Chaos Theories started off to be another book entirely - or at least, half of it did. I started writing a pretty straightforward tecno thriller back at the end of the year 2000. I was at the time the head of operations and development for a tech company based in Atlanta, working in an office in the middle of a cube farm. It was over a year since Mark Barton had killed 9 people in Atlanta brokerage offices and then committed suicide. He'd lost a lot of money day trading and decided to take a little revenge before cashing out.
I came upon the idea of a software engineer (in my experience they tend to be a bit odd anyway) who went on a rampage in his office. Except that he wouldn't have any obvious motive, and he would get away. The rest of the book would be the chase and capture of a genius mad-man. I wrote the actual rampage as a prologue, something to grab the reader by the reproductive organs and make one want this monster caught. His name, btw, was Jim Parish. He had a lot of fire power, automatic rifles and pistols and who knew what else. I set the story not near Seattle but in a sleepy suburb of Boston. I'd never been to the great Northwest at that time, but I'd spent time in New England and had friends in and out of the software business there.
And then, in December 2000, a crazed software engineer named Michael McDermott walked into the Boston area offices of Edgewater Technology and murdered seven people in a shooting rampage. Stories at the time from eyewitnesses were spookily similar to what I had written. He used multiple weapons - an automatic rifle, a pistol, a shotgun. The first person he shot was filling in for the receptionist for the day. One of the others had just returned from maternity leave. Three had been barricaded in an office, listening, when he burst in and killed them.
I stopped writing. It wasn't fun any more.
Two years later, my family suffered a terrible tragedy. We lost our daughter Olivia in a stupid, senseless, random auto accident. There was no reason for it to happen, no way it could have been foreseen and prevented, no lessons to be learned, no way to ever achieve closure. There wasn't anyone to blame, there wasn't anything to be done. It was (and is) devastating for all of us, I can only speak for myself.
Grief is a mental illness. I spent five years doing nothing. The nightmares were always accompanied by attempts to fix it, to work backwards and figure out how and why, to somehow explain and to change things so that it had never happened. A way to turn time on its head, to find some miracle that would have saved her at the last moment. If only, if only, if only. Somewhere along that dark journey, I wrote the chapter Baby Bird as a short story. Just for me.
But eventually I had to come back into the world in some way. We have three other children, and grandchildren now. It wasn't fair to our other kids, they still had growing to do and had to do much of that with not only the loss of their sister, but with the diminished capacity of their parents. Those lost years will never be made right, but at some point I had to become nominally functional. I tried a couple of times to reintroduce myself to humanity in the workplace, interviewing for and nearly taking a sales job and more recently by taking a real estate licensing course. But I couldn't bring myself to be forced to face people every day. Or life. I completed the course and passed the exam, but never applied for a license.
I started acting again in community theater, which was better therapy. It's a great way to interact with people without ever having to deal with them personally, and after eight or nine weeks the group just dissolves. Plus I could be someone else while I was doing it. I'm pretty good (it's true!) and if I could deal with auditions and schmoozing and being in the world full time I might even be able to go pro.
Anyway, I kept coming back to Baby Bird. I needed a creative outlet that didn't require direct interaction with others, but I did not want to write even allegorically about Olivia. It was too personal to me, too painful, and I think I was also protecting the rest of the family from my dark thoughts - or protecting myself from the exposure of those thoughts.
At the same time, I saw that the work had to be influenced by my perceptions of reality, of the cruel nature of chance. Olivia was a strange and magical child, certainly some aspects of her life would creep in (Animals really were mysteriously drawn to her; the dolphins in the SeaWorld nursery would cavort wherever she stood along the edge of the cement pool, causing other children to crowd around her to get a closer look. Her clocks really did run backwards.) The theme of the book would be how lives are changed forever by a single, random watershed event. Now I just needed a plot and, to be blunt, a marketable genre.
And then one day I realized that I had not started two books, but only one. Looking back, it is easier to see how seemingly unrelated events start sequences of actions that eventually collide in ways that were impossible to predict before they happened. That is what Chaos Theory is all about.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Chapters 16 and 17 (PDF)
Here are chapter 16 (posted below) and 17 in PDF format. As we get deeper into the characters' indivudual stories, the story does not jump around quite so much. At least, the chapters are a generally a little longer and sequential chapters are more likely to stay on the same characters. That's sort of the case here; although the chapters are short they stay with Jessica's story.
Download chapters 16 and 17 here.
Download chapters 16 and 17 here.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Chapter 16 – Fulfilling Fantasies
A reminder: this is not a children's book. You kids stay in school. This is a short chapter, and so I've decided to post it all in clear text rather than making you download PDF. Although it is suggestive in is also bloodless, and personally I find sex less offensive than violence in the public view. I'll also include it in the PDF of the next chapter for those that are compiling a printable version. That might be a few days - end of the month already, and I have professional deadlines. Oh, how much I could accomplish if I didn't have to work! Anyway, this chapter is not a spoiler to previous chapters. New readers might find they enjoy the style, and pick up the full story from previous posts.
