Today's goal: 48,333
The story's not quite finished. It'll probably be about 60,000 words altogether. But it is very close now!
And here is another excerpt, for your potential reading pleasure....
( The last bow and greeting of the day was finished. Her caller Shindo had been dismissed a few minutes earlier. Qi swallowed a sip of water to ease a throat hoarse from singing and stepped aross the threshold of her private chambers. )
Community: brigits_flame October week 4
Word count: 1583
Where I grew up, you're not an adult until you know how to change. Not change like changing your clothes. Change like your whole body turns inside out and becomes something else.
Ashvir from my village thought it was the funniest thing in the world. His laughing woke me up one morning. I looked down and there was Mother Kiri in tiroth-shape, her hair all standing up on end and her fangs bared, facing off against the biggest fattest spider you ever saw. Her eyes were bugging out from a face all covered in fur, and her arms had grown an extra elbow. Ashvir was hopping on a branch right behind her, pulling his eyelids inside out and biting his bottom lip. She kicked the spider off our platform and I burst out laughing because Ashvir kicked the air too and tripped. He fell down so hard it shook the whole platform and knocked the mother right on her furry tiroth butt.
Grownups hated him, but to me he was like the fruit you weren't supposed to touch. I shadowed him wherever he went, secretly hoping some of that daring would rub off on me.( We played Change, me and Ashvir and the other kids. )
I'm going to be out of town from today till next Wednesday, so I don't know if I'll be able to respond to comments right away. But thank you in advance for reading, and I hope you enjoy. :) I will answer people's posts as soon as I can when I get back.
(click to enlarge)
Sorry, Jim, it's not me yet. But it is a rsakk, best as I can visualize the anatomy anyway. Still haven't figured out how to get a sketchbook across the fourth wall.
You know this guy's happy about something 'cause his crest is down. The green-grey scales mean he's probably Decani. They're the renegades and general malcontents in Tuklos (the capital city).
“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
What would make this navel any different from the ones nobody wants to see?
Some sassy in-your-face rant?
A heap of peeling sticky notes?
A little brown girl and a little white boy playing with bugs in the dirt, running like wolves and roaring into the sky?
Belly button lint in the form of post-its, spilling out over the desk, collecting gunk in the bottom of my purse, stuck together like the layers of an onion.
The pain and confusion of not being able to trust your own mind. Of having your muse get a sudden case of stage fright in the one moment she needs to sing loud and clear. Of curling up beside your patient lover, pen in hand, and when he leans down to nibble your arm, shrieking and hitting him. Freezing in terror at what you've done. Trying to explain in your best calm voice, through helpless tears, “No, no, it's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you.” Words failing. Hurt recoiling. I'm just trying to teach myself it's okay to come out and play.
I'll count on the stickies instead. Gather them into an unceremonious pile and meticulously peel them apart one by one:
People who live in glass houses shouldn't walk around naked.
People who want to look tough shouldn't pretend to be dragons.
Not even fear. Fear could be fought, faced down with a gaze willing to take the consequences, lasted out like an ocean storm. I could take manual control of the hand with the pen and force it to scrawl words on the page, any words, freewriting until the spell broke. But this is not fear, it is nothing....
The internet is a fishbowl full of navels. Little fleshy bundles floating in a magnifying sea, trailing bits of umbilical cord. Some haven't been washed in years. Some are pierced. Some sag in tattooed rolls of postpartum fat. Stare at yours long enough and everyone else will stare too.
People who live in internet fishbowls shouldn't walk around naked.
Thanks to yonjuunanaand jimnightmare, who are the reasons I have robots on the brain. And to Jeeney, who helped immensely with dialog. Most of the comments in here are direct unprompted quotes.
Bui Van Vinh typed a last calculation onto his console keyboard and then wearily lifted the forty pounds of metal and plastic and wires which lay crumpled by his worktable, until it stood straight again. Its knees locked with a whir and click, and for a moment the robot shell stood perfectly upright, its legs balanced in what he prayed would someday resemble grace.
His desk was littered with empty meal trays and caffiene chew wrappers. He took a deep breath, trying to soothe his jangling nerves. Then he turned back to the screen and hit Run.
MARIA took one jerky step, another. Then her toe caught on a minute crack on the floor, her whole body swayed alarmingly, and she fell flat on her sculpted plastic face.( In which a robotics engineer gets more than he bargained for. )