or…”
“Hush.”
“You -“
“Seriously. Sssssh.” The professor sunk deeper in the water. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“If you could feel it, I wouldn’t have to explain it. It’s like a - a cube of ice crawling down my back or…”
“You’re saying you’ve got a bad feeling.”
“I wouldn’t call it bad, nece… okay, yeah. That’s bad.”
“Then get out of the water! Do I have to explain everything to you?”
The professor had an expression on his face Delilah had rarely seen. On another person she might have called it panic. “I would if I could, believe me you.”
Delilah started to rush toward the water.
“Don’t be an idiot! Your skirts will pull you down.”
The water started to swirl. Delilah tried to control her racing heart. “Stop shouting at me and swim, you great bloody idiot!”
He was making progress, within reach of her fingers when the current pulled him away from her. Delilah ignored every lick of common sense shouting at her that it was too late and charged into the water anyway.
“Elliot! Elliot!” The water spun around her but didn’t pull her away, so she ducked underneath of the surface to look for the professor. Something caught hold of her ankle and yanked her down. She fought the urge to open her mouth in panic and kicked out as strong as she could, connecting with something solid. She sputtered up to the surface, gasping for air. As soon as she felt the hand close around her ankle again, she pulled her revolver from her bustier and slammed the revolver down on the hand trying to force her underwater. Immediately it released and Delilah swam for all she was worth to the shore.
She was crawling out of the water, hoping to regroup, when she heard it. A soft, tinkling laugh she’d heard before, back in Scotland before she left.
“Come and get him, Delilah McKay, if he means that much to you. You and I have a score to settle.”
Delilah panted, the weight of the water pulling her skirts down and making it hard to breathe or move.
“Fucking Selkies,” she muttered, and promptly started to remove the items weighing her down, “they just can’t let anything go.”
I've been kind of tired lately. Other than a couple of years during which I stopped writing completely, this is probably the least I've written since I started writing seriously with the goal of getting a novel published, at the ripe old age of thirteen. It seems like those around me are moving their writing careers forward while mine sort of stagnates in the "nothing's happening" zone.
But if there's one thing I can't stand in other people, and can't handle at all in myself, is having a complaint but refusing to do anything about it. I spent too much of my earlier twenties thinking that it was too hard to lose weight. It was too hard to get a novel published. It was too hard to get a college degree. I've never been one of those people that believes that all it takes is hard work -- there's a fair amount of luck involved in success, really, but without all the hard work on your craft, you won't be ready when you finally get a shot.
I've been focusing on writing longer stories with better descriptions, with the kind of light-hearted banter that is so key to my voice. I've been working on the beginning of the sequel to Leaven of Malice, and I've been contemplating self-publishing, even as I query agents.
So -- am I driven? Yes. I mean, this is what I want. I definitely want you guys to read what I write and enjoy it, and then maybe someday pay for it. I don't know any other way to get what I want than to put a fair amount of energy into the process of, you know, getting it.
But one thing I am working on is not getting over-excited. Not counting my chickens before they hatch, if you will. I am working on a little professional, uh... decorum. Because I tend to get arm flaily.
Anyway, that went nowhere, didn't it? You deserve a reward.
Title: The Train to Nowhere (segment)
Rating: This segment is appropriate for all ages.
Author: Me, ladychi
The Train to Nowhere
“I hate trains.”
It wasn’t the first time the passengers abroad the train passing from Deer Born to Tucker’s Station had heard the complaint, and Delilah McKay had to restrain the urge to smack her companion right across the face in order to shut him up. Instead, she went for something much more subtle.
“I swear to all that is holy, I will stab you. Right here and now.”
“Don’t they make you nauseous?” Professor Elliott Holden had long ago given up any pretense of dignity, and was laying prone on one of the bench seats, clutching his stomach.
“No.”
“It’s the rocking that does me in, I think. You know. Side to side.”
“If you’re going to puke, I’ll just put you out of your misery right now.”
The professor continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “The thing is, I much prefer the convenience, you see, of having my own vehicle.”
“Yes, well, you had one of those, once. Now you don’t. So get over it.”
“Ah. Now I remember why I vowed never to speak to you again. You blew up my Bessie.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “Never once, in the entire history of that walking death trap, did you ever call it ‘Bessie’.”
“I know. I’m mourning the missed opportunities already.”