Chapter 16 – Fulfilling Fantasies
Jessica March still loved her husband; or at least, she didn't not love him. It was an indifferent sort of love, she supposed, a love out of habit more than anything else. They'd been married for eighteen years, as many years as she'd lived unmarried. Thursday had been both her birthday and her anniversary, and on reflection spending that night handcuffed to a hotel bed by a total stranger had not been the wisest way to celebrate. It had certainly seemed like a good idea at the time. When she'd told her husband that she had a business meeting in Seattle that day, that she couldn't get out of it, that there was a dinner planned with the client's CEO, that she'd rather stay overnight and drive home the next morning, he'd been infuriatingly understanding. Said they could go out to dinner on Saturday instead, that would give him a couple of extra days to go shopping, ha ha. Just before she left on Thursday morning he gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and told her not to worry, he'd order a pizza, stay home and watch TV. Have fun, he said, and she said I will.
When he first started losing interest in sex a couple of years ago, she suspected that he was having an affair. She couldn't imagine why. It certainly couldn't be that he wasn't getting enough at home, she was more than happy to accommodate him whenever he was in the mood, and if he wasn't she'd often go after him. He'd been in the mood less and less lately though, and when she went to get things going he'd started telling her that it was late or that he'd had a hard day. She'd do the things to him that she always had, then say it looked like he was having a hard night, too, and if he was too tired she'd climb on top and show him how good it could feel and before he knew it he'd be rolling her over and pounding her like a jackhammer. For a while his lack of initiative seemed to translate into an increase in stamina. She knew how to keep him hard – she'd had years of practice – and without that primal drive to conquer her he seemed to go on forever. She would peak three or four times before he finally managed to give her his own climax, which never failed to trigger her final screaming satisfaction. She was having the best sex of her life, and he was just happy be finished.
Then one night he hadn't even bothered to finish, rolling over after one of her preparatory orgasms saying hmm, that was nice, thanks honey and going to sleep. After that, she wasn't even able to get him ready every time.
She'd given up on the idea that he was cheating on her, because she always knew where he was. She'd tried surprising him at his office, he'd always seemed genuinely pleased to see her. Except for their sex life suddenly dropping off to a couple of times a month, he treated her the same as he always had – with a casual absentminded affection. She worried there might be something wrong with him physically, but his last check-up showed him to be in fine health. He wouldn't discuss his sex life with the doctor, of course; he wouldn't even admit anything was wrong. His equipment was still working after all, he woke up with morning wood as often as not and when they did do it the hydraulics all seemed to be in order. He told her that he could, he just didn't need to. It really didn't occur to him that she did need to, even though she told him so in so many words.
Without the reassuring possibility that he was cheating on her or the comforting potential that his circulatory system was failing, Jessica faced the frightening prospect that she was losing her appeal. She was getting old now, after all; she was already in her mid thirties. She'd been blessed with a small frame so gravity hadn't totally ravaged her yet, she thought, but when she looked critically at her naked breasts in the bathroom mirror they seemed lower to her overly critical eyes. She cupped her hands under them to hold them back in place, admired the way they looked up there and the way her small nipples stiffened and grew under her gaze and touch, and then she touched them more because although she was afraid she'd make them sag even more with all the rubbing and pulling, it felt so good.
She couldn't believe, even as old as she was, that men wouldn't be attracted to the raw sexuality that she reflected back at herself. She certainly was. She decided to test it by dressing in her tightest jeans and cutest top and taking a walk one night where she was sure to be seen. And she was. She could feel the heat of strangers' hungry eyes on her round little ass, and the dampness that heat brought between her legs. Suddenly she was scared, realizing how vulnerable she was out alone at night, anyone might grab her, drag her into some dark alley, and as she thought of what they might do to her, her underwear went from damp to soaked. Ashamed and frightened and sure passerbys must notice the musky scent she felt steaming from her, she returned quickly to her car, drove home and parked in the driveway to compose herself. Next time she'd have to pick a safer place, and wear a short skirt and something special under it, maybe she would even let Victoria's secret slip briefly to some unsuspecting young stud. Her jeans were visibly wet now, and she couldn't keep from putting one hand between her clenched thighs, the other one over her mouth to muffle any sounds that might bring the neighbors running or calling the cops.
She decided then that her husband must have discovered that he was gay.
When her breathing returned to normal, Jessica sneaked softly into the house. She didn't really have anything to feel guilty about, but somehow she felt it all the same. What would she say when he asked were she'd been? How would she explain the way she must smell, thepool of liquid she could feel still, so warm and slippery as she walked? She could say she'd been thinking about him, and in a way this was true. She could even truthfully tell him that she'd been fantasizing about him; she'd never had sex with anyone else, and so when she relived the sensation of penetration it was always his erect penis that her memory conjured. She wondered briefly if others would feel much different, tried to picture some, then decided that thinking about other men's genitals was not especially helpful at the moment.
