Update: 24 July 2020
Time for an update, since the penultimate week of Write-A-Thon is wrapping up! So far this week, I’ve written:
* 4 new poems.
Pleasure Reading of the Week:
Update: 18 July 2020
As week 4 of the Write-A-Thon ends, I’ve written:
* 28,802 words toward the Courier Novel! I only have about 19 of 50 scenes left to write!
* 5 new poems.
* 2 new blog posts about statistics one should know if planning to run a Kickstarter campaign to fund a multi-author anthology. I gathered and analyzed campaign data from 1 July 2019 to 1 July 2020. You can read the first one here, and the second one here!
Pleasure reading of the week:
Update: 10 July 2020
As week 3 of the Write-A-Thon draws to a close, I’ve written:
* 15,429 words since 1 July 2020, which means the Courier novel draft is over 31,000 words now! I’ve done a good job hitting my stretch goal of 2,000 words per day, hoping I’ll be able to keep up the pace!
* 2 new poems since my last update.
Fun typos from the week:
Pleasure reading of the week:
Update: 4 July 2020
As of the end of Write-A-Thon week 2, I have written:
* 4,759 more words toward the Courier Novel.
If all had gone according to plan, I’d be 10,000 words further along in the Courier Novel, but I couldn’t have foreseen several days being taken up by a migraine, surprise work devouring several more days, and, most recently, me being possibly symptomatic for COVID-19 (waiting on test results). The fatigue and inability to concentrate are the worst part, but I write when I can. My pleasure reading has been down, too, as a result, but here are some/most of the books I’ve read in the past two weeks:
What I Write
This is an excerpt from my first short story, “San Cibernético”, which was published by Paper Dog Books in the anthology The Internet Is Where The Robots Live Now in 2018:
Taro was almost to the Deep Belowdecks, almost free of Section RR, almost safe, when the científicos found him. Three of them sprung from a grimy hallway and tried to pin him down with rough, red-gloved hands.
“Just come with us quietly, and you won’t have to worry about a thing, cariño,” one of them said, her voice lilting and friendly.
“No! I’m not going back there!” Taro spat. “I’ll never go with you!” He spun away from them, twisting out of their grasps.
“¡Carajo!” Unbalanced, one of the male científicos tripped and hit the floor, hard.
Taro wanted to kick him in the ribs—after all, in the orfanato, bullies needed at least that much to stop hassling him—but the third científico lunged at him. Taro danced away from the outstretched red gloves, his nostrils filling with the scent of antiseptic, and found his back pressed against the cool metal wall of the corridor.
Now it was his turn to curse. All I have to do is make it to that vent. The three científicos still blocked his way to the end of the corridor. Even as he tried to weigh the best path through them, they advanced.
“Just remember, coño,” the mean científico on the left said, whacking his palm with his fist. “You coulda come with us without any trouble, not a scratch on you.” The man’s eyes flicked to the female científico. “See, I keep telling you, kindness ain’t gonna get you shit with these little huérfanos.”
The female científico laid one of her hands on his forearm. “Basta, Merlí. Inti and I can take him from here.”
The man, Merlí, began to argue with her, but Taro focused on the third científico, the one now brandishing a cruel-looking needle. The man wasn’t close enough to strike yet, but…
Now or never.
Taro thrust himself off the wall and dove past Merlí. A glancing blow clipped his left temple as the man reacted, but Taro was already shoving past him, scrambling for the grate covering the vent. I may be small for someone just a few days from their thirteenth cumpleciclos, but I’m fierce. A flash of pride ran through him, but Taro stifled it. There would be time enough to gloat if he managed to escape.
There was shouting behind him, the científicos yelling at one another, placing blame, as they chased after him, but Taro’s fingers scrabbled for the vent’s hidden latch. “C’mon, c’mon,” he urged, heart thudding in his ears, and he found it and the grate was free. Taro swung himself into the vent opening and yanked the grate back in place with a wordless, exuberant shout.
Light from the hall outside filtered through the gaps in the vent cover, but there was enough for now. Taro crawled forward, just barely fitting in the cramped duct.
Where’s the rope?
He was about to panic when his fingers found the synthetic cord. The científicos were outside now, frantically trying to loosen the grate, to catch him. Taro ignored them, seized the rope, and scooted forward until he reached the edge of the drop-off. He twisted about, turned, and then swung himself into the darkness, rappelling down as fast as he dared, ignored the stale air and the burning of his palms.
You’ll never find me in the Deep Belowdecks, hijos de puta.
|What I Write||
I write slipstream, science fiction, weird, fantasy, and other speculative fiction. I also write poetry!
My short stories tend to fall under science fiction, slipstream, and/or horror, while my novels are more fantasy and slipstream.
Four more of my poems are forthcoming from Quatrain.Fish, publication dates TBD.
My Write-a-thon Goals
If I finish with the current Courier novel draft, I want to: