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(Fark)   It's down to the wire. We're under the gun. We're right up against it, the breaks are beating the boys, so go out there and write one for the Gipper. This is your Fark Writer's Thread, Knute Rockne Speech Edition   ( divider line
    More: CSB, Knute Rockne, last-minute surge of submissions, good year, George Gipp, Blizzard Entertainment, Business, Main, total words  
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336 clicks; posted to Main » and Discussion » on 28 Jul 2021 at 3:00 PM (7 weeks ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook

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2021-07-28 2:40:44 PM  
We're coming into the home stretch for this year's Fark Fiction Anthology!  That's right, submissions close on July 31, so we're almost out of time! Get us that story before dawn . . . or uh, thereabouts, on August 1st and you could be a part of literary history!  I don't know where I'll be then, Rock, but I'll know about it, and I'll be happy whenever I stagger out of bed, drink my coffee, and check my inbox.  I think that's how that quote goes.  It's something like that, I'm pretty sure.

We're into the last-minute surge of submissions now, and things look pretty good.  Well, except for me, I'm still trying to scrape together time to get my entry done, but here's what we have so far:

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We're currently looking at 43 entries with ~160K total words, and if history holds true, we'll probably break 180K to 200K once the final ones come in. That's a pretty good year, so thanks to everyone who's contributed!

Once submissions close, we're going to take a week or two to give all of the readers and editors time to go through all the entries, and then we'll send out notices to everyone who submitted this year, to let them know if they made it in or not.  Stay tuned!
2021-07-28 3:07:48 PM  
I dont have any fiction but I have been trying to write a poem about the cold war.

If anyone wants to give me notes this is what I have so far...

"Two Gun Sue, My B-52"

two gun sue,

(she knows just what to do)

reclining on the cotton white top

of an engorged mushroom cloud.

her claret lips parted,


shell pink skin

torino red fingertips

graffiti yellow hair

on cold mirrored chrome.

the long body of a woman

and the face

of a little girl.

with breasts that sum up

the purpose of a nation

and hips that encircle

the earth.

she's resting her chin on the heel of her hand

wearing nothing but a thin rose ribbon

wrapped across her chest,

tight over then around her waist

and carried by the painted wind

off of the tip of one

ruby slippered toe.

her lake placid blue eyes

are curious and upturned,

she's high and forward on an arrow shaped projectile.

a travelling sales girl for the blonde apocalypse.


this swept wing wet dream of sex and technology

forty thousand feet over the sea of japan.

modernist performance art

with a loud surprise ending.

another rock and roll export

for mass consumption.

hearts and minds

eyes and ears

arms and legs.

2021-07-28 3:10:12 PM  
I wrote a short story for a sample--I'm applying for writing jobs (although...rethinking it a bit over the past few days...). I might submit it once I've gone back and edited. It shouldn't take much editing, though, since I do grammar-level revisions as I write. Part bioographical, part sci-fi; I stole the style from an author I read once. Very religious.
2021-07-28 3:20:32 PM  
"The Tale of the Lazy Farker"
There was once a lazy Farker who didn't really want to submit anything thoughtful. Instead, he just popped off the first random thought that popped into his fevered mind when he read the headline...

Here is that short story:

I thought it was "win one for the Zipper"?

Fark user imageView Full Size
2021-07-28 3:22:18 PM  
Fark user imageView Full Size
2021-07-28 3:28:44 PM  
Elmer Bernstein - Notre Dame Victory March
Youtube 8-ICmj7UZAs

Now with the proper accompaniment. Or the real deal if you so choose.

2021-07-28 4:04:38 PM  
I'm still finishing my science-fiction entry. My wife says she likes it so far, but I can't tell if she really likes it or if she's just humoring me.

It should be done tomorrow night ... and ready for submission after I've slept on it and looked it over with fresh eyes Friday.