As it turned out, she needn't have been concerned. Her husband was sitting in the living room watching television. She peered around the door frame and announced I'm home, he said hi and signaled her with a wave that he was involved in some TV movie and please don't interrupt. She said she was going upstairs to get a shower, and did.
As she soaped her obviously still attractive body, Jessica wondered whether a man could suddenly just become gay. Not that her husband would ever do anything about it, she thought. She couldn't imagine him ever even discussing it seriously, let alone going to meet some man somewhere for sex. Well, she couldn't imagine him discussing it anyway. She found it disturbingly easy to imagine him doing it, and the more she pictured it the more ways she saw them doing it and the sexier his imaginary partner became and suddenly she imagined that they noticed her watching and the stranger looked at her in an inviting way and then her husband yelled are you alright from the bottom of the stairs and she realized that he'd heard her over the shower and the TV. I'm fine, she said, and really she was.
Mrs. Jessica March had gone from a frequent and fairly satisfying if predictable sex life to a wildly varied if not actually fulfilling fantasy life. Whenever she did make love to her husband, she imagined that he was someone else, sometimes that she was someone else. She had never masturbated in his presence before, now she hoped he'd catch her at it and ask her what she was thinking and wondered whether he would be aroused or disturbed when she told him. It was frustrating to think that he was the only man she had ever or would ever have sex with, and the worst part was she didn't even have anyone to share this frustration with. It was terribly lonely.
Until she found the Internet.
She'd used the Internet before, of course. Her job would have been impossible without its research capabilities, she didn't know how anyone had managed back in the dark ages. She'd used MapQuest and Google Earth and who knows what else to find her way around, it was so much more interesting than just following the GPS. But the 'net had been just an impersonal tool until she discovered all the other frustrated, lonely people who used it to connect with each other. The odds of discovering someone in one's own little circle of acquaintances who shared one's secret most intimate desires were so astronomical one might just as well stand in the street with arms outstretched and wait for him to drop out of the sky. Even if he was out there, how did you go about bringing such persoanl subjects up? But on the Internet, hundreds of millions of people with every possible interest, fantasy, fetish or what have you hang out 24/7 waving big banners reading hey, here's what I'm interested in, want to chat? Jessica found that she did.
Jessica had no intention of actually meeting anyone, and said so in her profile. She stayed totally anonymous. Her profile picture was just a pair of her sexiest panties laid out on top of a dark blanket, they could have belonged to anyone. There was no credit card trail. She'd found that she didn't need a paid subscription, lots of guys – and not a few women – were happy to charge the credits to their own account for the pleasure of chatting with petitepussy125. She never chatted with anyone living within a hundred miles, never exchanged email addresses or shared revealing pics (although many of her network friends posted their own for her to admire), never discussed her real life so she never had to lie. She just liked chatting online with another human being, sharing the most erotic fantasies either could think of as though they were actually happening right then between them. They would urge each other on, typing what each would do to each. Jessica would insist that her online friends masturbate while they chatted, tell her when they were close, climax on her keyboard command. Whether they did or not who cared? She always assumed they did, and she generally joined them. She was still lonely, but at least she was not alone.
And then, a few days before her eighteenth wedding anniversary and thirty-sixth birthday, when she was feeling as lonely and neglected and depressed and horny as she could ever remember being at the same time, ur_master6969 had mentioned that he was traveling to Bellingham, Washington on business. He was going to be staying at the Best Western. His wife would not be along. If she could get away, petitepussy125 was welcome to come spend the night.
That is how she had come to spend Thursday night bound naked on a hotel bed with a strange man. She woke on Saturday morning in much the same circumstances with an even stranger one.
Chapter 16 – Fulfilling Fantasies
Jessica March still loved her husband; or at least, she didn't not love him. It was an indifferent sort of love, she supposed, a love out of habit more than anything else. They'd been married for eighteen years, as many years as she'd lived unmarried. Thursday had been both her birthday and her anniversary, and on reflection spending that night handcuffed to a hotel bed by a total stranger had not been the wisest way to celebrate. It had certainly seemed like a good idea at the time. When she'd told her husband that she had a business meeting in Seattle that day, that she couldn't get out of it, that there was a dinner planned with the client's CEO, that she'd rather stay overnight and drive home the next morning, he'd been infuriatingly understanding. Said they could go out to dinner on Saturday instead, that would give him a couple of extra days to go shopping, ha ha. Just before she left on Thursday morning he gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and told her not to worry, he'd order a pizza, stay home and watch TV. Have fun, he said, and she said I will.
