Tag Archive | nanowrimo

Cats – a story piece/outtake/worldbuilding from my Camp Nano novel

[personal profile] rix_scaedu asked for cats. Here’s some cats, with my camp nano protaganist.

This ‘verse really needs a name.

Jen liked cats, always had.

Face families weren’t allowed to have cats. They weren’t allowed to have pets at all — it was a point of change, a point of interest — but sometimes if the “host family” had kept a dog, they would have a dog for a little while.

If you used magic around dogs for too long, you ended up with a dog who was a lot more… dog. They were cleverer, more loyal, the sort of dog that waited weeks for their masters or learned how to open the doors and fetch the beer.

If you used magic around cats for too long, they ended up… strange. They were the sort of cats that slipped outdoors when no doors were open, seemed to be talking back to you (and sometimes were), trailed good luck or bad behind them like a flag and waved it at anyone who annoyed them — or sometimes at random passers-by.

Sometimes, she’d heard, you ended up with cats who would eat up a sign or a design, just rub against it and it was gone, and then spit it out later on a whim. You had cats who really, really liked their person, and those cats just vibrated with magic.

Jen wanted a cat.

The Stepford Angels didn’t have regulations the way Face families had, but they still had pragmatic rules. She was on the road more than she was “home;” she spent much of her time blending in, being invisible, much like she had when she was a Face. There wasn’t a lot of room for any sort of pet, much less one that might suddenly set off fireworks.

But it didn’t stop her from wanting the cat, staring every cat that wandered by, and, sometimes, leaving good-luck charms for the cats to rub against and take with them.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1306075.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Worldbuilding: The Agencies Meet

To Lilfluff’s Prompt, ” Something relating to the agencies discovering each other?” This is more of my Camp Nano project

The Joining

Cade Ferrel’s organization didn’t even have a name, just “Agency 3-1-7″ and “Protocols 7, 9, and 12″. They didn’t have a budget line, or at least not an admitted one, and the money they got wasn’t impressive by anyone’s standards.

(There was a rumor his predecessor had once turned a surveillance job, posing as a panhandler, into a hundred percent increase in the month’s budget. While Cade was pretty sure that was an exaggeration, it still remained a very telling story.)

What Agency 3-1-7 had was a very open-ended mandate and a couple extremely open-ended laws about how they performed that mandate.

And Cade was looking at a witch who swore up and down that magic was real.

Now, Cade had encountered lots and lots of people who swore just about everything was real, from the Moon Landing to aliens to brain-tapping via tap water (“why do you think they call it tap water?”) to a magical ritual being what really killed Kennedy. But most of them didn’t have Top Secret government clearances and badges that matched Cade’s for obscurity.

This particular so-called witch belonged to Agency 3-2-9, with a sub-reference to Protocol 19. Cade had actually heard of Protocol Nineteen; even though Agency 3-1-7 didn’t fall under it, sometimes they used it for this and that. Mostly that, lately, where that meant bending the law because we don’t have any funding.

The witch was telling Cade that there were things that could be done to surveil without equipment. With the only cost being in time and getting one of Agency 3-2-9’s workers in place for ten minutes.

Ten minutes! Cade was in love.

Cade wasn’t going to have to panhandle to make budget this quarter.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1305346.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Second Worldbuilding Post of the Night – ‘Verse without a Name – my Camp Nano Project

I’ve been doing some worldbuilding for my as-of-yet-unnamed-World for my Camp Nano Project, which is either called The Hidden City or Dealer’s Choice or Where the Wild THINGS Went.

[personal profile] clare_dragonfly asked: Do the three different capitalized types use different kinds of magic?

Yes!

Well, yes and no.

Okay, so most of the organized magic in this world works in Signs, Sigils and Designs, a Sigil being a more complicated Sign and a Design being a more complicate Sigil or pattern of Sigils.

But the different types of workers for The Agencies – Agents, Workers, and Faces, I said, but I think Agents are Hands. And I’m not entirely sure about Workers, they might be Eyes – well, each of them specialize in different sorts of those things.