Here's a taste:
Peter Everard very closely resembled his grandfather, Joshua. The patriarch of the large Everard clan was short, stocky, and looked like he'd been carved out of a solid block of mahogany, a look Peter shared when most of the men in his family resembled Peter's father, George.- pale, tall, and slender. Peter also resembled his grandfather in his temperament. Both men were cynical and blunt and rarely gave a damn what other people thought, and the only things they cared about were family and getting the job done with the fewest hassles possible. This ruthless attitude was responsible for Peter's status within the clan, and the current task- managing security for a smallish farm east of Wenatchee along the greatly diminished Columbia River.

At the moment, Peter Everard was annoyed. Matthew Arnes, a new member of the clan, had been assigned to the Westford Farm contract Peter was handling. Matthew was a veteran of the NAF Army, and hadn't yet figured out that the real world seldom operates the way the Army does.

"All right, Matthew," Peter sighed resignedly. "What's your gripe this time?"

Matthew was a bit taken back by Peter's blunt language. "I'm just saying we could cut back on foot patrols once we upgrade the perimeter sensor array."

"Nope. We've got that nasty cult just north of here, and the jackasses from Thurman Ranch downriver keep trying to water their herd on Westford land where the river is easier to reach. We're upgrading the sensors to add capability, not reduce it."

"That's how we did it in the Army!" Matthew complained.

Peter sighed again. "Don't know if you've noticed, hotshot, but this ain't the Army. We're a private enterprise organization, and the Westfords are paying us for protection. Everybody rotates through patrol duty- including me."

Matthew hadn't learned about Peter's temper, and he kept trying to argue. "But ..."

Peter cut him off. "I sure hope you're doing my cousin Eleanor a lot of good in the sack, dumbass, because you're not doing the family much good any other way I can see!" He pointed a thick forefinger at the older man. "You might have handled a company of grunts for the NAF, but here in the Dry, you're starting at the bottom of the food chain. You're the equivalent of a raw recruit, and I am the farking boss. You got that, rookie?"

Matthew wasn't really stupid, he just acted that way occasionally. He bit off whatever he was getting ready to say with a visible effort, then nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Sorry. You're right. Won't happen again."

Peter snorted. "Good enough. Go help Avery make sure those new sensors get set up properly, then rack out until you join your patrol at midnight."

After Matthew left, Peter got back to the budget he'd been working on before he'd been interrupted. Paula Westford had asked about adding more air defenses, but she was notoriously tight-fisted. Peter needed to improve capabilities without increasing the budget too much, but the Everards usually sub-contracted that sort of specialist work. He dropped a suggestion in Spin for his grandfather to look into hiring one of the smaller companies to provide additional anti-air assets.

Shaking his head, Peter decided to take a break. He wasn't in the patrol rotation for the night, but he wanted to see how Matthew was working out in the field. He figured he'd need some rest if he was going to be dealing with "Mr. Company Commander" for a six-hour patrol. He keyed off his Spin profile and, then lay down on the cot next to his work table and fell instantly asleep.
2021-07-28 4:28:06 PM  
A couple years ago I was on the bus and at one stop two guys got on. They were jabbering rapidly at each other loudly, probably methhead trash. And they were raging. A little after, one of them turns to a middle-aged man and woman in the row behind them, and asks "Where you from?" No answer, so he repeats it louder. The man and woman have olive skin; the woman wears a headscarf. The trash-men continue to jabber between themselves in a loud tandem of meth-speak and hate-speak about the man who must not be from here, woman's not from here, look dirty, no way woman is faithful, gotta be a whore, ugly whore, yeah.

Sometimes one of the trash-men tries to start something with one of the other passengers. Says something to me, I just look through him. Blind rage; they want a fight. Everyone stays in their seats, silent. The olive-skinned man speaks, accented English, tells the trash-men where he's from, and tells them not to talk about olive-skinned woman, who looks like she wants to crawl into a hole. Response is more meth-hate-speak.