When he first started losing interest in sex a couple of years ago, she suspected that he was having an affair. She couldn't imagine why. It certainly couldn't be that he wasn't getting enough at home, she was more than happy to accommodate him whenever he was in the mood, and if he wasn't she'd often go after him. He'd been in the mood less and less lately though, and when she went to get things going he'd started telling her that it was late or that he'd had a hard day. She'd do the things to him that she always had, then say it looked like he was having a hard night, too, and if he was too tired she'd climb on top and show him how good it could feel and before he knew it he'd be rolling her over and pounding her like a jackhammer. For a while his lack of initiative seemed to translate into an increase in stamina. She knew how to keep him hard – she'd had years of practice – and without that primal drive to conquer her he seemed to go on forever. She would peak three or four times before he finally managed to give her his own climax, which never failed to trigger her final screaming satisfaction. She was having the best sex of her life, and he was just happy be finished.
Then one night he hadn't even bothered to finish, rolling over after one of her preparatory orgasms saying hmm, that was nice, thanks honey and going to sleep. After that, she wasn't even able to get him ready every time.
She'd given up on the idea that he was cheating on her, because she always knew where he was. She'd tried surprising him at his office, he'd always seemed genuinely pleased to see her. Except for their sex life suddenly dropping off to a couple of times a month, he treated her the same as he always had – with a casual absentminded affection. She worried there might be something wrong with him physically, but his last check-up showed him to be in fine health. He wouldn't discuss his sex life with the doctor, of course; he wouldn't even admit anything was wrong. His equipment was still working after all, he woke up with morning wood as often as not and when they did do it the hydraulics all seemed to be in order. He told her that he could, he just didn't need to. It really didn't occur to him that she did need to, even though she told him so in so many words.
Without the reassuring possibility that he was cheating on her or the comforting potential that his circulatory system was failing, Jessica faced the frightening prospect that she was losing her appeal. She was getting old now, after all; she was already in her mid thirties. She'd been blessed with a small frame so gravity hadn't totally ravaged her yet, she thought, but when she looked critically at her naked breasts in the bathroom mirror they seemed lower to her overly critical eyes. She cupped her hands under them to hold them back in place, admired the way they looked up there and the way her small nipples stiffened and grew under her gaze and touch, and then she touched them more because although she was afraid she'd make them sag even more with all the rubbing and pulling, it felt so good.
She couldn't believe, even as old as she was, that men wouldn't be attracted to the raw sexuality that she reflected back at herself. She certainly was. She decided to test it by dressing in her tightest jeans and cutest top and taking a walk one night where she was sure to be seen. And she was. She could feel the heat of strangers' hungry eyes on her round little ass, and the dampness that heat brought between her legs. Suddenly she was scared, realizing how vulnerable she was out alone at night, anyone might grab her, drag her into some dark alley, and as she thought of what they might do to her, her underwear went from damp to soaked. Ashamed and frightened and sure passerbys must notice the musky scent she felt steaming from her, she returned quickly to her car, drove home and parked in the driveway to compose herself. Next time she'd have to pick a safer place, and wear a short skirt and something special under it, maybe she would even let Victoria's secret slip briefly to some unsuspecting young stud. Her jeans were visibly wet now, and she couldn't keep from putting one hand between her clenched thighs, the other one over her mouth to muffle any sounds that might bring the neighbors running or calling the cops.
She decided then that her husband must have discovered that he was gay.
When her breathing returned to normal, Jessica sneaked softly into the house. She didn't really have anything to feel guilty about, but somehow she felt it all the same. What would she say when he asked were she'd been? How would she explain the way she must smell, thepool of liquid she could feel still, so warm and slippery as she walked? She could say she'd been thinking about him, and in a way this was true. She could even truthfully tell him that she'd been fantasizing about him; she'd never had sex with anyone else, and so when she relived the sensation of penetration it was always his erect penis that her memory conjured. She wondered briefly if others would feel much different, tried to picture some, then decided that thinking about other men's genitals was not especially helpful at the moment.
As it turned out, she needn't have been concerned. Her husband was sitting in the living room watching television. She peered around the door frame and announced I'm home, he said hi and signaled her with a wave that he was involved in some TV movie and please don't interrupt. She said she was going upstairs to get a shower, and did.
As she soaped her obviously still attractive body, Jessica wondered whether a man could suddenly just become gay. Not that her husband would ever do anything about it, she thought. She couldn't imagine him ever even discussing it seriously, let alone going to meet some man somewhere for sex. Well, she couldn't imagine him discussing it anyway. She found it disturbingly easy to imagine him doing it, and the more she pictured it the more ways she saw them doing it and the sexier his imaginary partner became and suddenly she imagined that they noticed her watching and the stranger looked at her in an inviting way and then her husband yelled are you alright from the bottom of the stairs and she realized that he'd heard her over the shower and the TV. I'm fine, she said, and really she was.
Mrs. Jessica March had gone from a frequent and fairly satisfying if predictable sex life to a wildly varied if not actually fulfilling fantasy life. Whenever she did make love to her husband, she imagined that he was someone else, sometimes that she was someone else. She had never masturbated in his presence before, now she hoped he'd catch her at it and ask her what she was thinking and wondered whether he would be aroused or disturbed when she told him. It was frustrating to think that he was the only man she had ever or would ever have sex with, and the worst part was she didn't even have anyone to share this frustration with. It was terribly lonely.
