Fresh New Start

A great new start for the new year of our blog.  Still here to help and grow.   Creating something goes at its pace.  Priorities happen and we have to push forward, let nothing stop our projects, the calling to write or paint, to create something that is bursting through the fabric of our center. One thing about being my own boss, I can hire and fire myself anytime.  I don't even get a severance pay or not, but it's ok.  I wake up the next day and try again. This year has been especially hard, maybe more rough than last year. We are always looking for fresh new ideas and this blog is a place to talk about writing, talk about art.  There are no limits here to creativity.    Book three has its challenges, but if I am patient fresh ideas start churning again.  

 

Dreams are precious, keep working on your goals.  Turn off the chatter censor that says negative things. We go into a spiral and doubt ourselves.  Push ahead, do some freewriting that gets out all the static.  If that is not your way, cleaning or organizing something always helps.   Your work will be done and it is your own. 

Techniques in writing to artworks have their elements of structure that makes them unique.   When the elements come together, it's a beautiful thing.  We have a good group here.  

Want to publish something? Someone in the field will answer.  The market has changed. How so?   

Fireside Inspiration

Hope everyone is having a good summer. Writing had gone stale for me.I was running on exhaustion with no motivation.  Ever feel like that?  Been rough this year for everyone.  I'm not sure whether 2020 was rough but now might as well add in 2021.  It is what you make of it and things happen for a reason only God knows.  I developed an anxiety because of covid and it all ended up in my back, my everything. We needed a reset so in the midst of packing to move, we went on vacation to the oldest city in America.  St. Augustine Florida was absolutely beautiful.  The cool clear waters of the beach and feeling the sand under my feet.  I cried with joy feeling such a release of pent up stress. Oh we had the kids watched with mom, so it was even better.  

Fire comes in rainbow colors from a product our cousin got at Walmart.  Really neat. So here we were in Florida with family and friends.     Great fun and like an out of this world fun. Just a break from the ordinary hubbub.  Much was spoken about the country and deep concerns were on everyone's mind. 

 

A few days was not enough to see everything.  We did see the fort, amazing there are some photos of it too.  Just check out the material used to build this immaculate structure of defense.  We learned about history, as I am a history buff.   Secondly we learned we have a cousin that works at the pirate museum so it was an added bonus that he invited us to his home where they have a campfire closure of the week's end with rum and dinner.  I took a swig of it, I don't drink, but it burned going down. How do people cope with it? Drink some more, I reckon.  

Noticing the simplicity and beauty of things again.

Finally I am writing again, as the extra long break was needed.  Writers need recharge, a rested mind and body is essential.   Kids go back to school soon, already?   A good time to get this third book done in the next four months.  With them in school I will make it work.  How is your summer? Are you working on an art project or writing project?  Let us know.   Thank you for your support with the blog. 

We got home to the boxes waiting to go to the new house soon.  Looks like it will be another month and half

Weekend Meandering

 

Late afternoon sun baked freshly cut grass, its aroma reaching Ed through the third floor patio. A droning airplane yielded the stage to a chattering cicada chorus. Those harbingers of dying summer depressed him, so the trio of co-workers who barged in could be forgiven for disturbing his reverie.

The dwarf Hecabano plopped down beside the coffee table with his usual repast of large hoagie and super Big Gulp. To Ed's snide look, he said, "I have long since hung up my cape and dropped out of the competition, but I still wield a mean ax." His white-bearded face regarded Wicca, curled up on the sofa as a tune played on the Cerwyn Vegas. "It is not your usual Goth death metal. In fact, it is somewhat pleasing."

Ed reached for the disk's liner notes. "Nada One. Judging by the lyrics, it's about a frolicking orbital spaceship, but the title sounds suspiciously like 'Not A One'. Let's consult a computer brain. What say you, Queenie?" 

The gold cyborg stood  motionless by the drapes, an anachronism in a slanting ray of dust motes. "The subject is sufficiently esoteric to warrant multiple interpretations. I will abstain." 

"Okay then," Ed said, "we'll appeal to the experts. According to the notes here, the band called it a trippy song. Probably while tripping." 