At the next stop, bus driver stops and leaves the doors open after everyone has exited and entered. A minute later, a cop strides up into the aisle, two steps at a time. Lean guy, at least 6'10". Driver says some words to him in a low voice. Cop steps to the trash-men and calmly, firmly says three words: "TIME. TO. GO." That's all he ever said. Trash-men fidget and grumble as he takes them out the door. Driver shuts the door and starts up again. Everyone claps. Yes, really. Not a joke. The olive-skinned woman cries a little.

Time. To. Go.
2021-07-28 4:48:17 PM  
(This was written some time ago, I reformatted it for Fark, which totally sucks for fomatting, so hopefully I didn't skip anything.)

I was ushered into a grassy open area off the back side of the main building, surrounded by a high wall but otherwise open to the star-litten night sky above. Sconces placed at various points throughout the area provided illumination. I heard the door close behind me. There, seated in front of me at a small wooden table and facing away, was author and presidential candidate Marianne Williamson. She appeared to be studying something laid out on the table.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, hello, Ms. Willia--"

She suddenly raised a hand and I stopped mid-sentence. I noticed the hand held what appeared to be a small card.

"The Star."

It was the first thing Marianne Williamson ever said to me. She rose from her chair and turned to face me, her hair lightly swirling as she did. As she walked toward me, she continued to speak.

"You see? We are blessed, and one never knows where help and guidance and love will come from next. After all, as you say, 'strange things are afoot at the Circle K'."

She paused, noting the confusion written on my face, and tilted her head.

"That is what you Earthlings say, yes?"

"Well, sort of, sometimes, but not really, I think, no. But I know what you mean, Ms. Williamson," I said, trying to sound respectful but also honest, for I knew that as a being born not of this sphere, Marianne Williamson could not be expected to be familiar with all our Earthly customs.

She nodded sagely. I suddenly remembered why I had come here.

"Oh! So, um, I just wanted to tell you, that I think you're really inspirational, and I think you have a lot of good ideas, and, I mean, I know it's a long shot, and you probably know that too, but even so you go up on stage, because you believe in yourself and your ideas, and it's really inspirational, and--"

Marianne Williamson stepped forward so that she was directly in front of me. She pushed her index finger against my lips to hush me, and once I was hushed, she moved her finger down to the middle of my chest, playing coyly with a button on my shirt. I froze up. I hadn't prepared for this.

"But--Ms. WIlliamson--"

"Please, call me Marianne," she said softly.

"Oh, ok, uh, Marianne, I mean, you're a presidential candidate who travels betwixt Earth and Moon on a lightwave envelope, and I'm just a simple voter. What could you possibly want in... uh... me..."

My voice trailed off as I became entranced by the subtle, mysterious smile that seemed to dance upon her lips like a shifting hologram.

"Oh, you Earth boys," I heard her sigh as she dropped her hand to her side, and I shook myself out of my trance, slightly embarrassed.

Marianne laughed, then turned back toward the table and began collecting her things. I wasn't quite sure what to do, my piece complimenting her being said, and that being all I had set out to say, I was about to turn to leave, when Marianne spoke.

"How'd you like to see the Crystal Redoubt?" she said over her shoulder.

The Crystal Redoubt was rumored to be Marianne's abode on the surface of the moon, though I had been unable to find anyone who could truthfully attest to having visited it, or even anyone who knew anything about it other than the name.

"Er, you mean, on the moon?" I asked.

"Yes, of course on the moon," she said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Well, ok, sure," was all I could manage to say, and I thought to myself how weak that sounded. "Yes!" I added. There, now that sounded like commitment.

Marianne swiveled to face me. Again with the swirling hair. There was a strange scent in the air, like a mix of gunpowder and lilacs.

"Good. Then we will go now," came her response. Her forwardness threw me off, and I merely nodded in acquiescence.

Marianne held her hands momentarily to her temples and closed her eyes. I stood motionless, and soon the air of expectancy was broken by an inquisitive meow of a cat who had apparently snuck into the area from somewhere. This was followed closely by another cat, padding softly out of a dark corner. Then another, and another, until there were too many to count. They sat quietly, their eyes studying me as I saw tails occasionally swish.