“Look, it’s not as if I don’t feel bad about it, okay? But I did what I had to do, and you know that, and I think you should just get over it already.”
“Get over it already?” The professor drew himself up, the picture of offended aristocracy. “I worked for years…”
“Months.”
“Day and night…”
“It was more of a hobby and you know it.”
“…To provide you a manner of transportation that befitted your station!”
Delilah sighed. “You’re being petulant and annoying on purpose.”
The professor waved his hand. “Perhaps. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m down one walking machine, and it’s because you blew it to smithereens without even consulting me.”
“Next time, I will just let Vontaine Hughes’ man take you back to the ranch and you can live as a slave for the rest of your life, if this is how you’re going to act!” Delilah hissed at him.
“Mmhmm,” Elliott said lazily. “But you are beautiful when you’re spitting mad.”
“I honestly have no idea why I put up with you,” Delilah said under her breath.
He winked at her and brought his straw brimmed hat down over his eyes. Sighing, he seemed to settle down for a nap.
Delilah closed her eyes and prepared to sleep, as well.
“You know something, though?”
She sighed in exasperation. “What?”
“I hate trains.”
**
By the time the train slowly came to a stop, Elliott and Delilah had managed to get some sleep, despite Elliott’s efforts to the contrary, and most of their fellow passengers had been grateful for the break from the constant bickering, and said as much as they departed the car. It had been hot in Deer Born when they left -- summer was unforgiving in this part of the world, and the heat of the day had necessitated traveling by night, so when they arrived at Traver’s Station, morning was just breaking.
“The train stops here until the evening,” the uniformed railroad employee told everyone aboard. “We recommend you enjoy the hospitality of one of the inns in town until the heat of the day passes.”
Delilah and Elliott stepped off the train and into the bright light of day. Something immediately struck them as eerie, as they surveyed the town in front of them. “You know, it’s funny,” Elliott said, “I was expecting a bit…. More.”
“More?” Delilah looked around. She saw everything she expected. A saloon. A row of quaint little shops, full of clockmakers and dry goods stores. Something, however, tingled on the edge of her conscience. “From a little Podunk town in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yes. I was expecting, you know. People.”
“There are people here.” Delilah gestured broadly. “They’re just-a little slow to get up this morning.”
“I doubt it. Listen.” The professor held a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Exactly. There’s none of the bustle of life. Where are the animals? Where are the early-morning peddlers and the children crying from their cribs?”
“I just knocked on the door of the hotel. Damn thing’s stuck or something,” said one of the passengers from their car, an older lady named Irene. “Doesn’t appear to be anyone there.”
“Nor at the saloon,” said a red-faced Timothy Dulan. “Though the door’s wide open.”
“Yes, we can see that,” the professor drawled, and then smacked his hands together. “Well. This is indeed a…”
“Mama!” One of the children from the train shouted from a few hundred yards away. “Mama, look! Water!”
Delilah looked over at Elliott. “Water.”
He was already crossing the field to investigate. Delilah had to rush, her full traveling skirts impeding her movement. She was out of breath and red in the face before she stopped, joining the professor and the boy over an open pool of… water. Far larger than a pool, or a puddle, it stretched out as far as the horizon. It might have been called a lake. Her mouth dropped open.
“Oh, my dear sweet Lord in heaven. It’s a miracle.”
The professor raised an eyebrow at her. “It might be.”
“It might be? Professor, I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve never seen open water like this.”
“Yes, I know.” The Professor shook his head. “Why do you suppose that is?”
Before he could say any more, the other passengers aboard the train flocked to the shoreline, murmuring to each other and oohing and aahing.
“Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting,” the professor said in a loud voice, until everyone was paying attention to him. “I know, you’ve never seen anything like it in all your years, et cetera… but I must insist that whatever happens, you do not have any contact with the water.”
“What?” The red-faced Timothy Dulan asked incredulously. “It’s a hundred degrees out here, easy! I can’t think of anything I’d like more than a good dip in that water.”
“Yes. It’s a large body of water. Outside an abandoned town.” Elliott raised his eyebrows and waited for folks to do the math. It took considerably longer than he might have expected.
“Wait. You’re saying… the water may have something to do with it?”
Elliott sighed. “Top of your class, Irene. Top of your class.”
“So, what do we do now?” Delilah asked.