Until she found the Internet.
She'd used the Internet before, of course. Her job would have been impossible without its research capabilities, she didn't know how anyone had managed back in the dark ages. She'd used MapQuest and Google Earth and who knows what else to find her way around, it was so much more interesting than just following the GPS. But the 'net had been just an impersonal tool until she discovered all the other frustrated, lonely people who used it to connect with each other. The odds of discovering someone in one's own little circle of acquaintances who shared one's secret most intimate desires were so astronomical one might just as well stand in the street with arms outstretched and wait for him to drop out of the sky. Even if he was out there, how did you go about bringing such persoanl subjects up? But on the Internet, hundreds of millions of people with every possible interest, fantasy, fetish or what have you hang out 24/7 waving big banners reading hey, here's what I'm interested in, want to chat? Jessica found that she did.
Jessica had no intention of actually meeting anyone, and said so in her profile. She stayed totally anonymous. Her profile picture was just a pair of her sexiest panties laid out on top of a dark blanket, they could have belonged to anyone. There was no credit card trail. She'd found that she didn't need a paid subscription, lots of guys – and not a few women – were happy to charge the credits to their own account for the pleasure of chatting with petitepussy125. She never chatted with anyone living within a hundred miles, never exchanged email addresses or shared revealing pics (although many of her network friends posted their own for her to admire), never discussed her real life so she never had to lie. She just liked chatting online with another human being, sharing the most erotic fantasies either could think of as though they were actually happening right then between them. They would urge each other on, typing what each would do to each. Jessica would insist that her online friends masturbate while they chatted, tell her when they were close, climax on her keyboard command. Whether they did or not who cared? She always assumed they did, and she generally joined them. She was still lonely, but at least she was not alone.
And then, a few days before her eighteenth wedding anniversary and thirty-sixth birthday, when she was feeling as lonely and neglected and depressed and horny as she could ever remember being at the same time, ur_master6969 had mentioned that he was traveling to Bellingham, Washington on business. He was going to be staying at the Best Western. His wife would not be along. If she could get away, petitepussy125 was welcome to come spend the night.
That is how she had come to spend Thursday night bound naked on a hotel bed with a strange man. She woke on Saturday morning in much the same circumstances with an even stranger one.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Chapter 15 - Overtime (pdf)
Vicki Blake is more than an FBI agent. She's also a human being. We learn a little more about Vicki and her partner in this shortish chapter. This chapter is not for the squeamish.
Chapter 15 in PDF format here.
Chapter 15 in PDF format here.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Chapter 14 - PDF
Here's the complete chapter 14 in PDF format.
In case you missed it, here are chapters 1 - 13 in PDF.
In case you missed it, here are chapters 1 - 13 in PDF.
Chapter 14 – Going To The Zoo
This chapter explains a lot. Or at least, it sets up where the explanations are going. Be sure you read chapters 1 - 13 first (available on the previous post to download). Even so, the first three paragraphs printed below won't spoil anything.
One might be getting the idea by now that our hero has some issues.
Chapter 14 – Going To The Zoo
Traffic on the George Washington Bridge had been heavy, but kept moving. Jim hated driving over bridges. He especially hated the GWB, which his father for some unknown reason had always called “the Georgie d'Wash.” Hey, Jimmy, we're going over the Georgie d'Wash – do you want to go up top or underneath? Neither option appealed to Jim. Driving on the upper level was especially nerve wracking. The open gray sky above was divided by cables that looked too thin to support the narrow lanes of concrete carrying massive streams of cars and trucks, all of which seemed bent on forcing Jim to drive faster than he liked, closer to the car in front than he preferred, and far too near the guard rails separating his own non-buoyant conveyance from the cold black water below. Cars were not meant to fly, they weren't meant to float, and he had an uneasy feeling that at any time his could do one and then attempt the other. On windy days the bridge swayed noticeably, more so on the top level where the towers provided a handy fixed reference. Passing under the great suspension towers gave him the willies as well – each time was like crossing the gates of hell.
The lower level was slightly better, in that the sky was blocked from view by the same strips of steel and concrete, a comforting boundary that he could not even accidentally cross. If he stayed in the center lane, the river was so far away it might have been a part of another landscape. But the lower level was dark and noisy and narrow, and with no trucks to throttle the traffic that zipped along at an uncomfortable speed when it was not stopped altogether.
He could have taken one of the tunnels, of course. The Holland had been his favorite route into New York – long and cool and smooth with neatly tiled walls that hardly every dripped and halogen lighting that never varied. He had not taken the Holland since the Towers came down. The skyline looked forever wrong without the twins in their place. Traveling there was like visiting a friend with a freshly amputated limb; however hard he tried to look elsewhere, his attention was always drawn to the stump. The raw empty space was so unnatural it made him physically ill. He'd only driven into lower Manhattan once since the attacks, when thick black columns of poisonous smoke were still fouling the air, and he had gone out of his way to avoid it ever since. In fact, he rarely drove into the city at all; or anywhere else for that matter. But Maya owned a car and didn't like driving there herself – too chaotic, she said – and hauling a toddler around on trains, buses and subways is even less fun than it sounds.