"The cats will convey you. Do not resist!" she commanded, adding a cheery "See you soon!" as her lightwave envelope materialized around her and began shifting her into fifth-dimensional space. It began as a diffuse blue mist that became more coherent in just a few seconds, forming a cocoon around her that then projected itself into the night sky as a single beam, directed at the full moon above. I stared at the beam as it vanished, guessing that she would be at her destination in a few seconds at most.

I looked back down apprehensively at the feline phalanx surrounding me. One by one, cats glommed onto me, until I was in the center of a massive cat sandwich. All at once, I felt the cats take a great leap, with me suspended amongst them, and we seemed to hurtle upward ever and ever faster through the stratosphere, the ionosphere, and into space. I caught occasional terrifying glimpses of the shrinking Earth, the blackness of the void, and of the approaching lunar surface getting closer at breakneck speed. Just when I thought I could endure no more, I found myself being deposited gently onto some surface as cats scattered in all directions. I looked down at what was supporting me, and was momentarily mesmerized by a material that seemed at once opal and pearl and marble, seemingly solid with streaks of black and bright white, with refractive rainbow colors shifting into ephemeral existence as I adjusted my gaze here and there. I blinked several times and looked up in front of me. Marianne stood there. I stood up. We were on a small raised platform of sorts. The surrounding sky was of the deepest black. My mind was filled with questions.

"Where are we?"

"The Crystal Redoubt, on the northeastern shore of Mare Tranquilitatis."

"How did you get all those cats to convey me? Where did they come from?"

"We have a treaty," she said flatly.

"A treaty? Like, with, all cats?" I asked incredulously. If she heard me, she didn't acknowledge it.
I looked up above me and saw that the sky was not altogether black, but that we were inside what appeared to be an enormous translucent dome, easily a mile in diameter. Beyond the dome, I could see the pocked lunar surface.

"We're--I'm--how did I--through that? And--I can breathe! How--"

"The protective bubble of the dome around the Redoubt--I call it the Thought Bubble--is permeable to those with open minds. That's how you were able to pass through."

"What if--what if my mind wasn't open?"

"Well, I suppose your body would have explosively depressurized outside, and there'd be sticky little bits of you all over my beautiful dome! But you are now safely inside." She paused a moment in thought, then added, "In either case, you would have nothing to worry about."

Before I could consider her words, Marianne reached out and grabbed me by the hand, pulling me toward a set of recessed winding stairs in the center of the platform, leading downward.

"Come, I will show you the greenhouse."

After descending the stairs to ground level, Marianne led me through a broad square whose central feature was a marble water fountain with a reflective basin of silver. Four mounted clarions emitted streams of water that floated and fell slow and languid in the diminished gravity, such that I felt time must move more slowly around it. We passed straight through the square such that I scarcely had time to observe anything but the fountain, and once passed we reached a long rectangular building, two stories in height, with a peaked roof, whose walls were made of the same shimmering refractive material as the platform. As we entered through an open archway on one end of the length, several impressions immediately came upon me one after the other. I first noticed a change in the character of the air and an increased humidity. Then I looked in wonder at the quantity and variety of flora occupying every part of the interior space, such that it seemed more an overgrown forest or jungle than a well-kept menagerie, and then finally I saw that the entire peaked ceiling was formed of an interwoven patchwork of thin quartz crystal that gave a luminous quality to the sunlight passing through from above.

"The crystals in the ceiling were filled with praise and smiles by many people, and now they filter the sun's harmful rays so that only positive, happy light can touch our leafed friends," she explained while fondling the wide leaf of a nearby tropical palm.

But at that moment, the delicate tinkle of wind chimes resonated in the air, coming from outside the archway, and the sound proceeded to reverberate through the whole interior of the greenhouse.

"Oh, the helium harvester must be back!" said Marianne excitedly. "It is a kind of mechanical beast that lumbers for days in the hot sun and chilly nights over on the far side, siphoning from elemental deposits just below the surface. I call him Lola, because he identifies as a cabaret showgirl. There are no cabarets up here though, I'm afraid! Only rock and dust! And helium deposits. Do you know how he knows about cabarets?"