For instance, a Face is going to be very good at nothing interesting to see here and there’s nothing strange going on. They’re all about making things appear as normal as possible, so that people don’t panic, even when their government, at least The Agencies in their government, are doing awful things.

An Eye is going to be good at surveillance signs, the sort of thing that tells them what happens, or if someone crosses a certain trip-line point, or if a specific person touches that sign. They set up designs looking for certain sets of words, or for certain complaints.

A Worker, a Hand, will use signs to enforce compliance, or to strengthen them, or to protect them – combat magic, more or less. They are aimed at being the elite forces of The Agencies, and magic is certainly part of that.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1302677.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Worldbuilding – ‘Verse without a Name – my Camp Nano Project

The Agencies started as three small agencies connected to larger government organizations:

One devoted to the searching out, researching, and weaponizing-if-possible the magic that many people had known had existed but nobody really wanted to admit to.

One d aimed at finding and suppressing terrorist and other threats to the US by use of human and electronic surveillance.

One aimed at convincing the US public that nothing untoward was going on, that the world was safe, and that everything was okay.

Once the second two organizations found out about the first, they saw immediate uses for magic in the implementation of their mission plans; once the first found out about the second, it, too, found uses for them.

They don’t exist as budget line items, but they are well-funded. They slide their budget into small things (expensive toilet seats) use non-Congressionally-approved methods of gaining funding, and sell seized property for a profit when it suits them.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1302329.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Worldbuilding – ‘Verse without a Name – my Camp Nano Project

(Setting: Modern-postmodern urban fantasy dystopic surveillance state. I wrote this on the bus, so totally up for logic holes being pointed out)

Magic in Jen’s ‘Verse works by encouraging or discouraging what’s already happening in the world. The more you go with the flow of the world, the less magic it takes.

So you can encourage water to flow a little more heavily over a spot, or to move to another spot. If it’s another low-lying spot, it’s not so much magic, but if it’s a high place, then that takes more magic.

Magic makes little pulls in the fabric of the world. Small pulls, only someone who is actively looking for them AND sensitive to the magic and to the pulls will find. The larger the pull, the more likely a magic-user will find. And really big pulls leave runs in the fabric of the universe that even laypeople will — and do — see.

Magic accretes where it is used. If you use a sigil to make yourself look younger, over and over again, eventually the pull is going to be visible in ways that a normal person will notice — you seem creepy, the wind goes the wrong way around you, grass dies or grows under your feet, you have witch-marks or the mark of the moon…

To move magic off of yourself, it’s generally clever to use more magic to benefit others than to benefit yourself.

The Agencies deal with this problem by delegating the magic use to Agents, Workers, and Faces.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1298970.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Introductions to Characters – two people in my Nanobook

written while I was waiting for the clock to tick over to midnight on hallowe’en

The government people showed up a week after the test.

Noth wasn’t expecting them. He’d done the test, done what his uncle always said and done his best, but he’d been doing that for years and nothing had changed. Nobody wanted him or his brothers for anything better than the trade school they were already enrolled in. Nothing was going to change. The tests were a pretty stupid formality.

He was at work when they came, in the foundry. His uncle pulled in scrap from four different waste sites around their hometown, and turned all of it into weapons for the army and, sometimes, plows and tools for the village. Noth had been working part-time there since he was old enough to work the bellows or handle the giant crucibles.

He was handling molten steel when the government workers came in, so he didn’t pay that much attention to strangers. The foundry rewarded inattention quickly and painfully, and Noth had only had to learn that lesson once.

When he was done pouring the steel into the molds, then he pushed off the visor and turned to the visitors. He found himself freezing.

They were too clean for the foundry. They were too clean for reality. They looked like they had come out of some book, some un-real story.

And they were looking straight at him.


She’d been expecting a transfer for years.

She was better than anyone at her local school, so they’d sent her to a military school when she was ten. That had been fine for a few years, but Zara was driven, pushed, and she was better than anyone in her school.

