Author Archives: momdude

(For those not familiar with NaNoWriMo, it’s the National Novel Writing Month – in brief, slap 50,000+ words onto the screen as a “zeroth” draft of a novel. It’s not pretty, it’s not even a first draft, it’s simply an exercise in “Just – Keep – Putting – Words – TOGETHER!” and seeing what comes out the other side. I’ve done it five times and “succeeded” twice. I’ve decided to be incredibly self centered and foolish open about my process so I’ve put my work up here on this site for the last three attempts. Just do a search to see some of the crap I’ve inflicted on my loyal readers in the past. Actually, that might not be totally true – while being “zeroth” drafts, at least three of them had stories and characters that I actually thought were pretty good if I ever managed to get past the NaNoWriMo stage, finish them, and then start editing.)

I finally pinpointed part of the mental problem I was having with getting in gear again. In big, big strokes, the 50,000 foot view, I know what I want to accomplish next mechanically (get Ed into trouble, maybe some further exposition on what’s going on with him and what’s in that truck) and I’ve got at least an idea of how to get him out of it and where he’s going next (which is useful in a day or two when his chapter comes up again). But in practice, what I was writing was getting bogged down in details and wanting to go back and re-write and looking at making sure I had accurate information about what things weigh and how much a semi can hold and what would make the cop suspicious, blah, Blah, BLAH!

That’s not the point. As pointed out above and repeatedly, the goal here is to do a “zeroth” draft. Throw some freakin’ words at the wall and see what sticks. Those details are what get looked up when this glorified outline is done and I go back and start re-writing to come up with a first draft where the story actually has to make sense (well, as much as a story with non-leprachauns and unseen evil geniuses has to make sense) and the facts have to be believable.

To put it another way, I’m not trying to win this “marathon.” The Kenyans already did that and I’m not even done with the first quarter. The goal is to get to the goal line with something that isn’t totally random text and has some semblance of a story line, characters, and perhaps a touch of my style.

All comments will be welcome.

ANY BAD SITUATION CAN BE MADE WORSE

CHAPTER SIX

“I’m sorry, say again? You want us to do WHAT?”

They had finished checking out seven of the ten seismometer stations set up around the expected eruption zone when their satellite phone had gone off. Perched near the the side of a cliff, hooked into a safety harness that was anchored to the jeep which was parked well back from the edge, checking systems on an automated seismograph base station, Carl didn’t think that this was an appropriate time for joking around. And yet, here was his boss, the seismic investigation team leader, saying something ridiculous.

Sara, belaying the ropes hooked to Carl’s harness and trying to prevent him from plunging to a horrible, painful death, couldn’t hear what Carolyn was saying to him, but she could tell that he wasn’t happy. He listened for another minute, then hung up, shaking his head. He went back to his systems checkout, verified that the base station was functional, and started walking back up the steep slope. Sara started taking up slack, keeping tension on the line.

“What was that all about?” she asked as Carl got back to level ground and started disconnecting from the harness.

“They want us to drive up toward the epicenter of that last earthquake, up toward Eyjafjallajokull. They’ve got something odd they want us to check out.”

“You’re kidding.”

“My sentiments exactly! They’re not. We should be getting some information uploaded to our tablets momentarily, which Carolyn says will explain it better. They’re sure we can get there, for some reason totally lost on me they think that we can do it in relative safety, they think it’s really important, and we’re the best ones to try to check it out.”

Sara digested all of that for a few seconds. “You’re kidding!” she repeated.

(For those not familiar with NaNoWriMo, it’s the National Novel Writing Month – in brief, slap 50,000+ words onto the screen as a “zeroth” draft of a novel. It’s not pretty, it’s not even a first draft, it’s simply an exercise in “Just – Keep – Putting – Words – TOGETHER!” and seeing what comes out the other side. I’ve done it five times and “succeeded” twice. I’ve decided to be incredibly self centered and foolish open about my process so I’ve put my work up here on this site for the last three attempts. Just do a search to see some of the crap I’ve inflicted on my loyal readers in the past. Actually, that might not be totally true – while being “zeroth” drafts, at least three of them had stories and characters that I actually thought were pretty good if I ever managed to get past the NaNoWriMo stage, finish them, and then start editing.)