"No," I answered, assuming it was rhetorical.

"Oh," she said, frowning for a moment and sounding disappointed, as if she expected I would have a ready explanation. "Nor I."

Apparently undeterred by the notice of the harvester, Marianne waded into the dense foliage and bade me follow.

"Well, we shall meet him later, I am sure," she said as she stepped carefully through the greenhouse, plotting a path through the overgrowth. "I need as many plants as possible, you see. But as for now, there is more to show you. Come."

Marianne, with me in tow, finally made it to the far end of the greenhouse with no plant catastrophes along the way. I found myself constantly distracted by trying to identify the myriad array of flora and foliage, but the plants seemed to grow in odd and unexpected proportions, perhaps from the gravity, or, I thought, perhaps from the light. I shook my head and had to remind myself that "happy light powered by smiles" was nonsense that meant nothing. Surely, it meant nothing.

At the far end of the greenhouse, we descended another winding set of stairs to a lower level. The happy light from above did not penetrate far down here. Instead, the cavernous area we entered into was dimly lit in various colorful hues by numerous scattered glowing pillars rising from the ground and terminating at random heights, some barely to my ankle and some rising above my head. On closer inspection, I noticed the pillars must be naturally-occurring, as their structure was not that of carven rock, but rather they were formed of amorphous glowing globs piled atop each other in a sedimentary fashion. I felt the walls of the cavern and found them to be smooth and slick, like some kind of tumbled basalt, yet misshapen and clearly of natural origin as well.

"It's an old lava tube," Marianne said by way of explanation. "Tranquilitatis is full of them. So are the other Mares." She gestured toward the pillars. "The stalagmites grow here now."

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed that directly above the glowing stalagmites, which I had first thought were pillars, hung crystals suspended from the ceiling on twine. Each stalagmite had at least one crystal suspended above it. They were hard to make out exactly, but I could see several large amethysts and a few smaller rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. There must have been at least a hundred stalagmites in the cavern, each spaced perhaps two or three feet apart. Marianne walked into the field, navigating a path between the stalagmites, then turned to face me, holding her arms outstretched. She looked dramatic in the radiant, multihued glow of nearby stalagmites.

"This," she said, gesturing grandly at all the hanging crystals and glowing stalagmites, "is where we make love."
I blushed and quickly stammered, "Uh, well, that's--ok--but I'm--I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet and anyway it looks uncomfortable, right? And then there's species compati--"

"No, silly Earth boy!" she laughed. "The hanging crystals are full of compassion from kind souls, and the liquid drops of compassion they emit as they dissipate build these stalagmites of love. When a stalagmite is grown large, we harvest it, grind it into a fine powder, and distribute it evenly amongst the faeries and fey folk who in turn bring charm and wonder and hope and love to every heart of humankind. We recycle everything, even crystal energy! This is where we make love."

"Oh," I merely said, feeling both relieved and somehow disappointed.

"The stalagmites glow with the light of compassion. Touch one."

I reached out to feel a glowing pillar, and it felt warm in my hand. And, then, it felt warm in my heart.

"You can feel it, yes?" Marianne said, holding her hand over her heart.

"I can."

"See? The Thought Bubble let you in, and the stalagmites show you their love. The Star was right."

I shook my head, saying, "I don't understand. Why do all this? Why the greenhouse? Why the plants, why--"

"To protect you against the Great Banyan, Yggdrasil," Marianne stated matter-of-factly.


"Well, and to awaken your collective consciousness in Gaia, too! That's what the faery dust is for," she added.

I stared at her, as the unexpectedness of her words made me suddenly realize with some trepidation that I was in a cave on the moon listening to a presidential candidate, inspirational though she may be, who was not of Earth and maybe not all present and accounted for talk about faeries. Don't panic, I told myself. And yet, even in the dim glow, I could see a twinkle of excitement in her eyes, and that same entrancing smile on her lips.

