Hiatus

I'm going to be on hiatus for a couple weeks. I apologize for the lack of posts. I will be attempting to finish Scrap in a week or two, and will throw it up whenever it's ready. I also plan on doing a quick edit of it once it's finished and putting out a more finished story. Thanks for reading.

Thoughts and Rescheduling

I stuck with the three posts per week schedule for the month of August and it went well. I was able to post on schedule for the most part. Even so, it's plain to see I will not be able to continue this amount of content. First of all, it detracts from me writing anything else, which is a problem. I have also begun classes in graduate school which will take more and more of my time as the semester goes on. Work has also begun so I'm back at the k-8 school, helping teach those darn kids.

Three posts a week just isn't feasible. I'm going to try for two posts a week, one in the first half, sun-wed, one in the second half, wed-sat. I'm giving a range of days because I will honestly be scrounging for blog-writing time whenever I can get it. That's just the way it is. The plan will be one post on writing, one post of fiction. I know I need to finish Scrap, I also need to get back to my short story, and other ideas that keep jumping up on me.

That's what's been happening. Thanks for listening and dealing with the irregularity recently.

Real Life

You can only do so much. You can plan and strategize and monopolize the free time you get. You can grab bits and chunks of writing time here and there in spare spontaneous moments. You can establish a daily writing habit and continue it for days, weeks, months, years. You can write hundreds of blog posts ahead of time and schedule them to go up at the right time.

And still, real life will get in the way. You will fall behind. It happens. Shit happens. You have to deal with it. If real life rears its big ugly head, thats okay. Let it. Do what you have to do, try to forget the nagging sensation of 'Oh I need to be writing' and try to enjoy the bumps and situations real life throws your way.

I don't mean it as something bad will happen, though it will. Bad things do happen, but that's not always what will get in the way of writing. Just as often, it will be good things, going on vacation, spending time with friends or loved ones, etc. As said before, have fun while it lasts, then, as soon as you can, get back on your horse and write like hell.

If it is Something Bad, then you need to deal with it, writing can take a backseat. Do what you need to in your real life before you delve into your imaginary one.

Basically, I'm writing this post as a poor excuse for not getting in my monday blog post on time. Real life got in the way, in a good way. Sometimes it's best to just let it. Get back in the saddle when you can.

Scrap (p.4)

(Part 1 is here)

A girl rushed into Sallie's, her eyes wide. She went behind the bar and whispered into Sallie's ear.

Sallie glanced at Johnny, nodding her head. After the girl was done, Sallie whispered something in her ear and put something in her hand. Sallie walked over to Johnny's stool.

Johnny's stomach dropped. Maybe he didn't have until morning.

"Seems Hal's not waiting until morning," Sallie said. She rummaged under the bar and started pulling out guns.

"Wait, Sallie, listen," Johnny said. "Just let me out the back and tell him I'm gone. I don't want to bring this trouble down on you and yours."

"This trouble was coming sooner or later. Hal don't want anything operating that ain't under his thumb." She looked at Johnny, her eyes keen. "But tell me, why's he want you so bad?"

Johnny hesitated, but Sallie was about to head off against the meanest most powerful man in the village, and it was his fault. He leaned in. "I found something in the Heap. Something big."

"How big?"

Johnny sighed. "It will change the world."

Her eyes widened. She shook her head and jumped onto the bar, standing over everyone.

The singer in the corner cut off her song.

Everyone looked at Sallie.

She stalked up and down her bar, resting her rifle on her shoulder like a soldier at ease. "There's going to be trouble here fast so I'd ask you all to head to the basement to wait this out. I apologize for the inconvenience. Girls, boys." She gestured to her workers to come to the bar.

Johnny found the girl who'd brought the warning and sent her off with a message.

Sallie let herself down off the bar. "What'd you tell her?"

"To get out of here before the shooting starts. You got a gun for me, Sal? Mine's empty."

She couldn't help smiling. "That girl took your bullets too, didn't she?" She handed over a heavy handgun. "Take care, she kicks."

Most of Sallie's customers were making their way to the trapdoor underneath the stairs. One of Sal's boys held it open.

Sallie addressed her workers. "Susie and Sharon, you get yourselves down in the basement too, I won't hear nothing else." The two youngest-looking girls left, the others looked determined. "Now, boys and girls I call you but you are men and women, able to do what you want. If you'll stay and protect this place, I'll appreciate it but I won't force you. The basement door is open if you want to take it."

Not one of her workers moved. They looked determined.

Sallie looked pleased. She started handing a variety of firearms out, rifles, shotguns and handguns. She sent her boys to keep watch in every direction.

The few customers who remained made their way to the bar, having talked with eachother and looking like they decided something.

"Sallie," one said, a grizzled man with a lengthy black beard. "You've been here long since I showed up, only real place of civilization left in this barbarian's wasteland of a planet and damnit, you better be here long after I'm gone. This place is neutral, always has been and if someone's messing with that, I want to help, we all do." The men and women with him nodded their heads in agreement. They looked withered and aged, but also rock hard. The village didn't have room for anyone soft.

Sallie nodded. "I appreciate it much, Gril, but you all know you will be going against Hal on this. I won't begrudge anyone stepping back and heading down to the basement."

Gril shrugged, glancing at the others. "We already figured as much."

Sallie handed out the last few weapons she had and spare ammo clips to go with them.

Johnny shook his head, lost in thought. He'd spent most of his life in the village, it's parts and people familiar, reassuring, the status quo never really changing. It'd been a safe place, for the most part, for a family to raise children, for a farmer to bring their crops, and most importantly for Johnny to scavenge in the Heap and bring back old-tech to sell off.

No more.

He swore, checking the clip in the gun before shoving it back in with a snap. "I didn't want this, any of this," he muttered.

"Hey," Sallie said, smacking him up side the head. "Get the hell over your self."

"Sallie," one of her boys said from the front.

A gunshot resounded and one of the front windows shattered.

Everyone ducked and clutched their weapons with white knuckles, waiting.

No more gunfire.

Sallie left her men watching the back and sides. The rest of them made their way to the front, taking positions by the many windows.

Ten men stood out front, each carrying a machine gun. One man stood out, pudgy and with a scar across his face. He was Theodore, Hal's second.

Johnny took a slow breath. If Ted was here, Hal wasn't playing around.

"Sal," one of her men hissed from the back. He held up five fingers and pointed outside.

Sal sent Johnny, Gril and another one of her patrons who'd stuck around to the back.

Johnny crouched by the bouncer, a broad-shouldered man with a shotgun.

"They're hiding but just wait and watch."

Johnny did so, making sure to keep out of clear view.

Men poked their head from behind two buildings. Another peeked from the roof of a third. Two more could be seen between gaps in a pile of wooden crates off to the side. They each were armed and seemed to be waiting for something.

"Sallie!" Theodore cried out. "We don't want trouble."

"Sure looks like you do," Sallie shouted back.

"We just want Johnny, that's all. Let him go and we'll leave in peace."

"What do you want him for?"

"Trespassing and theft on Hal's land, the Scrapheap. He's broken the law and he needs to pay."

"Ain't the law Sheriff's business?"

Theodore shrugged. "Seeing how Hal was the one offended against and the Sheriff is a two-bit coward, Hal's the one who will see to the issue."

"The Heap ain't Hal's to own. Never was and never will be."

"Now see, he would disagree with you."

"Seeing how he's breaking the laws of this here neutral ground, I don't much care what he thinks."

Theodore laughed. "We all knew this place was only neutral ground long as Hal let it be. C'mon now, Sal, you don't want to do thi-"

She leaned out of the window and fired.

Theodore took the round in the shoulder, spinning around and hitting the dirt.

The world filled with gunfire.

The men at the back made their appearance, whipping their guns up and peppering the back with bullets.

Windows shattered. Tables and chairs were hit, sending woodchips flying into the air. The bottles behind the bar broke and crashed to the floor.

Johnny peeked out when he could, found the closest man, creeping up the side of a house. Johnny held the gun with both hands and fired. The kick took him by surprise, making him step back.

The man bounced off the wall and hit the ground.

Johnny threw himself back from the window as gunfire followed him. He found Gril dead and the other patron dying from multiple gunshots.

The man didn't last long.

Sal's man raised up and fired, scattershot catching the man above and sending him tumbling from the roof.

Johnny glanced at the front.

One of Sal's men lay on his back, his hands to his gut as another of Sal's customers put pressure on the wound. Sal herself looked calm and collected, her mouth a thin line of concentration as she moved from window to window, shooting here and there.

Johnny moved to another window, a surprisingly intact one and smashed it with the butt of his handgun. He waited a moment, then looked out. He fired a couple times at the crates but missed.

The men behind the crates dashed out of sight beyond a house.

Johnny thought of the people living in that home, in all the homes around them, in the whole village itself, exposed to an avalanche of violence and death. He cursed Hal for this, he cursed the Sheriff for not being able to protect them as he promised to do. He cursed the world that reduced them to this. He leaned out the window, spotted another of Hal's men clambering over a nearby roof, and fired.

The round took the man's leg off. His scream cut off as he hit the dirt.

Johnny saw the window of a house break as a man's elbow went through it, followed by the barrel of a gun pointed in his direction. Johnny was slow to move and he knew it. A gunshot fired, impossible to catch amid the many others, but the man in the window stumbled back and fell.

Johnny looked at Sal's man with a thankful grin but he had a curious expression on his face.

"Who was that?" the man asked.

Johnny glanced out the window and his jaw dropped.

The woman with goggles and short hair stood just outside, reloading the handgun she'd taken from him, at a time that felt so long ago. "This sides clear," she said. "Get to the front, we don't have much time." She ran off around the corner of the building.

Johnny didn't bother asking questions and headed for the front. He didn't bother thinking too hard about what just happened because it wouldn't matter anyway. It didn't make sense. Trying to understand would just make his head hurt more, and the gunfire hadn't done much to help with his headache in the first place.