Fits and starts. I had a car that used to run that way…

One thing I figured out was that I really didn’t have any clue where to go with that second character. The dude with the truck. What was his name? That might be a good place to start.

Well, let’s put him on the road and see how miserable I can make his life. Maybe my muse will find an interesting direction for him to go.

All comments will be welcome.

ANY BAD SITUATION CAN BE MADE WORSE

CHAPTER FIVE

“Listen, Boss, I know what you told me about being in Malibu. I’m making the best time I can. I’m already breaking half the regulations on the books about required sleep periods for a rig this size and those pills you gave me have me buzzing so bad that I’m about to vibrate into another dimension. If I get pulled over right now, I’ll lose my license and you’ll have your equipment impounded. And I know that you don’t want that!”

The pause over the satellite phone connection stretched out just like the road ahead. It stretched out long enough so that Ed glanced over to make sure that he hadn’t lost the connection.

“Yes, Ed, I am aware of the problems that I would have to deal with if my equipment was impounded and the expense necessary to recover it and cover up anything that any local bumpkin might see in poking around with it. What do you call them? ‘County Mounties?’ They’re so inconvenient to get rid of. As for you, if you get thrown into some backwater jail cell for violating some safety regulation or the other, you can sit there until the heat death of the Universe.”

“Gee, thanks, Boss, that’s so kind and considerate of you. And after all that I’ve done for you!” Ed tried to put the sound of some dunderheaded hurt feelings into his voice to cover up the loathing.

“Ed, how did you ever get a doctorate in physics without understanding second grade geometry? Do you not know that the fastest way between two points is a straight line? How can you possibly expect to get where you’re needed while driving over 300 extra, unnecessary miles?”

Oh, good, Ed thought. Let’s go over this all again. That should kill another 100 miles of boredom.

“Boss, the road was blocked back in Indiana. I told you about that, and you saw that it only got worse. To go the shortest route would have meant waiting for those trains and that bridge and then the bridge got stuck and traffic backed up and it was a nightmare for almost twenty-four hours. I got lucky and made the right choice by going south and you know it.”

Ed had no clue how or why he had gotten that lucky, but he would take it. He might still be sitting at that little crossroads if he hadn’t boogied when he did.

“Yes, Ed, you did well by taking an alternate route to the south. But how did you end up all the way in TEXAS? Why did you have to go THAT far south? And you were in Texas yesterday! What are you still doing in Texas? What have you been doing with my precious time?”

Through that entire tirade the Boss’ voice had been rising precipitously in both pitch and volume. Ed hoped that there wasn’t any glass nearby wherever his lair was.

“I’ve been driving. Without sleep. With minimal food and rest stops. At precisely the speed limit to avoid any complications with any local constabularies. You really need to get out into the real world more, Boss. Texas is BIG!”

Another long pause. Ahead Ed could see that the Texas border was finally here, along with a notice that the New Mexico Port of Entry would require him to pay them a brief visit.

“Boss, I’m going to have to get off the line. You’ll be happy to know that I’m about to leave Texas, but I get to do some paperwork in New Mexico. Listen, I know that you said thirty hours to Malibu and I’m going to be a few hours past that, and I’m sorry, but…”

There was a warbling sound, an alarm, insistent in tone if not yet in volume. Ed looked over at the panel that took up the space where the passenger’s seat used to be. Several of the small monitors there were now active, showing charts and readings against an orange background.

“Are you getting an alert, Ed?” the Boss asked. “I’m seeing readings on the satellite feed that show activity over ten times the background readings.”

“Yeah, Boss, I’ve got activity here and a lot of it. It’s going up fast.” As Ed crossed out of Texas and into the Land of Enchantment, he started downshifting to slow the large truck in anticipation of the exit to the weigh station ahead. After hours and hours of boredom and pills being used to keep him awake, adrenaline was now doing the job and he suddenly had way too many things to do at once.

“Boss, I’m muting you but leaving the link open for you to monitor. All recorders are running. I’m putting the console in stealth mode and locking the system, full security protocols. Buh bye!”

With that he started hitting switches, entering a security code into the numeric pad. The alarm silenced itself, all of the monitors went dark, and he was able to return his full attention to his driving. There weren’t many other trucks so he pulled into a short line at the scales.