I tried to say calmly, "Yggdrasil is a part of mythology, and Gaia is too, I believe, as a manifestation, or personification, of Mother Earth. What do you mean, to awaken--"

"Of course, of course!" she said, interrupting me in her excitement. "And it is manifested through you! You know only the explicate layer, but love will show you the collective implicate! Don't they teach you anything in Earth schools? Though it won't do any good to do that with the moon way out here. No, a moon at this distance will just not do. I think a nice Devonian moon will work, though."

"Devonian, like way back in Earth's history? Isn't that, like, 400 million years ago?"

"Ah! See, they do teach you something! Yes, the moon must be large in Earth's sky, as it was in the Devonian Period. Come, I will show you why."

I put on hold thoughts about Gaia and Yggdrasil and Devonian moons to follow her back up and out of the greenhouse. We passed again through the broad square with the central water fountain that seemed to move in slow motion. This time we turned down a rock-strewn side street that meandered around boulders taller than twice my head, until eventually we were at the edge of the Thought Bubble, with the thin membrane of its placid, translucent surface just a few steps ahead of us.

"Did you know it is always autumn on the moon? Look out there, at eternal autumn. Do you see any leaves on the trees?"

"There are no trees," I said drolly, scanning the gray rocky plain beyond the dome.

"A terrible autumn indeed," she said wistfully.

"So you mean--you need plants--trees--to grow outside the greenhouse. Outside the dome. And somehow that will bring the moon closer to Earth."

"I cannot do it alone, I need the help of the flora. The hot Earthly summers grow hotter and your world grows wetter. I will start with the smaller, hardier vines and stretch them taut from Earth to the Redoubt. As I reel in the moon, more and more vines and crawlers and creeping foliage will join their hardy cousins, and when the moon enters a geostationary orbit, then we will have the Earth-Moon system, you see?"

I nodded. Sure, why not.

"But by the time this happens, the changed climate will have allowed the Great Banyan to thrive and spread its roots over half the earth. In truth, the tree that becomes the Great Banyan has already rooted. And when it becomes the World Tree, Yggdrasil, that you speak of in legend and prophecy, then your kind will be in danger. You cannot survive alongside it, for it does not take kindly to the fauna of the animal kingdom. Do you see now why I must awaken Gaia?"

"It has something to do with everyone not being killed by Yggdrasil."

"Yes! Peace and love are catalysts--nay, necessary ingredients--for Gaia. The global consciousness of Gaia that emerges from the implicate layer of reality allows humankind to work together collectively to defend against the spread of the World Tree. So the Great Banyan uses the organic chains that tie together Earth-Moon to flee to the now-nearby uninhabited moon, free from competition with Earth's fauna. Thereafter, humans peacefully inhabit the earth and the Great Banyan peacefully inhabits and terraforms the moon, and all live in harmony and love and fulfillment!"

Marianne stopped to breathe. Her eyes were shining with a radiant inner light. After a minute of silence, she took a deep breath and exhaled, appearing to be calmer now. She continued.

"A thousand years hence, all this will be long forgotten, as it should be. Then the people of Earth will gaze up in the sky at night and look in wonder at what they call the Moon Tree, as it slowly and steadily circles the planet."

Marianne sighed. I could see a weariness in her that I had missed before. She had been at this a long time, I supposed, and the presidential campaign was but the most recent incarnation.
She grasped my hand and said to me, "It is time for the end of the day and my meditation. And so it is time I return you to Earth. Say, would you like to take the lightwave?"

"Oh! Of course. Thank you for everything. Sure, that would be nice of you," I responded quickly, remembering the chaotic fur sandwich that brought me here.

We walked in silence back to the winding stairs that led to the platform that I had first arrived on and ascended. Once standing on the platform, Marianne grabbed me by the shoulders and positioned me in a very specific location and at a very specific orientation, often stepping back to consider me and then making such minute adjustments to how I was standing that I began to worry.