Hecabano nodded. "There you have it--it is a frolicking spaceship." Wicca had taken up some impromptu lyrics: You are the moon in my eyes, you are the stars in my sky. "With pardons, Maven of Malarkey, but those words do not occur in the tune." 

"Then they should, because they rhyme!" She scowled at the auto section of the Sunday paper. "I don't like the Cylon-face front ends of these new cars."

"It's called bad," Ed put in. "Like the demon-eye headlights they think is so intimidating at night."

"I call it cartoonish."

Hecabano finished the bucket-sized drink. "What matters it now? You cannot take your Ferrari to Outworld when Mistress Queenie turns the lights out for good."

"Yeah," Ed added. "This is your doing, Wics. You had to bring her here as a sidekick. As if the Illuminati weren't bad enough before she took over the show. I hope we can make it to Outworld before Earth becomes the latest prize in the Bot Star Empire." 

If Queenie could grin, a huge one would be pasted there.

"Oh well!" Wicca threw up hands. "If these people are so easily subverted, then Kratos take them. But I am taking my Ferrari to Outworld. I'll charge people money to sit in it."

Paean to the Muse

 

I should be terrified. Eric's fatalistic mood overrode sensible fear. What he sought couldn't wait; he must see Cambris even as she arose from the crypt.

Pebbles skittered down the incline, kicked up by the nervous pirate guide who called himself Sulla. His shaky torch cast manic shadows on the archway. Bearing arcane runes on its lintel, it grew out of the rock like a Star Trek transporter accident. 

"This is as far as I go," Sulla growled. "They're in there, right enough." He brandished a sword given by Count Rotbone as a sigil of safe passage. It didn't give him much confidence. 

Eric peered into the gloom. Small grates high above admitted dusty light, helping the night roamers guage the lateness of evening. "That wasn't the agreement. The Brides know me, but some early riser might not. Now get in here."

Grumbling, Sulla followed Eric onto a lumpy, rolling plane. Massive foundation tiers stood wreathed in mist, not all of it natural. A segment formed itself into the first of the huntresses. She glided toward them, eyes squinted against the punishing remnants of daylight. She did indeed recognize Eric, and shrank away with a fangy snarl of loss. Now her eyes fixed on Sulla.

Eric kept sight of the girl while addressing the pirate. "We're okay. Just another minute or so."

"Bugger off, matey!" Sulla dashed for safety, slicing at invisible threats.

From deeper darkness appeared the Brides, only one in original white, being first in the hierarchy. They surrounded a barely breathing Eric. The one in black stretched out filigreed arms, causing him to flinch until he remembered.

"Emmy. . . .always good to see you." He accepted the embrace, which he had taught her back on Earth during a supreme leap of faith. It all began with inheriting the family secret. Though Emmy was without speech, he'd gained her trust before setting her free. She'd promptly embarked on a quest to reunite with the other three, culminating in locating a portal to Outworld. Now all four had a permanent home. 

Flax-haired Yelena spoke no English, nor did Mirjana with her touch of the Orient. Both watched the tick of his neck pulse. He'd probably never feel quite safe around them.

"Hail, young Eric," Cambris said. "What grave import drives you to our very lair?"

"I'm relocating here for good, before they break my door down and force me to join the masses going over a cliff." 

"I know of what you speak; yet what place shall you find here?"

The million dollar question. Eric could stay in Team Dan's shadow, profiting like they did with his exotic Earth mystique. He'd never be a super hero, but he'd waste away without some kind of purpose. 

"Perhaps with us," Cambris said, smiling at his alarm. "Not as one of us. Recall how you painted our likeness." The portraits flanked that of Count Rotbone, painted centuries earlier. 

"Portrait painters are a dime a hundred. Besides, I'd feel like a glorified camera."

"Then you shall paint the fantastical, with me as your muse. Attend." She set a brisk pace, gown flowing, ever upward into forsaken reaches of the castle.

A secret wall  panel opened into an old wizard tower. Charts and scrolls occupied cubbyholes above a cauldron. A wood and straw cot had moldy blankets folded beside it.