The New Mexico Highway Patrol officer in the booth was bored and hot. Hot was the norm out here in the desert, except when it was freezing. He preferred hot. The useless little A/C unit in the booth was better than the completely useless, miniscule heating unit.

A random number generator clicked over in the system monitoring and recording truck weights and registrations and the lights in the center of the three incoming truck lanes switched to indicate to that driver that they should pull over for an inspection. After a second the lights switched back, indicating the driver should pull through. Then back to stop. Then go.

The office hadn’t seen that happen before, but it was past time for one of the random inspections. Before things got out of hand and these glitchy lights sent someone crashing into someone else, he rose, stepped out of the booth into the heat, and held up his hand to stop the driver of the next vehicle in the center lane.

As the lights initially switched, Ed saw a small, unmarked indicator LED light up on his dashboard. As he expected, the traffic lights immediately switched back from red to yellow and he kept the truck edging forward off of the scales. To his surprise, they switched back to red, then started strobing between red and yellow. Before he could react, the cop in the booth was out in front of him, waving his arms and holding up his hand.

Ed stopped. Shit! That override system had never failed before, so he had never had to stop before. He knew that his paperwork was in order and their cover story was air tight, but he liked it better when their security didn’t get tested to begin with.

He rolled down the window and leaned out to hear what the state trooper had to say.

“Pull over into the inspection area there,” was the message.

“But the light’s yellow,” Ed said, pointing at it. Of course, right about then is when it flicked to red and then back to yellow a couple of times before settling on yellow again. “C’mon, officer! I need to keep moving to keep on schedule!”

“Pull over. We’ll keep this quick, but you got picked, you’re going to do it. THERE. NOW.” With that, the officer started walking toward the inspection area, after stopping at the booth to pull out a tablet.

Ed really wanted to know what his instrumentation was telling him about the alert that had gone off. He had already pissed off The Boss with his detour, even though he knew that it had been the better choice, lucky or not. Now The Boss would be having a fit wanting to direct him into investigating this alert, but he couldn’t do that if he was in jail. It was a bad situation, but it could get worse fast if he did anything stupid. So he checked his mirrors for traffic in the side lanes and then pulled forward toward the inspection area.

As he parked the rig and set the brakes, he left the engine idling. He grabbed his log book, license, and registration and stepped down from the truck. Looking around, he saw the officer already walking around, taking note on the condition of the tractor’s brakes and tires.

Ed went to join him and started answering the random questions being thrown at him.

“Where you coming from?” We started this trip in Maine, here via Pennsylvania, Iowa, Kansas City, Oklahoma, Texas. Make sure to tell the truth, the system would show where he had been. Ed was sure that data was showing up on the officer’s tablet.

“Where are you going?” California.

“What are you carrying?” Wood products, custom furniture pieces. Open up the back, show the large, heavy crates there. Let the officer inspect the serial numbers and compare them to the manifest.

“These cabinets, how many are your carrying?” the officer asked, flipping through the manifest. His voice was still flat, but there was something about the question that made the hair on Ed’s neck stand up.

“Thirty-six of them, just like the paperwork says. I picked them up three days ago at the factory outside of Bangor.”

“This crate says they weigh almost a thousand pounds each. See, stenciled right here. That’s 36,000 pounds, more or less. But that scale back there says that you’re only carrying about 15,000 pounds net, so you’re way light. Which makes me think that there’s a lot of empty space up front of these couple of crates. Do you have an explanation for that, son?”

Ed couldn’t help but notice that the officer’s hand had dropped to the butt of the gun at his belt.

Suddenly it wasn’t hot at all. In fact, it was getting quite chilly.

(For those not familiar with NaNoWriMo, it’s the National Novel Writing Month – in brief, slap 50,000+ words onto the screen as a “zeroth” draft of a novel. It’s not pretty, it’s not even a first draft, it’s simply an exercise in “Just – Keep – Putting – Words – TOGETHER!” and seeing what comes out the other side. I’ve done it five times and “succeeded” twice. I’ve decided to be incredibly self centered and foolish open about my process so I’ve put my work up here on this site for the last three attempts. Just do a search to see some of the crap I’ve inflicted on my loyal readers in the past. Actually, that might not be totally true – while being “zeroth” drafts, at least three of them had stories and characters that I actually thought were pretty good if I ever managed to get past the NaNoWriMo stage, finish them, and then start editing.)