"Don't worry!" she said, as if sensing my thoughts. "It's just I've never done this for another person before. Now, once I have you fixed, don't move a muscle, ok?"

"Ok," I responded, my worriness level rising. I wondered if I should have chosen the faceful of fur.

After perhaps ten solid minutes of Marianne alternately posing me and stepping back to consider, she finally proclaimed, "There! Perfect!"

I did not react, as per her prior instructions.

She clapped her hands and said, "It is, as you say, neato burrito!"

I attempted to convey some kind of message with my eyes, but I was lost at what message I might convey. I was about to be pushed into a higher spatial dimension by an exotic alien technology and get shot at the earth at the speed of light. Neato burrito.

Marianne made some gestures with her hands, and a shimmering blue facade emerged from thin air around me, quite diffuse at first, then growing more opaque. Marianne looked me straight in the eye.

"Remember this," she said. "You are fragile and ephemeral and beautiful and strong. Live your life like you are a shooting star."

"I am... a shooting star," I repeated in my mind. And in that moment, I meant it, with my whole self.
Marianne smiled genuinely, and then she and the rest of the world was obscured by the closing of the lightwave envelope around me. For a brief moment, I was plunged into an overwhelming sensory deluge of kaleidoscopic transcendence. Like watching every frame of a film simultaneously, or reading every page of a book at once. Like tuning into a thousand radio stations, all static. Then, from amidst the congeries of sights and sounds, I saw a scene, a familiar scene, and the envelope suddenly unfurled about me and faded, leaving me standing in the same grassy sconce-lit area from whence my journey began. I stood there alone, staring at the empty chair set in front of the empty table where I first saw Marianne. The door behind me opened.

"Sorry, sir," came the voice of the man who had ushered me into this area in the first place. "You must've just missed her. Could've sworn she was right here. You ought've said something though, rather'n just standing around!"

"No worries," I said in passing as I turned and left the area. "Perhaps next time."

I walked down the darkened street toward the elevated. The sky was clear and the moon above was bright and full. I paused, remembering Mare Tranquilitatis and the Crystal Redoubt and Marianne. A streak of silver flashed across the sky in the periphery of my vision. Here and then gone. A beautiful, fragile instant of life. I remembered Marianne's words.

You are a shooting star.

Neato burrito.
2021-07-28 4:50:21 PM  
I did it, Coach. I got that ball and I took it across the line, Coach. I didn't let 'em stop me, Coach. I gave it all I got, Coach.

I submitted my story on Saturday. I didn't specify a genre, but it's science fiction. That should help bump up our share, which I see is the smallest. Oh wait, it's included already, ain't it, Coach?

You guys (or gals as the case may be), you head for that goal line, you write your hearts out, just send it in for George's sake. Do it for George, good ol' George (weeping)
2021-07-28 5:52:36 PM  
I sent in my submission just now. I also forgot to give a genre but I'm guessing horror or humor, hard to tell. Unless satire is a genre? It would be humor but how funny are cannibals?
2021-07-28 5:52:45 PM  
I'm going to be at a writer's event in late September that I want to premier a new book at.  My goal is it finish it by Saturday so I have August to proof/rewrite/get it edited/do the layout and submit it to Amazon on September 1.  I am on target to finish it on time.  But my brain is exhausted.
2021-07-28 9:07:02 PM  
I got a few books recently on self publishing, writing for magazines or young adults. A half dozen I got on eBay for under $5 each.

I just keep forgetting to bring them to work, so I can read them on break.

I still highly recommend Writing Treatments That Sell by  Kenneth Atchity.
2021-07-28 10:46:01 PM  
I'm almost up to the climactic moment of my entry, which is pretty good, considering. I'm back from my trip and probably even more tired than I anticipated, but I realized just before leaving that I'd also have all day Saturday to write.
2021-07-29 11:58:06 AM  
Okay, I'm going to start writing in a minute.

Stop bugging me,

2021-07-29 3:53:56 PM  
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