#amwritinghorror: The Rorqual

The Mother of All Alien Invasions starts with a foot race.

Setting: the Bering Sea

p. 29:

The pago paws at the hull. Black angels, are they? Wearing coats of water, coats of snow. Wings cutting the air like blades.

The man from Endurance said they’d rolled their dead down slopes. His pregnant wife, he’d filled her mouth with shards of ice and rock.

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Stay tuned.

 

#amwritinghistoricalfantasy

An image of the Blessed Virgin accompanied him into every battle, resting on the pommel of his saddle. The Saint was a trickster, a conjurer. At his first victory, at the walled fortress of Quesada, his men scaled the walls in the darkness, first muffling their ladders with cloth.

#amwritingflash

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Reading Last Night at the Main House

When Lise-Ann McLoughlin, an Irish actress and screenplay writer, reads your words aloud and you become a puddle on the floor.

From “The Rorqual,” self’s horror story-in-progress, set in the Bering Sea:

A large shelf of ice had just dislodged — calved — the day before in Hobart Bay. The sea water had risen by several feet. The immensity of the sound — a low thunder that cascaded off the sides of the snow-capped mountains — was deeply unsettling. Here and there, by the water’s edge, were tussocks of green on which grey tippled seals crowded, blunt snouts raised high in the air.

Despair gripped her.

“Can they replace him with a pagophilic?” the Captain asked.

Tamara bit her lip. “I won’t have a pagophilic. I’d sooner kill them than look at them. They murdered all my children but one. And all the people of the Black Hills.”

NOTE: Self invented this creature, the pagophilic. Somewhere in her story is the dictionary definition. But, the short answer: Pagophilics are mutants developed by the U.S. Navy in a top-secret (naturally) facility somewhere north. Something went wrong with the experiments, and the program was discontinued. A few of the pagos managed to escape and are roaming the northern wilds.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

#amwritinghorror about a Small Queen

  • The Small Queen’s face and hands were white as snow. But her blood was a deep red. Deeper than the red of the reddest flame. It hurt Tamara to think. The Small Queen was scarcely eighteen years.

NOTE: The Small Queen leads her tribe in battle against the Longnecks.

Funny Scene, Transporter 2118: #work-in-progress #fantasy #dystopia #thefutureIthink

“I think I’m gorgeous,” she said. You do not have any idea how that sounds in hard, clipped Mandarin. Until you hear it.

She continued, “You’re probably thinking: Why couldn’t I have a transport in Tonga? Islands, humpback whales, warmth.”

I gaped. I had actually just been thinking: Islands, humpback whales, warmth.


Stay tuned.

Announcing Bellingham Review’s 7th Annual On-line Issue

The story Bellingham Review published, “Ice,” is part of a dystopian fantasy series.

Read it here.

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Cottage # 2, Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig: November 2017

 

 

#amreading #amwritingfantasy: Inspired by Ian McEwan’s SATURDAY

The first time self read Saturday, by Ian McEwan, was in 2009. She only knows for sure because she did a Search on this blog. And up it popped, complete with spoilers.

But, since she believes she has more time to appreciate reading while she’s in Ireland, she’s going to give Saturday another go.

Amazing how ‘interior’ it is. Also amazing: that it’s about a surgeon. And she just got through reading Do No Harm, by neurosurgeon Henry Marsh. She swears, that’s just coincidence.

What Saturday‘s already succeeded in doing, even though self is only a few pages in: it’s gotten her to add a few more lines to the story she began three days ago, after arriving at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Annaghmakerrig. Working title: Transporter 2118

“As a matter of fact . . . ” I thought, but why mince words when she could read minds.

Tu-an Ju rose from the bed.

Oh. I didn’t realize she was that tall.

Looks like the transporter might have a problem.

lol

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

#amwritinghorror: More of “The Rorqual”

27 pages!

He felt uneasy and decided to call in his position:

Mocking-bird O for Orange, Mocking-bird O for Orange.

His heart jumped unsteadily while he waited for the response. Finally, there was a burst of static followed by a tinn-y, echoing voice saying, “Oh Joshua, thank God, you’re going to make it — “

“Hello,” Joshua practically screamed. “Hello, I’m at — “

(Don’t know if that call sign is too laughable. Self is a huge Hunger Games fan, and Orange is the baker’s favorite color)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

#amwritinghorror: “The Rorqual”

Setting: the far north, near the Bering Sea

Joshua and his team had spent the last two months in the Baltra Valley. It was rough, tussocky ground, speckled with huge, granite boulders. When his team first arrived, they made a talley:

Arctic foxes: 5

Terns: 23

Plovers: 51

Snow geese: 62

Now, in the fading twilight, 63 days in, he heard not a sound, saw not one bird: there were only shadows, moving across the ground too rapidly to be identified.

He decided it might be useful to time these flitting shadows.

They tended to increase in frequency towards the end of the day, so this was when he set out.

Time: less than a minute between shadows. Thirty seconds. 15 seconds.

It occurred to Joshua that they might be hunting. What was their prey?

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

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