A good start on getting caught up. Not a lot over the 1,667 target word count per day, and I do have ground to make up after missing three and a half days, but I feel like I’m back on track.

I’m also so sleepy it’s not even funny. The last half of this may be complete gibberish. If so, just assume that it’s truly hilarious but being told in Elvish or Leprechaunese and I’ll translate it back into English for you later.

All comments will be welcome.

ANY BAD SITUATION CAN BE MADE WORSE

CHAPTER FOUR (continued)

Just as with the light, sound was returning. Suddenly noticeable but with the knowledge that it had been there earlier, gradually getting louder, some spinning, whining, mechanical sounds mixed with…purring? Like the biggest cat she had ever imagined was just out of sight somewhere, breathing heavily, purring with utter satisfaction of being scratched behind the ears and distributing loose hair across the universe. But with a base line that would make any heavy metal hair band bassist jealous.

The mint green light grew a dot right in front of her face, which split into a line heading off in opposite directions toward her head and toes. With that her field of vision either came into existence or into focus, or both, and she could see in her peripheral vision her chest and arms down below her chin. Good, she had started to worry that the leprechaun army had left those behind and just kidnapped her head.

Kidnapped! That’s what Bubba had said he was doing to her! She wasn’t sure how kidnap victims were supposed to react or what they were supposed to do after being gassed or drugged, but she was pretty sure that coming back to reality as a disembodied entity in a green, minty fog was on the far end of the reality spectrum.

The line started to separate, pulling apart like a clamshell or the payload fairings on a rocket after it cleared the atmosphere. Smoothly, steadily, way out of focus since it seemed to be only a fraction of an inch from her face, it wasn’t clear if it was solid and opening or simply dissolving from the crack outward in a steady motion.

It turned out to be irrelevant. Quickly it was gone, only to be replaced with a featureless, yellowish-tinged, off-white something. It was like being inside of a giant egg shell with no floor, walls, or ceiling. Everything curved into everything else, no corners.

Whatever it was that she was lying on (she WAS lying on something, wasn’t she?) started to transform, the back sitting up with a hinge behind her butt while her feet went down from a hinge behind her knees. The flat surface transformed into something like a dentist’s chair and swung “up” to somewhere short of vertical by about 20º. Her inner ear told her she was sitting up.

“You may proceed. The seat will absorb and remove your bodily waste products.”

Deb suddenly had second thoughts. “Wait, am I just supposed to piss on the seat? I can’t even SEE the seat! Is there a hole I’m supposed to hit? And can I have a little privacy?”

“The seat will absorb your bodily waste products. We can modify it to have a hole to aim at if you wish, although in our experience that is more useful to males. Privacy is not needed.”

“Well, maybe not for you,” Deb said, “you exhibitionist little monster. Fine, whatever you want for your jollies. None of this is real anyway. I don’t know what you put into that crap you blew into my face, but this particular acid trip needs more colors and music and less weird bullshit.”

Deb waited for a response but got nothing. Who knew that the little monsters would get their feelings hurt by being cussed at?

She tried to twist around to get a look at the chair or surface she was sitting on, but there wasn’t anything to see. She was held pretty firmly to the surface along her back, butt, and thighs, almost like she was glued there but without any real discomfort or pain. She could move and slip and shift a bit, but she couldn’t get loose and get off onto the floor. If there was a floor. She really couldn’t see a distinct surface or a floor, just the inside of a giant egg shell. Or the inside of one of a ginormous version of those plastic eggs that panty hose used to come in.

She was still wearing the bikini she had been swimming in before being kidnapped by a not-a-leprechaun into the inside of a humongous egg. Since it was the only clothing she had, she wasn’t going to soil it if she could avoid it. She found that she could lift her hips a bit, so she untied it and slid it off.

“I hope you get a good view, you psychotic little pervs. And I’m not going to clean this up!”

With that, Deb let her bladder cut loose.

It wasn’t clear what she was expecting, but the fact that things worked pretty much like Bubba had said they would was not what she would have bet on. The urine just disappeared into the seat beneath her, there was a small chime and a table reached out from where the wall would be if there were walls, and on the table was a small package of tissues of some sort. After cleaning herself, with no further instructions, Deb simply put the waste tissues back on the “table” and it proceeded to vanish. Deb put her bikini bottom back on.