It took her a while to convince them of that. She was smaller, more “delicate.” She hadn’t really finished growing yet and, the way they fed them at the school, she might not have ever, except she got good at stealing food, good at bribing others to give her their food, good at taking things people hadn’t realized yet that they didn’t want.

They were either going to send her to a better school, or they were going to Disappear her, and either way, she wouldn’t be bored anymore and, with luck, she wouldn’t be hungry anymore, either.

When the transfer came, Zara wasn’t quite sure which she was getting – a new school or a vanishing, into some deep cell or deeper grave. The plain government vehicle, the armed Main Office workers who were actually better than she was, the manacles – it could have been either one.

She was pretty sure that being Disappeared didn’t come with the sort of food only Main Office high officials and ranking officers ate, though.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1195429.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Pieced, a continuing ficlet of early pre-Arlend

After Shattered, written after [personal profile] thnidu‘s tip.

Having the ghost of a cat following you around was not something to be talked about, certainly not in the current climate.

Having a ghost-cat who could mend things, well, that was nearly worse. Certainly, it would be looked at almost like hoarding, if anyone ever found out that Hannah had been hiding an ability to repair broken goods.

They had so very few goods these days. It had taken almost twenty years to get any sort of manufacturing back online, and, once they had, it had all gone to the war effort. Certainly, those guys next door had something we wanted – as it turned out, they had minerals and metals that didn’t currently exist in the borders of their fractured city-state. Mugs, plates – if you couldn’t scrounge it or make your own from back-yard clay, you were Sure Outta Luck, as Hannah’s mother had liked to say, those times she’d noticed Hannah was listening.

Besides, what if nobody else could see Buster? If she really was going nuts, Hannah didn’t want anyone to know. Some people had, from the fumes, from disease, from – well, they called it Plague, back then, but the only symptom appeared to be closer to the screaming meemees than what was traditionally considered “plague”. Seeing things was enough for some of her neighbors to waste a bullet on her. It might be enough for other, more kindly or more parsimonious, to commit her.

Hannah had seen the inside of the sanitarium once, on a charity visit. She never wanted to see it again.

She went four weeks without anyone finding out. She learned that Buster would, if bribed with petting and sweet words, fix things that had been previously broken, but that he preferred new damage. She learned that the more “made” a thing was – plastic was great, plates made in a factory were wonderful – the better Buster could make it look. He couldn’t – or wouldn’t – fix the apple tree outside when a hailstorm damaged it, but he did fix a wooden spoon she’d left too close to the flame.

She’d just gotten used to the feeling of having the cat in bed with her – he might be twice as large as he had been, but she was a lot bigger than she’d been, too, and they still seemed to fit – when she learned that other people could see him, too. It was early morning, and she was weeding her garden, a hobby Buster liked to “help” with, mostly by batting around the weeds. Usually, nobody was out this early, but today, of course, Lacey from down the street was walking by, head in the clouds and not really paying much attention.

Until she saw Buster. Lacey froze in the middle of the sidewalk, staring. Buster stared back, tail high and proud as anything, never mind that you could still see the tomatoes through him.

Lacey shook her head and walked on, saying nothing. For a brief while, Hannah thought maybe she’d gotten away with it. Lacey hadn’t been right for a long time, but, like Hannah, she stayed just right enough to stay where she was. She wasn’t going to tell stories; any stones she threw could bounce back far too easily on her.

It was all going to be okay, Hannah told herself. You got away with it, she told Buster.

And then one night, after dark, after curfew, they came knocking on her door.

Lacey. Gerald the grocer. Tammy the hunter. Desi the Librarian. All of them, sneaking in, hiding in the shadows. All of them followed by the shadows of animals.

Lacey had a mastiff bigger than a pony. Tammy had a hawk whose wingspan filled the room. Gerald had a badger, which amused Hannah, although she tried to hide it. And Desi had a snake.

“We thought maybe you would,” Lacey admitted. “We thought you were the sort. But you never let on. You never showed anything.”

Gerald snorted. “Didn’t want us to think she was crazy, probably. Same as you. Same as us.”