"Yon subject," Cambris said from the open window. When Eric joined her, she gazed out at vast expanses of haunted forest. "See how Luna sails silver in tattered cloud, come once again into my dream this night. Through dusted pane aslant the wall, glint on taloned wing, hooks overflow the endless sky."

"You really paint the mood." Eric sat at the worktable, which was piled with notes and cryptic tools. "A wizard's tower. I'm seeing it blue by night; moldering by day in blurred orange and gold, flies droning in and out. Timeless and forgotten."

"Then plan on passing the nights here, as we cannot protect you when the day star holds sway." 

"It's perfect! I'll be a painter of the macabre. And I'll put your paean to Rotbone Island on the back."

"Rotbone? He is a drunken fool."

Eric ventured to the window as cloud overtook the moon, bringing preternatural light to Cambris' eyes. "Then I'll attribute the poetry to you. You'll be immortal! I mean. . . ."

Cambris laughed, fangs gleaming with the returned moon. "You must be close to your muse, young Eric. I shall arrange it. No more are you the poor cousin from the home world." 

Join Rotbone's crew? He'd be his own man overnight, notorious, minus trouble with the law. An image assailed him: a costumed dandy, pet of the Brides.

"You have doubts. We shall visit the news upon Team Dan."

She knew exactly where to thrust. Eric made a mock toast. "To the painter of the weird and his undead muse." 

Filter Effects

 

Unfiltered views show full strength colors designed to set the mood. Here it's the setting sun on near clouds, with a horizon tinted blue from the overhead sky. Here's the effect of tinting with violet:

Now the sun is lower, muting the colors and reducing detail. Likewise, adding yellow-orange might provide a type of luminescence seen after a rain, but you risk turning the blue horizon green. For such complex moods, it's best to go all original. 

Shopping List

 

The shuttle came out of stealth mode low over Guangji province. Commander Moast settled into the mist from a waterfall, his passive scanner reading a focused beacon coming from the objective. He stepped down the wing onto spongy moss, switching on his suit's deflector shield. The expected trouble came while crossing a blasted stretch of collapsed buildings. Hits sparked off his energy screen. He fired back at the servo drone with his needle gun, which blazed small rounds from a magnetic rail launcher, at much higher speed than ordinary cartridges. The mech soldier jerked with internal explosions, toppled onto its froglike face. 

A rangy group of armed men boiled up from a pile of overgrown rubble. One of them jerked his helmet clear with an angry swipe. "Dammit, Moast, do you know how much those things cost?"

Moast raised his visor. "Looks like he didn't get the message. I presume you're Fletcher."

"Lord king of Guangji!" Fletcher dismissed his gunmen before leading the way down an oil-smelling incline littered with old branches. The smelting operation sat idle, having lost its workforce. The two men passed massive melting vats outside a field office, where they took opposing seats at a steel desk.

Fletcher's iron gray buzz cut lent strength to his craggy face. "I'd sure like to know your insurance policy, coming here alone like this." He uncorked a clay jug and poured into tin cups. 

"Nuclear holocaust," Moast said, "if I don't check in with the ship's AI soon." He passed a wrist scanner over the cup. "Pear brandy with no cute additives." He sipped the fiery brew.

Fletcher put booted feet on the desk. "If the Chinese did one thing right--before their bioweapons program blew up in their faces--it was to corner the market for rare earth metals. What's your preference?"

"Yttrium and Promethium. My AI is crafting a new element, one that exists for a fraction of a second."

"Purpose?"

"The hyperjump system. It takes eleven seconds to power up in between. That's a long time if you jump into a dangerous area. Her idea cuts that to a tenth of a second."

"Wow." Fletcher marveled, bug eyed, but not for that reason. "With all your galaxy hopping, here you are back at alma mater. Now--show me your trade."

Moast handed over a black rectangular pod. "Millions of flying microbots. They infiltrate, then go up in a burst of intense heat."

"And if it's a fuel or ammo dump--el kablammo! You got a deal, pardner." Fletcher kept his eyes on Moast as he took a fortifying swig. "You know, if I could get to New Earth, this could become a regular run."