“Hey, Babadook, can I get off of this thing? Whatever it is? I seem to be stuck and I’ll bet you know something about that and can let me go.”

There was a pause, some skittering noises like rats in the walls, and then a voice from her left. Not Bubba’s voice.

“You may not. You should not be uncomfortable. If you are uncomfortable, which you should not be, please tell us and we will adjust you.”

“Wait, are you not Bubba? Are you Bubba’s boss? Who’s in charge around here and what’s going on? I want to talk to your supervisor!”

“I am not-Bubba, correct. There is no supervisor. You are being saved. Are you uncomfortable?”

“I’m fine, but I want to be released. I want to know where I’m at and what is going on!”

“You are here. We are saving you, as you requested.”

“Saved? Requested? Where are you? Who are you? Get in here where I can see you, or let me loose to come and see you. This whole disembodied voice setup isn’t working for me. Let me see you!”

“I am here. I am non-Bubba. I will request permission to come to you.”

“Permission! From who? Why? Just get in here!”

“I must request permission from God. God will know if it is safe for you if I come to you. One moment.”

Twelve years of Catholic school hadn’t prepared Deb for that answer. She had long ago given in to skepticism about God’s existence at worst, his efficacy at best. Being kidnapped by not-leprechauns had ways of making her more open to the improbable, but it was also a LOT to take in over a very short time span.

The thought of just going back to sleep until the drugs (which she had OBVIOUSLY taken) wore off was sounding better by the second.

“I may join you,” non-Bubba said. “Stand by.”

Far off in the distance, a form appeared. Barely a dot, it quickly grew as it approached. Perspective kept shifting, trying to make sense of the bizarre visual inputs being received. The scene finally snapped into focus when she remembered that Bubba had looked like he was about 18 inches tall. Assuming non-Bubba was about the same height, he was there quickly and had never been that far away. Maybe.

An off-white sort of appendage appeared from where a wall should be and not-Bubba sat there, cross legged. Deb tried to see how he sat with his tail like that, but she couldn’t get a good view. She did notice that there was a bright yellow ribbon-like something tied near the end of non-Bubba’s tail.

“You have a thing on your tail,” Deb commented dryly.

“It is to help you distinguish me from Bubba for you.”

That most certainly made sense. Except for the tail ribbon, it would have been almost impossible to tell them apart.

“Are you a leprechaun?”

“I am not.”

“What are you then?”

“I am a scientist. Or an engineer. Or a biologist. Or a medical doctor. It is all the same.”

“Obviously not human then?”

“Obviously.”

“So, you are a hallucination.”

“I am not.”

“Reality doesn’t include tiny dudes with tails and magic powders. Reality also doesn’t include me being this calm after being kidnapped by the aforementioned tiny dudes with tails and magic powders, so whatever’s in that green dust, I’ll have a dozen.”

“Reality is what it is. You are here. I exist. No hallucinations or visions are currently occurring. Yes, there is a sedative.”

Well, that was an interesting admission. But wasn’t that exactly what she would expect a non-reality based, kidnapping hallucination to say?

“You said I was being saved. Why are you saving me?”

“You requested it. We have our mission which happens to align with yours and we have the means to save you. We have chosen to use those means to our mutual benefit.”

“What did I request?” Deb was getting more confused by the moment, but had a feeling there was something important to learn here if she could just ask the correct question. “What am I being saved from? Or is it a who am I being saved from?”

“You said, ‘getting old sucks.’ We are saving you from getting old.”

Deb just sat there for a few long seconds, mulling that one over. For one thing, she was starting to miss reality. Yes, she had been thinking of all of those things which were annoying her and seemed to all be tied to getting old, but she didn’t think she had asked to be rescued from that condition. Reality might be particularly fluid at the moment, but even here, wasn’t the only way to not get old…

“Are you going to kill me?” Deb shouted. So much for the sedative.

“Of course not.” Not-Bubba hadn’t even bothered to flinch or pull back from her.

“Thank you. So, enlighten me. What’s your mission to rescue me from getting old if it doesn’t involve death?”

“We’re going to make you immortal.”

Deb swore that for the briefest of moments a facial expression drifted across the tiny dude’s face. It was a self-satisfied, smug smirk.