Day 66: Johnka’s Kab Team

Today I’ll be digging up Tritti and Johnka from the pilgrim and Shanty thread.  After a sort.

Johnka’s wagon is typical of any on the thinly disguised desert sands of [somewhere].  But it’s of the largest sort.  It’s size isn’t what you notice first.  The low featured desert dune magnify and reduce objects in a random way that makes appreciating scale a waste of time.  No, the first thing you notice is how high it rides off the blown sand given she’s just tri-rigged.

Typical of the older drivers out here, Johnka likes the stability of three balloons over the draft/lift of four. [need to dig up more consistent sailing ship terminology]  And he still gets the good drafting.  It’s not because he’s underloaded either, potatoes, apples, and tellats are literally falling over the sides.  Creating a something of a trail for the desert animals looking for easy food.

The the bridge under slings the prow.  Johnka has a few extra canopies flown out along the rim to get even more shade in the setting and rising sun–he likes his days early and late.  No doubt he drifts off to sleep during the dull noon hours while his veteran kab team continues eastward or westward depending.

Kabs are not well built for desert winds.  Their pink and grey scaled humps rising from their stout frames and short legs makes them look just like a sailboat turned lizard.  But the winds run mostly the direction they are heading or opposite it.  In the end, the absurdly scaled water reserve acts more like a keel than a sail.

Need to wrap it up there.  Maybe I’ll tack on something later today.

Day 61: Brain Fodder

Think of the most improbable place people could live then skip two to the right and you have the ah’Taconschientee or in the suffixial patois, Shanty.

From a distance, Shanty gleams like a melting drip of a dragonfly’s eye. Nearer you make out the honeycomb of confetti-like solex clinging together and glistening in the sea sun. This could be a stalactite or an icicle.

You trim your flit to hover in a more or less safe zone back from the congested hive of flits, hangers, and sticks swooping and, well, flitting to and from Shanty. It is not hard to swap your fellow fliers for wasps and Shanty for the papery nest. The rear fans of your flit sense your curiosity and wind up a degree. You drift toward Shanty’s center of gravity.

You’re a killer. You have business here. Deadly business.

You chuckle at the melodrama and unzip your jacket to expose your décolletage.

This not an edit.  It’s a discussion of my thinking.

I like that I didn’t waste time with overly specific details.  Laundry lists of whats and wheres and hows don’t much appeal to me as a reader, so I don’t write this way.  When I make descriptions I like to overload the effort to include emotion, tone, and setting along with the information.  The stalactite reference juxtaposes the rest of the insect imagery but it’s still natural.  “…but it’s more alive.” tacked onto the end of that first paragraph might help it blend in even better.

I really do feel like I pull off the overloads I have worked on pretty well.  That’s not to say I shouldn’t continue to evaluate them closely.  My two concerns are that I don’t know when to pull back, that I linger too long on that type of description, and that I may not transition as smoothly as I think into the more plot-advancing stuff.  These descriptive analogies and extended metaphors bring the strange events and places proximal to the reader–that’s my intention anyway.

Considering my habit of scanning pages for dialogue and nearly always glossing the description, the way I write is the inverse of how I read.  Initially that seems odd, but the more I think on the two it may not be so strange after all.  I love dialog.  I don’t write it so I can’t screw it up.

Great.  I really don’t need to uncover another fear tonight.  Not after I’ve been running scared on the tacit word count challenge.  Good thing I am being introspective rather than creative.  This head writing is always dense.  At least I’ll make my unspoken quota of five hundred words a post on this one.

Using second person in this was an accident.  Or maybe a hold over of my recent training style.  When I train I direct the participants to do perform tasks: you click here, you drag this there, or you arrange these in a row like this.  Hmmm.  Not sure that I would have categorized second person as a training style.  I wonder if the immediacy and the improbability of second person could be better served with that in mind.  Maybe even mix in first person to make it read more like a trainer.  I do it this way, but you could do it this other way if you like.  Masia Freixa was second person too.  It was more of a tour however.  Actually that might be a better them to write second person in than training.  Less apt to get preachy, still allows the reader to make decisions about the events.

I might be digging on second person more than I would have thought.  I wonder how you can find well done examples.  I know of none.

Even before it’s clear this is second person–I think it ramped into that–it obviously doesn’t take itself seriously.  The writing is self-aware if not deprecating in it’s ‘let me tell you what I’m going to write’ way.  I think maybe people would be ready for an overt narrator like this.  Another bit of research to do on reading trends.

Brain fodder.

Word count: 520

Day 60: The Solex Guy

What has gone before.

It wasn’t a vow. It wasn’t a blessing-grade hres even. It was really more of a technique. Nearly two days into his fast if he just ate this one small slice of lamb, he’d not be throwing that much back up. If he even did get sick.

Gane marveled at how easily his single brain took sides against itself. If you throw it away you are wasting good food–good money. If you eat it you’re being untrue to yourself. You decided not to eat, you can decide when to eat. Yesterday’s Gane isn’t the boss of today’s Gane. [et cetera]

He looks around for an excuse, a starving child, a malnourished traveler, or some other graceful error handling. No out. Then he finds something. A sign. Probably from God. He’s being punished of course: no food or drink in slide car.

Alright that enough of the chatter about Gane fasting. It feels important but not interesting to write and it’s clearly me avoiding getting him over to the spike.

Let’s cut to the chase and get him over there and work out the head stuff later.

Gane’s penultimate stop is in the penthouse. His last in the basement–figures. At least for now he’s in the clean air and bright open room of a wealthier Tacon. That helps, because this is the largest array of solex panels he’s seen in a quarter.

He finishes his tertiary count. He’d expected 1024 but there were 1023 instead. The sun-worshiping Thapes were always one-offing the octals, something about not being too perfect. Tacon’s on the other hand were more practical about their solex: the panels come eight to a box, you can’t buy less than a full box, one-offing means throwing something away. Tacon’s don’t throw anything away they might need later. [something about being out here over the ocean and everything having value].

Gane measures the appropriate amount of silacaine then sifts in the powdered chintal seed. Despite being exactly tied tot he number of panels, the disappointingly near-white silacaine was more than a volumizing agent. It plus the chintal powder together was what powered his blessing.

I’m going to have to think more on blessing-grade hres before I can just hack one out.

Word count: 391