Brother Gane’s Escape: Part I

Gane instantiated the hres he’d chanted up earlier in the day and watched as it enveloped his flit in shimmering darkness—a close match to the Benhá below. The silky circles and strands of moonlight were not part of the hres; they were not reflections either. Instead, they were reimagings of the moon displayed in proper perspective to any observer. That meant that someone watching him on the same plane would see what looked like night water on the bottom half and nothing but near blackness on top. He had not been able to include the Dovetail library, but he had made the edges of the effect indistinct, so in silhouette at least he wouldn’t look exactly like the Old Solex Guy spiriting away a teenage girl on a flit.

Gane buckled his kit bag to the deck directly behind the pilot’s sling and pulled a plastic case out. He opened the case to find a pair of goggles. He hoped the extension Brother Zimdaris had chanted for him connected as promised. It did. When Gane donned the googles and looked up to the flit he found it easily. In fact, it looked like it was bathed in daylight though it didn’t light the surrounding flit pad. Gane chanted a hack and brought the brightness down to acceptable levels.

Hopping into the pilot’s sling, Gane secured the safety line and, seeing a green light for launch, punched the fans. He and the flit rocketed twenty meters upward.

247 words on day 704

After Morning Coffee at The Galley Cat Grill

Ugh. Must write something prosey.

Upward Charma heard the bay of Melon’s Flitworks creak even before she heard the nautical chime of the Pit’s wakebell sound. The two sounds were close together so she steadied for a substantial surge.

“Ma’am, grab hold.” Charma pointed her only shopper of the morning to one of the stanchions that held her stall’s green canopy aloft. “Quick.”

Charma scanned the Pit to see that her fellow stallmates around the Pit were directing the few early morning patrons likewise. Unsurprisingly the crunkle of the aluminum deck began at the north corner and waved rapidly underfoot till it concluded with a watery slap at the Pit’s south corner.

“Oh, my! What was that? I thought we were safe out here,” the touri said.

“We’re safe, ma’am. Nothing to worry about there. But the Pit,” Charma flicked her finger from north to south across the Pit, “The Pit isn’t moored like the rest of Benhá. We’re only tied on. It’s how you get these great prices.”

“Ahhh,” the woman responded but Charma could see she didn’t understand.

“Like a boat.”

“Ohhh, now I see. So that was a wake?”

“Yes. A pretty big one too. Look over here.” Charma guestured around to the southeast where you could see out into the river’s upper delta past The Galley Cat Grillery. “Should be a cruise ship coming by in a moment or two.”

Indeed in a moment or two a cruiseship’s triangular prow slid into view. It was so close that it nearly seemed to exit The Galley Cat after coffee with friends.

264 words on day 703

From Shanty to Benhá

Charming’s story keeps feeling much like Luke Skywalker’s with shades of Harry Potter. I don’t know if I see it because I’m that close or if her story truly mirrors both and anyone would.

I don’t want to abandon what I have so far though. I like the bits I’ve put together. I don’t know if I should be sensitive to the commonalities and seek to reduce them, or if I should disregard them and push on.

Roundmartin is Charming’s dad currently but there isn’t any established reason he needs to be related to her. It made sense that the dermatographia/oracle might run in the family. I could write that another way.

Charming has adoptive parents/caretakers. If I remove Roundmartin as her father it’s no longer neccessary for him to orphan her.

I’ve planned to have Gane take her back to the monastery where she’d learn more about her skills. And maybe other skills. A little Hogwartian I suppose, but I think training anyone might always have that feeling. Yesterday I suggested her arrival might not be so positive—no Hermione or Ron. Or hell, no reason for there to be scabs of robed monks wandering around like a boarding school. Could be religiouser like the name monastery implies. Though I’ll have to retcon that with the Solex Corporation if I keep Gane Gane.

Those two things right there may route enough of the sense I’ve been having to keep me happy.

At one point, I’d considered introducing a reference book as a bit of a mcguffin. Or even something of a quest for book two. It’s possible I could swap Roundmarting for the book. Play it either way. In the first novel Charming gets the book but looses Roundmartin. Or vice versa.

Might be useful to consider how Tritti, Johnka, and You figure into the Charming story. I’m expecting rather thinly. Maybe considering them even some small bit will give me other ideas for Charmings story to fill in the gaps. Maybe doing so gives me some insight into their stories instead.

351 words on day 603

NPCs for Charming

I think I need to find more characters for Charming to play with in Song on the Benhá. I’ve plotted this out with a focus on Charming and Gane opposing Roundmartin. I’ve not given any consideration to secondary characters.