He referred to the Mars colony. "Don't forget your compromised DNA. I took a dose of Antivax to protect me from particles you're shedding." 

Fletcher finished his cup. "Damn those Architects."

The name had come to replace Illuminati, which the perpetrators didn't like. After exterminating ninety percent of the population, they'd enslaved the rest. Someone had to grow food and run the solar power plants. But they underestimated the number of heavily armed preppers. Now the Architects were hunkered in fortified bunkers, rulers of nothing, watching their vaunted utopia devolve into thousands of warring little fiefdoms. 

"Your AI," Fletcher said, "sounds pretty smart. I'm sure it could fix the DNA thing." He pulled a Colt automatic. "Whatcha think?" 

The starship Orchidia's avatar materialized, having insisted Moast wear a holo-emitter for the purpose. "Inadvisable." Fletcher quickly put the gun away. She rotated to face Moast. "Etymology of 'whatcha' required." 

Moast laughed at the gaping Fletcher. "She's a black hole of knowledge. Always learning." 

Disodeous Summer

 

The four principals of the horror show unwound in the break room, still in costume after the live taping ended at midnight. Ed's sportcoat draped his chair, where he sat huddled over coffee and a notebook. His latest article for the ladies mag was morphing into a sort of dis-ode to summer. Which he hated.

The dwarf Hecabano counted himself a kindred spirit, hailing as he did from the frozen Yaglukk region of the Outworld. Ed, though, tended to let little things get to him. "Pray, Master Ed, how does summer bring you such discord?" He frowned at Wicca in her black stage dress, currently on a Raiders kick. The music of Paul Revere rocked the pad in her hands. 

"Where do I start?" Ed glanced at the vampire Cambris. "What's your take on gettin' hot and sweaty?" 

"I do not sweat," Cambris replied in sepulchral matter-of-fact. 

"So then," Wicca chimed in. "What have you been scribbling over there?"

Ed scanned the list. "How about poison plants. And fleas, mosquitos, and tunneling mites." He stood up and raised his T to show three welts on his abdomen. "There's more on my arms and shoulders. How does something microscopic raise so much hell?"

"Avoid that wood pile," Hecabano advised, "where you play with the ants and termites."

"Yeah, well. . . ." Ed eased back down. "Only two more months of this summer nonsense, then it's the start of the holiday season."

Cambris raised a brow over a blazing gold iris and pupil. "They have set it back so overmuch?--to September the first?" 

"Sure. They can't wait to import the European specialties like the choco-booze bottles Wicca likes to swill. Before then, it's too hot."

Talent agent J B Bigmon wandered in. "Great show, people. I especially liked when Cambris threw the flaming skull at the swamp guys."

Filming it through a scry orb had made it possible to capture Cambris' image. "Hey--I'm steppin' out with Bunny. But first, an upload of my special ladies!" 

"Never again," Wicca muttered, recalling Bunny's stellar showing in the Wicca Lookalike Contest.

Bigmon bent beside her to film his beaming face next to her scowl. He went around to do the same with Cambris, mystified when her image didn't show up in the file. "How does she do that? Ed, you gotta clue me in on these special effects. They must be costin' us a bundle." 

Cambris' glowing eyes followed him out when he left. 

"Forget it," Ed said. "You know the rules, Cambris--bad guys only."

Now Ed was favored by her predatory gaze. "Ah, but he is beefy, and has disdained that horrid-tasting poison being foisted apace on the populace." 

"That's the spirit! Wax poetic for me, so I can finish this article with a dash of style."

"Here's a thought, Ted." Wicca smirked. "Let that reporter matron interview Cambris directly, and cut out the saddle man."

"Middle man," Ed corrected. "Cute." 

Hecabano leaned close. "She will need to be watched. You have enough experience at babysitting vampires to write a learned treatise."

"What is this, horned one?" Cambris eyed him sideways. 

"Oh, nothing, Mistress Cambris. I merely reminded him of the need for a chaperone."

Wicca turned up the volume. "Ooh. . . .this one's my favorite." The Raiders performed Where The Action Is.