1000 Days

This entry relates to previous material tagged as solex.

Gane placed three fresh saffron leaves in a small clay mortar and added a pinch of pure silica sand. He muddled the mixture. Before the aroma and scant juice could soak into the clay he sprinkled the mixture onto the circuit board. Gane injected a brief thanks-prayer that the herbs spread evenly over the surface. Even a veteran monk could botch an install with clumps. He attached the leads and dialed up a test current.

He placed that board aside and repeated the maneuvers for five more boards. The utility room warmed with the gentle aroma of saffron honey and circuitry.

Next, Gane collected the seven hexagonal solex panels from the balcony–two were hot from exposure to the sun, the other five cool. He put one of the hot ones on the floor at his feet and attached the mahogany spacers at each of the six corners. Kneeling with a cool one in his lap, he mounted it to the first, quickly added a joiner to the one in his lap, and mounted a third to the first two. He rotated the group one panel clockwise and added a fourth. In this manner he joined six panels to the first to form something of a strange bowl.

The spacers acted as jumpers between the panels so he could now pass a current through all seven. He did this.

Gane checked his watch. Ten or so more minutes to steep the boards in saffron.

Rather than taking a moment to eat, Gane strengthened this minor hres with prayer.

I should probably define hres somewhere–since I haven’t.

Word count: 280

Since I had previously announced today would be a planned outage so that I could haul the girls to Houston for Thanksgiving week I suppose I can write anything I want and it will be better than taking a pass. I cant say I am excited that in addition to finishing potty training on the first two that I still have two more behind them.

I did try to resolve some of my hang-ups with the Shanty thread that’s developing. Mostly tried to work out a few details regarding solex panels and what they exactly do. I didn’t get as much done as I normally do on a drive of this length since no one saw fit to sleep. I’ll list them below and see if I can expand textually.

Solex panels dissolve into each other when arranged in a grid. This feature highlights the animate nature of the panels and aids in characterizing the magiciness of something that would otherwise seem to be technological. I suppose the visual gag would lend itself well to film. But there might be something in there that could be exploited for the plot. Maybe a virus or an evil spell blocks panels from rejoining or being separated?

Solex panels are used to not only collect solar energy, but also magic energy from the sun(?). This energy can be used for whatever (poorly defined) but so far it came to mind that maybe this would be a resource from being able to communicate with the tech it powers. So you have a solar powered toaster the toasts the bread with the electrical energy converted, but uses the magic energy to determine things like when the toast should be made, how toasty, and other personalized toast needs. So far this thinking is lame, but maybe it pans out in other ways. Maybe the magic just goes into a pool resource that the user can access?

Ah ha. Solex panels are only able to collect minute amounts of magic and then only the crudest quality. Thus this is more of a rainwater in a barrel or recycled paper sort of thing. A way for the common person to do some little magics?

Solex sounds like solace not rhymes with Rolex. Inspired by random pronunciation quirk.

In addition to the three above rock solid worldbuilding bits, I also decided that the balloons on Johnka’s sledge would be on really long cables. I think this will give the sledge greater stability since the pendulum is longer–have to look up. And might allow it to more easily navigate through narrow passages since the cables would be much thinner than the balloons.

Then those driving range nets for villages to curb overhead flits, hangers, and sticks came to mind.

Word count: 471

They protest it’s not like the gentle swaying of a ship more an incessant vibration than a rocking.  I’ve never been to sea, so I politely nod.   Then they complain about the noises.  I nod again.  Ah’Taconschientee possesses a quiver and a clamor of course–I just don’t understand their objection.

I am one of the few Tacons to deboard and only one of three to travel to their capitol city of Dambor.  The month long trip was painfully quiet.  I thought I’d go mad from the vastness of the desert and the emptiness of the silence.  They thought I had gone mad when I asked to be moved to what they called a closet nearest the noisy wheelhouse.

Not much their to go on, but I guess this guy’s agoraphobic.  Probalby ought to read up on that before I get too far into his character.

Word count: 145

Thickening the plot remains elusive to me.  After I practice writing I must learn to practice thickening.  Even a runny plot would be better than what I regularly mix up.

If you take the time to read any of what I have written–here or elsewhere–you would likely discover that I dabble in images.  The very brief element of a scene is something I feel I am good at generating.  In addition to setting the scene, I like to think I am able to allude to a direction, to a conflict.  Regardless of your appreciation of my abilities to do that, I have that impression.  The thing is, I don’t have a plot or even a plan.  I just have a finite moment or two.  What I need is a next.

I’ve heard more than a few authors like to determine the beginning and end and then work out the middles.  I have tried that once and still not gotten the middle worked out.  Mathematician’s would argue once is not statistically valid–possibly it’s worth another shot.

What I have in my head while I am writing is this thing with Shanty.  I’ve ended up with three scenes pointed squarely at a single destination.  I think it’s clear that destination isn’t the end of the story, just the site of the initial physical conflict.  I like these scenes and I am enjoying the characters thus far.  I don’t want to let them down.  I don’t want to let them down by composing crap nor by not composing anything at all.  Each of the three began as a simple but concrete point of view effort to describe Shanty.  There was no intention.  Maybe I could just try the same technique on the ending…

Tritti held nothing more dead Johnka’s belt knife.  She held no doubt that she would next kill the Killer.