One might be getting the idea by now that our hero has some issues.
Chapter 14 – Going To The Zoo
Traffic on the George Washington Bridge had been heavy, but kept moving. Jim hated driving over bridges. He especially hated the GWB, which his father for some unknown reason had always called “the Georgie d'Wash.” Hey, Jimmy, we're going over the Georgie d'Wash – do you want to go up top or underneath? Neither option appealed to Jim. Driving on the upper level was especially nerve wracking. The open gray sky above was divided by cables that looked too thin to support the narrow lanes of concrete carrying massive streams of cars and trucks, all of which seemed bent on forcing Jim to drive faster than he liked, closer to the car in front than he preferred, and far too near the guard rails separating his own non-buoyant conveyance from the cold black water below. Cars were not meant to fly, they weren't meant to float, and he had an uneasy feeling that at any time his could do one and then attempt the other. On windy days the bridge swayed noticeably, more so on the top level where the towers provided a handy fixed reference. Passing under the great suspension towers gave him the willies as well – each time was like crossing the gates of hell.
The lower level was slightly better, in that the sky was blocked from view by the same strips of steel and concrete, a comforting boundary that he could not even accidentally cross. If he stayed in the center lane, the river was so far away it might have been a part of another landscape. But the lower level was dark and noisy and narrow, and with no trucks to throttle the traffic that zipped along at an uncomfortable speed when it was not stopped altogether.
He could have taken one of the tunnels, of course. The Holland had been his favorite route into New York – long and cool and smooth with neatly tiled walls that hardly every dripped and halogen lighting that never varied. He had not taken the Holland since the Towers came down. The skyline looked forever wrong without the twins in their place. Traveling there was like visiting a friend with a freshly amputated limb; however hard he tried to look elsewhere, his attention was always drawn to the stump. The raw empty space was so unnatural it made him physically ill. He'd only driven into lower Manhattan once since the attacks, when thick black columns of poisonous smoke were still fouling the air, and he had gone out of his way to avoid it ever since. In fact, he rarely drove into the city at all; or anywhere else for that matter. But Maya owned a car and didn't like driving there herself – too chaotic, she said – and hauling a toddler around on trains, buses and subways is even less fun than it sounds.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Presidenting Is Hard Work
And so is writing. If I was getting anything else done, I could complain about how I don't have time to work on the writing, but that's not the case.
At the moment, Jim, Maya and Tali are at the Bronx Zoo, having a day off. It's Saturday after all. This is a difficult chapter to write, mostly because there is very little action. I'm having a lot of fun with Tali at the zoo, but the dialog b/t Maya and Jim is still a bit awkward. It's much easier for me to write from Jim's perspective than from Maya's, and although she can be taciturn she has to speak or the deeper themes can't be explained. It's only her reticence that keeps me from beating the reader over the head with them.
Spaz - I mean, Larry - is coming to dinner tomorrow. Allen is getting ready to work his way east, and Jessica's fate is still unknown. Agents Laramie and Blake know who they are looking for1 - at least, they know his identity, they are just starting to know what kind of person he is. In the processes, we'll learn what kind of person each of them is. All the parallel lines are beginning to converge, and I think that we'll find that Douglas Adams was right: the universe is not merely curved, it is totally bent. I hope to have "Chapter 14 - Going To The Zoo" posted by Tuesday. It's a longish chapter. The next one is quite brief and will be up shortly after that.
------------------------------------------------
1 Yeah, yeah. I know. "... for whom they are looking." Good grammar doesn't always make the best prose, and rarely works in poetry. At least I run spell check.
At the moment, Jim, Maya and Tali are at the Bronx Zoo, having a day off. It's Saturday after all. This is a difficult chapter to write, mostly because there is very little action. I'm having a lot of fun with Tali at the zoo, but the dialog b/t Maya and Jim is still a bit awkward. It's much easier for me to write from Jim's perspective than from Maya's, and although she can be taciturn she has to speak or the deeper themes can't be explained. It's only her reticence that keeps me from beating the reader over the head with them.
Spaz - I mean, Larry - is coming to dinner tomorrow. Allen is getting ready to work his way east, and Jessica's fate is still unknown. Agents Laramie and Blake know who they are looking for1 - at least, they know his identity, they are just starting to know what kind of person he is. In the processes, we'll learn what kind of person each of them is. All the parallel lines are beginning to converge, and I think that we'll find that Douglas Adams was right: the universe is not merely curved, it is totally bent. I hope to have "Chapter 14 - Going To The Zoo" posted by Tuesday. It's a longish chapter. The next one is quite brief and will be up shortly after that.