“So…” Hannah looked around. “What does this mean?”

Gerald laughed. “Damned if I know. Damned if I know,” he repeated slowly. “But I don’t think it’s good.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1195242.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Shattered, a ficlet of early pre-Arlend

Last night I asked for a few prompts to get me started. This one is many generations before the story I’m writing, just a few decades after the world shattered.

1 is for broken pottery….

The mug had shattered when it hit the floor.

Hannah swore quietly. They only had the two mugs left, and here she was breaking one. Everything in the old stores had been picked over by now, anything that had survived the earth-slits, the tremors, and the battle afterwards. Anything that was still intact had been taken, hoarded by the military, who needed it to win the war.

Hannah didn’t care about winning a war. She wasn’t fighting anything, anything except the shakes that had been with her since the day the world split, like she was still splitting apart, all these years later, and the hunger that was a little gnawing hole in her stomach, and the – no, she couldn’t say she was fighting the grief, not really. She’d stopped fighting it and let it move into her heart long ago. But she wasn’t fighting a war. She wasn’t part of the battle.

(“You are either part of the war effort or you are fighting for the enemies!” shouted the soldiers. She didn’t know why. She didn’t even really know why they were fighting at all. Hadn’t they all been one nation, before the split?)

She bent down to sweep up the pieces. Not enough left to glue back together. Not enough left to even add to Marcie’s broken-world mosaic, the thing she’d been building since the tremors stopped. Not enough left to do anything but cry over.

A cat butted against her leg. Hanna sighed, reached out to pet Buster… and cursed. Buster was gone, run off in the tremors. On good days, she told herself he’d lived out his life on some calmer shard of their former world, hopped a fissure and found some other little girl.

“I miss you, Buster,” she told the air, and a cat butted against her again. There weren’t stray cats around. There wasn’t anything around.

She turned slowly. There, see-through and twice the size of life but clear nonetheless, there was Buster, rubbing against her leg. And pawing at the pieces.

“You broke it, kitty,” she giggled. Hysteria was seeping in, but why fight it? Why fight anything? “We broke it.” She’d been five when the world had shattered. She and Buster had broken more than a few things, back when you could drive down to the store and fix it.

The ghost-cat pawed at the pieces. She moved to stop him, the way she had so many times as a child, but a ghost couldn’t get cut.

“Yeah, it’s a mess. My favorite mug, too. But crying don’t fix the pottery,” she muttered.

The cat pawed a few more pieces together. And, where he pawed, they stayed together, slowly mending themselves.

Hannah gasped softly and picked up a piece, fitting the next piece in with it. Buster-ghost touched it, and it stayed.

She was going mad, she knew it. She put another piece up against the mug, and Buster nosed it into place.

“I’ll take it, kitty,” she muttered. Maybe she was going mad, but if she went mad with Buster, well, maybe she could take it.

Next: Pieced

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1194346.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

November Writing List

So this

is my current project list for November.

But I know me. I know that I do better with some fun stuff on the list. And I know my call-for-random-numbers people. I know that less than 7 items makes people less into the game.

This

is my October list as it stands today.

And this

is stuff that’s fallen off the list.

“Bingo” is currently H/C Bingo.
The 7th Sanctum link is: http://www.seventhsanctum.com/generate.php?Genname=writeprompt
Some of the others, I’m not even sure: Ask if you want to know.

I need three projects to play with during November. What should they be?

1. Finish It
2. Arisse
3. Showcasing
4. Hurt/Comfort Bingo
5. Addergoole
6. Beekeeper
.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1192678.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Into Lannamer First and Last lines, catching up on posting Nano here

First line of the …6th of November
“No. If I’m lucky, you might be half as useful and twice as noisy.”

Last line of the 14th
But what I’m saying is, if I’m not rank to take a captive home, neither are you, trefoil.”

I’ve written 7830 words on Into Lannamer and 25,210 words total this month.

Urm… remember how I wasn’t doing Nano?

I’m still not. Really. Um. Honestly.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1010906.html. You can comment here or there.