Hey Jon! I'm not going to stop blogging :P

Just wondering something, from everybody out there reading these posts. I know there's at least, you know, one of you.

Lots of characters are based on some aspect of their creator. This is clear to varying degrees in the stuff I've written, but there's one aspect of myself that I've never explored: none of my characters share my visceral reaction to dishonesty. I just don't think people would consider it realistic for the main character to go into convulsions upon trying to lie, not without outside intervention. So, does anybody else feel like something about them is 'unrealistic'?

In the spirit of a story I lost somewhere

"What's this bit? 'I, the undersigned, do hereby consent to remain bound by this contract, notwithstanding the love or grace of any entity that may or may not exist'?"
Satan winced. "Standard loophole-closing. The world is full of otherwise decent, moral people, who'd default from a contract like this in a heartbeat."
"Lousy tippers, too, I bet."

Nnnn...

I can't get motivated for NaNoWriMo... part of it is my schedule... I need the time to unwind...

Also, this semester is just kind of horrible.

In addition, my mind keeps on wandering off to other projects...

Maybe if I were more interested in these characters... I mean, the setting is awesome.

Nanowrimo Day 2: Current status: 1259 behind

(Note: my wordcount goal will not advance on Mondays and Tuesdays. To compensate, I'll try to put in four hours of writing a day, the rest of the week.)

"Fine, thanks." A host of questions flashed through Elaine's mind. She knew the answer to most of them, though. "What do I do now?"

"Now? You survive."

Later, they walked down the streets together, finishing up Ken's rounds for the day.

"My biggest complaint about this place is the atmosphere. It's just a little hard to handle."

"The barren desolation of a city that grows to accomodate a non-existant population?"

"No, I meant that it's mostly helium."

"Oh... that."

"Am I getting you down? I'd hate to be a burden."

"No, it's no problem. You don't have to do much to pull your weight down here, just—get back!"

Dull clunks echoed down a sidestreet. After far too long, their source stepped into view. The first thing Elaine noticed about the man was that her eyes couldn't stay on him. Some aspect of his being was so aggressively non-descript that the effort of seeing what was so unremarkable made her tear up.

The man spoke, in a voice just like Ken's (hopefully, she would learn to distinguish voices once she got over the falsetto effect). "So, Ken, you got yourself a girl from the new shipment of meat. I never figured you'd go for brunettes."

"Easy, Layton. She's new here. You don't want to scare her, do you?"

"Maybe I don't, and maybe I do. Either way, I don't see what you care. Shouldn't you be on the phone somewhere, ass-kissing the high-and-mighty?"

"You sick voyeur, where have you been spying on me from? I thought those moments I shared over telepresence were private and special."

Layton and Elaine stared and Ken uneasily. "Umm..."

"It was a joke. Honestly, is there some rule that says I'm not allowed to have a sense of humor, just because my job is keeping people in line?"

Layton shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, honestly... I was going to rough you up for fun, but now I'm too disturbed to do anything like that." He stalked off, the chains that supported his clothing clunking as he went.

"Who was that?"

"Elaine? What do you think of me?"

"Well, so far, you've seemed honest, reasonable, an odd sense of humor... Is that wrong?"

"Most of the guys down here, and the women as well, would like nothing more than to bash my face in. They've decided that fun is more important than order. You're going to have to take a side, too."

Update

Effective tonight, I am changing the way I set up my daily goals. I'm still behind, but I'm caving to reality and redistributing when I plan to work.

ATTENTION EVERYONE

I would like to make a statement about NaNoWriMo:

"Oh god. The pain. Make it stop. Make the hurting stop. So. Much. Pain. Stop it. Aargh."

Thank you.

Thoughts on Dark Blue

I'm really digging the setting that I worked out by dashing off words. Frontier may make next to no sense, but oh well.

Today's update is going to be fun. Just have to remember to write it...