------------------------------------------------
1 Yeah, yeah. I know. "... for whom they are looking." Good grammar doesn't always make the best prose, and rarely works in poetry. At least I run spell check.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Chapters 1 through 13 - PDF
The usual disclaimer - you want to read full chapters in order. I particularly like the opening of chapter 13, though, and it doesn't give anything away even if you haven't started the book yet. In fact, I particularly like the entire chapter. That's probably why it's longer than many of the others. Personalities are fun, especially the kind of broad personalities that can be given to minor characters; they would become tiresome if they took up too much of the story.
Chapter 12 is ... disturbing. At least I find it so.
I'm providing 1 - 13 in a single PDF, I'll try and do that once a month. If someone can suggest a better way of packaging it, I'm all ears.
Chapter 13 – Hormones
Mary Ellen O'Brien lived in a cliché. Agent Laramie's black town car looked as out of place as a flying saucer parked in front of the perfect picket fence bordering the perfectly trimmed postage stamp lawn in which two cats, one calico and one orange tabby, sat contentedly licking their paws, watching the perfect little birdhouse for any signs of activity. The small ranch was a perfect starter home for the perfect young couple; the second bedroom would make a perfect nursery for their first perfect baby and the compact little kitchen was just ... perfect.
(get chapters 1 - 13 by clicking here)
Chapter 12 is ... disturbing. At least I find it so.
I'm providing 1 - 13 in a single PDF, I'll try and do that once a month. If someone can suggest a better way of packaging it, I'm all ears.
Chapter 13 – Hormones
Mary Ellen O'Brien lived in a cliché. Agent Laramie's black town car looked as out of place as a flying saucer parked in front of the perfect picket fence bordering the perfectly trimmed postage stamp lawn in which two cats, one calico and one orange tabby, sat contentedly licking their paws, watching the perfect little birdhouse for any signs of activity. The small ranch was a perfect starter home for the perfect young couple; the second bedroom would make a perfect nursery for their first perfect baby and the compact little kitchen was just ... perfect.
(get chapters 1 - 13 by clicking here)
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Chapter 11 - Friends (snippet)
Here we go again - if you haven't read the first three chapters, the opening of this chapter has a retroactive spoiler (so go read them). The next post will be complete from Chap 1 - 12 (or maybe 13) because I went back and corrected a few typos and repaginated.
This is, I think, the longest chapter so far. More connections are made. It also mentions Eschaton, which may amuse some regular readers. As far as I know, there is no such company as WebbieComm. There is a WebbyComm; it isn't a company but rather a product; not to be confused.
Chapter 11 - Friends
“Good morning, Jim,” Tina chirped cheerfully, barely looking up from her magazine. “Feeling better? Larry's looking for you.”
“Hi, Tina, yes fine, and thanks.” He paused at her desk and added, “you're looking bright and cheerful this morning.”
“Why thank you!” she smiled, her turn to blush for a change. She guessed he really was feeling better.
He'd barely landed in his chair when Spaz popped up in its usual spot. “Hey, dude. Did you see the news this morning? Some story, huh?”
“That guy who caught the little girl? Yeah, I saw it. And don't call me dude.”
“What little girl?” Spaz asked. “No, dude, I mean the Seattle Shooter. Only it wasn't Seattle. It was Tukwila. Guess they didn't think the Tukwila Shooter had that ring. Guy wasted the whole company.”
“Oh, yeah, I did see something about that.”
“Dude, doesn't Tukwila ring a bell? WebbieComm? Ding, ding, ding? That's our eCommerce stuff! Bailey's trying to get one of their board members on the phone, but no luck so far. Too early over there, besides I bet they'll have other things on their minds than our little linkup. You know what this means, right?”
This is, I think, the longest chapter so far. More connections are made. It also mentions Eschaton, which may amuse some regular readers. As far as I know, there is no such company as WebbieComm. There is a WebbyComm; it isn't a company but rather a product; not to be confused.
Chapter 11 - Friends
“Good morning, Jim,” Tina chirped cheerfully, barely looking up from her magazine. “Feeling better? Larry's looking for you.”
“Hi, Tina, yes fine, and thanks.” He paused at her desk and added, “you're looking bright and cheerful this morning.”
“Why thank you!” she smiled, her turn to blush for a change. She guessed he really was feeling better.
He'd barely landed in his chair when Spaz popped up in its usual spot. “Hey, dude. Did you see the news this morning? Some story, huh?”
“That guy who caught the little girl? Yeah, I saw it. And don't call me dude.”
“What little girl?” Spaz asked. “No, dude, I mean the Seattle Shooter. Only it wasn't Seattle. It was Tukwila. Guess they didn't think the Tukwila Shooter had that ring. Guy wasted the whole company.”
“Oh, yeah, I did see something about that.”
“Dude, doesn't Tukwila ring a bell? WebbieComm? Ding, ding, ding? That's our eCommerce stuff! Bailey's trying to get one of their board members on the phone, but no luck so far. Too early over there, besides I bet they'll have other things on their minds than our little linkup. You know what this means, right?”