Gane’s enormous hres finally paid off with the location of his sister.  Behind this door.

You tug at your shackles.  You pray that when they chronicle your journey that they leave this next embarrassing part out then fear for your immediate death overwhelms you.

The young witch resolves from the darkness with only that knife as a weapon.  She imbues it and throws.  No matter how you move or jerk or turn away it will find you heart.  Gane opens the door, sees the knife, and shields you in time.

“Brother!”

Let’s see if we can put that to some use.

I should probably look into what comprises a good paragraph before I spend too much time composing any.  It’s doubtful I’ll discover anything I don’t already know about well written paragraphs, but I imagine the effort will beneficially remind me what I already know.  Not doing so perpetuates bad habits.

Word count: 453

From yesterday…

With most things you’re laid back and comfortable: you pick your old leather jacket over the chipped-out flexx, you eat apple pie before sushi, and you listen to Stream never xKreem. Your gear and your ride are different chapter, a different verse. Let’s start with your ride: a factory Bainbridge Hoverworks model 9600 Azure with custom iCe by South Bay’s own Greedy Petey.

Looks can kill and this Gorgon bitch drops them out of the skies like stone. Sure she draws attention–no you don’t want it–but you deal. Looks like these might clear the runway, but they don’t get you from here to there and that’s what counts.

Enter the 9600 HPM twin-turbine longitudinal lifter from Top & Dancer. These depatic overdumping fans suck in 50 cubic meters of air per second and redirect it to three main ducts (1 fore; 2 aft) and scores of other micro and nano trim-ducts surrounding your ride. The intake is so powerful at full throttle it blurs visibility in a halo-like arc over the flit’s elevators –small birds are suffocated and crushed prior to being cut and pasted by the depleted Promethium edged blades.

Cruising speed is officially CFD (”call for details”). But most open air riders carry an oxygen mask; no true rider has long hair. You’re bald, sexy bald.

It’s fun to write like this. Took me a long time to hack out the fake details, but I like the result. Digging second person too. I know most folk’s assumption is that it’s pushy to read. Maybe it is. To write however, it feels more like a pep talk you give yourself in the mirror before the big game. It sounds like a coach taking.

The following fits before the “Looks might clear the runway…” line:

Don’t let the Medusa reference throw you, other riders may drop, but it ain’t because she’s ugly. It’s respect and awe. Mostly awe since they don’t see many Bains out here in the stix. Like finding an uncorked 21 year old single-malt in strip-mall mini-mirrorbar. Heads turn, breaths hold, times stop. What they see looks like a hammerhead shark fucked an eagle…no, a hummingbird…no, an eagle. Underneath, Petey’s iCe is some light shade of blue they ain’t thought up a name for yet, but it’s between “If Blood Were Blue Not Red” and “Death by Glacier”. On top, the premium solex skin is a complimentary but darker hue–how Petey pulls that off is why Petey’s greedy.

The following slots in at the end of the blockquote:

At take off and landing the 9600 HPM lifter roars like a lion, but non-stop. It makes even you want to cover your ears like a little girl. You don’t though, you have black flesh-toned ear plugs for that. Even with the looks and the speed and the patented Vise-Hover^TM, your favorite part is just as you transition to cruising altitude. The leonine roar fades into a feline purr.

Here you are pausing before the kill. Ah’Taconschientee hangs there like shit from a bird that ate mirrors. Are you savoring the moment or dreading it.

Word count: 262

What a sucktastic run of posts. Nothing like joining a local webring and promoting your awesome personal blog with a heaping helping of suck.

Since I had good legs on vehicle descriptions for Johnka’s sledge let me drift on over to you flit and tell you how that works.

With most things you’re laid back and comfortable: you pick your old leather jacket over the chipped-out flexx, you eat apple pie before sushi, and you listen to Stream never xKreem. Your gear and your ride are different chapter, a different verse. Let’s start with your ride: a factory Bainbridge Hoverworks model 9600 Azure with custom iCe by South Bay’s own Greedy Petey.

Looks can kill and this Gorgon bitch drops them out of the skies like stone. Sure she draws attention–no you don’t want it–but you deal. Looks like these might clear the runway, but they don’t get you from here to there and that’s what counts.

Enter a 9600 HPM twin-turbine longitudinal lifter from Top & Dancer. These depatic overdumping fans suck in 50 cubic meters of air per second and redirect it to three main vents and scores of other micro and nano vents surrounding your ride. The intake is so powerful at full throttle it blurs visibility in a halo-like arc over the flit’s –small birds are suffocated and crushed prior to being cut and pasted by the depleted Promethium edged blades.

Cruising speed is officially CFD (“call for details”). But most open air riders carry an oxygen mask; no true rider has long hair. You’re bald.

Word count: 269