Until I come up with something better the plan is for Charming to grow toward a better understanding of acceptance of friendship. Jeez—got to word that simply. Having secondary characters who can and do challenge her to fit in seems like a good plan. I’d think that I would get better conflict from characters who made it harder for her to fit in.

Someone who is outwardly antagonistic and jealous of her abilities or her closeness with Gane comes to mind. I’ll have to be careful not to make that person flat. Will also need to consider that person’s final disposition. Someone like that vould become Charming’s biggest supporter in the end or bitterest rival. Flat.

Charming will need a companion too. Maybe a lame friend; the kind who latches on early and you always feel embarrassed to have around. Someone easy to take advantage of if neccessary. Someone to feel guilty about when you do.

204 words on day 602

An Ending to Benhá

Charming stood on the Leaf’s southern flit deck overlooking Song. She hadn’t expected the surviving Bennies’ reconstruction efforts to be so far along. She hadn’t expected the reconstruction to be so thorough. Her Song had been laid out like a casual meeting of like-minded friends with no purpose other than togetherness. It was built in the vernacular of what was good at the time. This new Song was something else. It was something organized. It was something purposeful.

Obviously, Mondron had worked with the architecture firm and the Lander backers to keep the river style, but from the well-plotted thoroughfares to the river-level concrete flit deck and landing pad this Song sought a mercenary goal. That goal was well enough for them because they stayed, but it didn’t serve Charming because she wouldn’t.

She pulled some cash and coins from her pants pocket. Fanning the bills, she only found pale Lander money. She cupped the coins and folded the money before tucking it away in a different pocket. Charming thought she might find a touri shell or at least a scale, but none of the coins were Song tokens. She pocketed them all.

“For what it’s worth!” She flung an imaginary coin out over the new Song and pretended it glinted in the sunlight as it sailed out over the piers and scaffolding and green redi-mades already bunched inward.

The putting idle of the flit reminded her she still hadn’t left and that she needed to go, so she mounted it and revved the thrusters to clear out the dust. She jumped it into the air overlooking Song—again—just high enough that the engine noise didn’t echo off the deck. Below, laborers called to each other across the water and the gangs. Charming checked her line, planning on dropping from the Leaf and skimming out over Song. She noticed a scale wedged into the trim of the foot-board, smiled, and picked it free.

Good luck after all, but she kept it as a souvenir instead.


Laborers’ POV of Charming out of nowhere and skimming too low and outward over Song.

361 words on day 599

Attempting to Logline.

Today I have time to write, but I dont have the inclination. I’ll mine the archives and create loglines as best I can. I need thatkind of practice.


“On the verge of a STASIS=DEATH MOMENT, a FLAWED PROTAGONIST has a CATALYST and BREAKS INTO TWO with the B STORY; but when the MIDPOINT happens, he/she must learn the THEME STATED, before the ALL IS LOST, to defeat (or stop) the FLAWED ANTAGONIST (from getting away with his/her plan).”

A pilgrim girl must convince a demi-god to leave his profitable overnight shipping business to cleanse a holy city overrun with unbelievers.

The Song on Benhá is a SFF about a just-out-of-high-school river-girl named Charming who wants to sell coral sugar to tourists coming to her floating city. When a supplier turns up drowned and covered in incriminating messages and her city burns to the waterline she must discover that [[friendship doesn’t mean liking everything about your friend]] before her condemed uncle finds a book to see the future and rule the present.

Crap. This is hard. Loglines seem to have a knack for finding holes in my incomplete thinking.

Eesh. Internet derailment. May add to this limping effort later tonight.

xxx words on day 569


First I should note that I’ve written the other days over the weekend. I’ve not yet posted them. One I won’t be able to post. My on the road experience continues today and through tonight so I may allow that to color the quality of my writing now and tomorrow. Lucky you.

Jun-kata always liked to chat her up before getting to the money. After what that old monk had told her last night Charming felt like using a spear instead of a net. “I gave you the touris for the shirts already. I’m not paying you a second time. Especially not in [cool money sounding name].”

Jun-kata grimaced.

The set of his face made her think for a moment he was upset for reasons other than the undelivered shirts. His words brought her back. “Drown me Charma. That all you think onna these day?”

Charming wanted to tell him not to call her that. Tell him she wasn’t one of his little fish. “I think onna lots these day. But only the one thing onna you: my shirts.”


“I gave a money; you keppa shirts. Where’s my shirts, ah?” she asked, “Don’t calla me that.”

208 words on day 535