Monday, May 5, 2008
Chapter 9 - All The News
My usual caveat - you don't want to read below until you've read the previous chapters. You can get Chapters 1-7 here, and Chapter 8 here. I was originally going to entitle this chapter Batman, but it's really more about the news media. This is only the first few paragraphs, the post below includes this complete chapter as well as the next.
Chpater 9 - All The News
It was 5:51 am. No sense bothering with the snooze alarm, he hadn't been asleep. All that coffee, he supposed. That gave him an extra nine minutes, so he took an extra long shower; even so, he was sitting down to his eggs a little early, just before the 6:30 news cycle started. A pretty young blond had on her very serious face as she finished the latest repetition of today's big story – an office shooting spree connected to a brutal domestic murder in the Pacific northwest. She closed the report with “... and his whereabouts,” dramatic pause, “are still unknown.”
The newsmuffin's face morphed seamlessly into its cheerful demeanor as she transitioned into the next story. “And another man whose whereabouts are unknown is the anonymous hero who saved a little girl's life yesterday morning then disappeared on a city bus.”
Although not completely unexpected, it was still a shock to see the grainy picture of the back of his own head pop up on the television screen partially obscuring Maya's joyful tear streaked face. It must have been taken at the moment before he'd handed the child to her. He was amazed at how many emotions the camera lens had captured in that instant in her expression, not appreciating that it was his own memory filling in the gaps between the pixels. The rest of the television audience only saw a grateful mother, which is why they were able to chew and swallow their breakfasts while the report continued.
“The mother, Maya Williams, was too distraught to provide us with many details, and Child Protective Services is still investigating how the toddler fell out of the window to begin with. But one thing we know for certain, this little bird owes a lot to the Commuter Hero who returned her,” dramatic pause, “to her nest.” The smile went flat again. “We'll be back with more on the Seattle Shooter after these messages.”
The Commuter Hero. Suddenly, Jim had a secret identity – he was just like Batman. Except for the rubber mask and muscles, of course. And his identity would not stay a secret for long. He didn't know any of his neighbors and they would never have had a reason to take an interest in him before. Still, Jim Parish was a creature of habit and someone would surely be able to connect his daily trip to the bus stop with that picture and figure out where he had come from. Maya had found him without any trouble. It didn't occur to him to at first to be surprised that the reporter hadn't, although it finally did occur to him to swallow the forkful of eggs that had been languishing in his mouth.
Chpater 9 - All The News
It was 5:51 am. No sense bothering with the snooze alarm, he hadn't been asleep. All that coffee, he supposed. That gave him an extra nine minutes, so he took an extra long shower; even so, he was sitting down to his eggs a little early, just before the 6:30 news cycle started. A pretty young blond had on her very serious face as she finished the latest repetition of today's big story – an office shooting spree connected to a brutal domestic murder in the Pacific northwest. She closed the report with “... and his whereabouts,” dramatic pause, “are still unknown.”
The newsmuffin's face morphed seamlessly into its cheerful demeanor as she transitioned into the next story. “And another man whose whereabouts are unknown is the anonymous hero who saved a little girl's life yesterday morning then disappeared on a city bus.”
Although not completely unexpected, it was still a shock to see the grainy picture of the back of his own head pop up on the television screen partially obscuring Maya's joyful tear streaked face. It must have been taken at the moment before he'd handed the child to her. He was amazed at how many emotions the camera lens had captured in that instant in her expression, not appreciating that it was his own memory filling in the gaps between the pixels. The rest of the television audience only saw a grateful mother, which is why they were able to chew and swallow their breakfasts while the report continued.
“The mother, Maya Williams, was too distraught to provide us with many details, and Child Protective Services is still investigating how the toddler fell out of the window to begin with. But one thing we know for certain, this little bird owes a lot to the Commuter Hero who returned her,” dramatic pause, “to her nest.” The smile went flat again. “We'll be back with more on the Seattle Shooter after these messages.”
The Commuter Hero. Suddenly, Jim had a secret identity – he was just like Batman. Except for the rubber mask and muscles, of course. And his identity would not stay a secret for long. He didn't know any of his neighbors and they would never have had a reason to take an interest in him before. Still, Jim Parish was a creature of habit and someone would surely be able to connect his daily trip to the bus stop with that picture and figure out where he had come from. Maya had found him without any trouble. It didn't occur to him to at first to be surprised that the reporter hadn't, although it finally did occur to him to swallow the forkful of eggs that had been languishing in his mouth.
Chapters 8, 9 and 10 in PDF
Here's the latest - up through Chapter 10, where we start to learn a little about Rob Laramie. Who would have guessed that he had a personality? Other than me, I mean. You can't tell from the prose, but he looks exactly like one of my uncles.
Click HERE for chapters 8 - 10.
Click HERE for chapters 8 - 10.