“We’ve got a large body of water and an abandoned town.” Elliot raised his eyebrows. “What do you think we’re going to do?”
“So what you’re saying is we’re stuck here for a little bit.”
“It might not take me that long to figure it out.”
“You’ve got one night,” the conductor said, approaching the group standing around the water. “Frankly, we’re all a little freaked out right now. I’ve got a crew willing to work doubles just to get away from this place.”
Elliot looked genuinely puzzled. “Why aren’t you taking them up on it, then?”
“Not the best idea to have exhausted engineers driving a multi-ton machine, I’ve found. It’s a good way to ensure you have accidents.”
A crowd of railroad employees was starting to gather behind the conductor, grim expressions on their faces.
“Are you going to have a revolt on your hands?” Delilah asked.
“No.” The conductor’s voice was firm. “I think everyone from the train should stick together, though. There’s enough room at the old hotel that we can all stay there. No one wanders off, no one gets lost, no one gets dead, and we leave in one piece tomorrow.”
“That’s a good plan,” Elliot said approvingly. He waited until the conductor was out of earshot before he turned to Delilah. “I have a feeling that man is out of his depth.”
“You think so?” Delilah shrugged. “Who knows. This could turn out all right.”
“Delilah, my darling, I do love your optimism.”
Delilah adjusted her hat and straightened her skirt. “A little hope, professor. Looking on the bright side. Something terrible doesn’t happen every time we run into a weird situation.”
“Perhaps not,” the professor allowed, “but the numbers are on my side.”
**
The rest of the travelers had prepared a simple meal from what they had found in open cupboards and unguarded pantries - all sealed and vacuumed packed and basically tasteless, but edible all the same. They found bottles of the sterilized and metallic water the Central Authority assured everyone was safe, and split them evenly between everyone at the dinner. Conversation was quiet but earnest - something about the abandoned town seemed to demand the respect of a church.
The subject of that conversation was the only two passengers who weren’t at dinner: the professor and his assistant.
**
“What are you doing? We’ve been out here for hours and you don’t seem to have any more answers than when we started, and to be honest with you, I’m starting to get hungry and bitchy.”
The professor was hip deep in the water, ignoring his own advice to stay clear of it, his hands skimming the surface, and his brow furrowed in concentration. He’d only entered the water after hours of staring it, his hands hovering over the water, absorbing information the way only he could.
“Patience, Delilah. I will be able to tell you more in a few minutes.”
“You know, your voodoo is usually a little more visually impressive.”
One of the professor’s eloquent eyebrows rose significantly. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying. Usually there’s fireworks. You know - something goes boom or…”
“Hush.”
“You -“
“Seriously. Sssssh.” The professor sunk deeper in the water. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“If you could feel it, I wouldn’t have to explain it. It’s like a - a cube of ice crawling down my back or…”
“You’re saying you’ve got a bad feeling.”
“I wouldn’t call it bad, nece… okay, yeah. That’s bad.”
“Then get out of the water! Do I have to explain everything to you?”
The professor had an expression on his face Delilah had rarely seen. On another person she might have called it panic. “I would if I could, believe me you.”
Delilah started to rush toward the water.
“Don’t be an idiot! Your skirts will pull you down.”
The water started to swirl. Delilah tried to control her racing heart. “Stop shouting at me and swim, you great bloody idiot!”
He was making progress, within reach of her fingers when the current pulled him away from her. Delilah ignored every lick of common sense shouting at her that it was too late and charged into the water anyway.
“Elliot! Elliot!” The water spun around her but didn’t pull her away, so she ducked underneath of the surface to look for the professor. Something caught hold of her ankle and yanked her down. She fought the urge to open her mouth in panic and kicked out as strong as she could, connecting with something solid. She sputtered up to the surface, gasping for air. As soon as she felt the hand close around her ankle again, she pulled her revolver from her bustier and slammed the revolver down on the hand trying to force her underwater. Immediately it released and Delilah swam for all she was worth to the shore.
She was crawling out of the water, hoping to regroup, when she heard it. A soft, tinkling laugh she’d heard before, back in Scotland before she left.
“Come and get him, Delilah McKay, if he means that much to you. You and I have a score to settle.”
Delilah panted, the weight of the water pulling her skirts down and making it hard to breathe or move.
“Fucking Selkies,” she muttered, and promptly started to remove the items weighing her down, “they just can’t let anything go.”