Nanowrimo Day 1: Current status: 769 behind

Ken stared at the colors of the sky. Some snake-oil peddler in marketing had thought that a new sky would attract more people to the project, but looking at the whorl of green and purple above him always just reminded him of the darkness just beyond. By now, he barely remembered what the old sky looked like. "I think the thing I miss the most is clouds. The fog in here just isn't the same." Nobody heard. A lump of trash blew by. There was supposed to be a state-of-the-art automatic cleaning system, but few enough people had been interested in the project that there were no maintenance workers. Eventually, the cleaning robots became part of the trash they had been built to collect.

A chime sounded, and a soft, female voice—paradoxically, much deeper than his own—resounded through the dome: "Attention, residents. Attention, residents. A new convoy of staff has been sent in. Please welcome them, and extend appropriate courtesy." Nothing like that had happened in years; before communications got locked down, Ken and the others had been pretty vocal about how unpleasant the working and living conditions were. Headhunters had scraped a few more groups together in spite of this, but the new people had simply added their voices to the chorus. Over the years, the flow had petered out. Some had left, while others, like Ken, had no idea what kind of life was left for them in their former homes. By the time he worked up the courage to request a transfer out, he was informed that it would be impossible. Well, for now, there was nothing to do but his daily rounds.

The layout of Frontier never got any easier to navigate. Most of the city's subsystems never needed any maintenance, and chugged merrily along, never ceasing despite the lack of input. The streets were modular, and frequently moved on their own, according to some strange priorities that nobody had ever been able to account for. The wide thoroughfare he had been strolling down, for instance, abruptly took a sharp right into a dead end. It didn't pay to get to attached to anything you couldn't carry with you at all times; more than once, Ken's home had run away while he was out.

Ken was a security officer; so long as he had a patrol, he got money in his account. Once, years ago, he'd been too drunk to patrol.

"We're sorry, but this is a dereliction of duty, and we will take disciplinary action."
"How do you even know I wasn't on patrol?"
"Surveillance footage."
"If you've got cameras everywhere, why do you need me?"
"We don't have cameras everywhere. We just have cameras near you."
"So you watch the watchmen. Whose job is that? Some voyeuristic temp?"
"If you must know, it's Neural Net 38's job. And now that I'm done giving you information that you'll never need, I'm off to dock your pay properly for all this."

Later that day, he had realized he only kept his job because firing him would be too expensive. In the end, it was good money, if nothing else.

A klaxon sounded. Ken stopped walking, and stared up at the sky. The analog projection at the center indicated that several hours had passed since the announcement. Unbelievable. Even in this maze, he could get used to his route. He angled left; the port was somewhere in that direction, last he saw, and the new crew needed someone to welcome them. It was easy enough to get there; just vault the counter at the abandoned bar, go several blocks north in the basement passages, emerge from the supply closet in what was meant to be a daycare (that bit never stopped being weird) and the port was in sight.

Various lights flashed. Somewhere, far away from here, the panels that would label those lights were bolted to the wall by the internal remodeling system. After a tremendous grinding whir, the airlock shuddered open, dislodging years' worth of dust. As the dust settled, a single figure became visible. "Just one woman?"

She stepped forward unsteadly. As she cleared the airlock, it ground shut once more.

"Miss? Are you okay?"

She giggled. "Everything sounds so... so funny." She began to sway.

"Miss?" Ken rushed forward to support her. "You might be reacting badly to the change in pressure. But if you can answer, I've got so many questions. Why were you the only one on the sub? Who are you? Why come here?"

"Um... I think... that thing you said about pressure... I don't think I can answer any questions right now." She collapsed completely onto his shoulder. Ken sighed, and hefted her to the nearest apartment building. As security personnel, he had access to all the rooms in various kinds of buildings, so he could at least get her, whoever she was, to a bed.

Elaine groaned, and forced her eyes open. White walls, coated in dust, swam into focus. An unfamiliar room... She levered herself up, and looked around more. The room looked like any other apartment. A man sat in a chair at the other end of the room. He had sandy-blond hair, and a full beard. The next thing she noticed was the baton at his waist. Her eyes widened.

Ken, seeing that she was awake, rushed over. "Are you feeling any better?"