He found the battle dying down, Hal's men wounded or dead, Theodore having disappeared. He must have been wearing some fancy armor to survive Sal's shot. Sal's wounded man's eyes were closed and one of her women had taken a round in the throat, her eyes open and unblinking.

Sal looked mean, blood on her face and hands, her eyes hard as diamonds. "Whose that woman?" she asked, gesturing outside. "She might have just saved our asses."

Johnny watched as the woman with goggles walked around, finishing off the wounded, executioner-style. He sighed. "That would be the lady who robbed me."

A Writing Place

I recently created a "writing room" in my apartment. I set up a six-foot cheap foldable table and put a spare chair in the spare room that is mostly used for storage. It's not much, the walls bare, most of the space taken by beer-brewing equipment, cardboard boxes and christmas ornaments, but it's something. I've only used it a few times but it's useful. Having a space devoted to writing makes me write more. I think it's important for a writer to have a space devoted to writing. You have your job space, your sleeping space, your living space, dining, etc. You should have a space for writing if it's truly important to you.

Now, this could be anything. It could be an office or study, or it could be simply sitting up in your bed with your laptop in your lap. It's simply a space where, for a time, all you do is write in that space. It could be at your dining table, in your living room with the television off. It could be outside under a tree at the park, or in a lovely cafe while sipping an iced latte. It could be multiple spaces. The point is, it's a place where you go to do one thing and one thing only for a certain amount of time. A place to focus on writing, troubles left behind, distractions gone.

Having a specific place helps you write more. It will aid you in sustaining a good writing habit, especially if you get into a routine with it. Maybe an hour before work every day, you go into your writing space and write for an hour. It's just a place where you can go and get work done, leaving other things, ideas, distractions, problems, at the proverbial door. I like my little storage room because when I go in, with a fresh glass of water or coffee or beer(depending on the time of day...usually), I know what I'm getting into. I'm not going to waste time on games of tv. I'm going in there to write goddamnit.

Roald Dahl had a tiny hut. Neil Gaiman has a freaking writing gazebo! What do you have? It could be anything.

Plot Problems

Sometimes, you get bogged down in the plot of the story. You know the beginning, you know where you're going, but you don't quite know how to get there. You've got A and know C but B, the connection between the two, is a mystery.

In my current story, I've got the initial scenes finished and I know what's going to happen when the detectives confront the suspect, the difficult part is getting the characters to that point. I have to trickle clues that make sense, establish realistic leads for the detectives to follow and get to where I need them to be. I think I've got it mostly figured out, for the moment, but these kind of plot problems can be tricky. They can halt you in your figurative steps, tank your word count and demolish your drive.

So how do you deal with them? How do you write when you don't know how to get from A to C? How do you write something down you haven't even figured out yet? There's a few things that might work. It's helpful to think of these strategies as tools in your writer toolbox. One might work for one story and another might work for something else. Who knows? It's always better to have more tools than you need.

Often, when this problem affects me, I do have a solution in mind, it's just a weak one, it's one that doesn't fit perfectly in the plot, doesn't quite work as well as I would like it to. If that's the case, if you do have some idea of how it works but you just don't like it....write it anyways! Write it down and move on. At least you have something, at least you are still putting words down on paper. You can always come back and fix it up, completely rewrite it if you want to. Getting past the problem, even with a weak solution, will move you forward, will get you towards the end. You know you will have to edit the story after the first draft anyways, it's fine to have a weak moment or two. You will probably have more than you know, anyways. That's what editing is for, I find it's much easier to punch up scenes after I've written the whole story and know where I'm headed. If you've got any idea, go for it, use it. It might work better than you think it will anyways.

Another tool is to simply skip the problematic part. You know what's going to happen later so write it. At least you're getting words down, at least you're working on your project and getting shit done. You're going to have to write that later part anyways, aren't you? Get it done now! Come back to the problematic scene later, when you've had some time to think about it and after you've written what will come after it. Writing the scenes ahead of it may give you some insight into what the problem is and how to solve it. You might find clues in your future scenes that help you solve your problem or maybe just giving your brain time to mull the problem over will help you solve it.

A third tool and one I wouldn't suggest using often, is taking a break. Take a break from writing for a day or two, if a problem is really working you over. I don't like to suggest this because starting and working on a habit of writing regularly is something you should always strive for. Habits take repetition and even just one day of not writing can set you back, can get you off track. But sometimes, you need a break. Your mind needs a break. Doing something completely different can jog your brain into solving problems. Letting your subconscious work can do wonders. There are times where you will wake up and have the answer just because your brain was working on it while you slept.

That's it for today, and remember, WRITE FIRST AND ASK QUESTIONS LATER.

Also, what do you do when you have 'plot problems'? Difficult situations that hinder your writing? Forge through or take a break and think? I'm interested to hear.

Scrap (p.3)

(Parts 1 and 2)

Ten minutes later, Glen had rigged a set of speakers so the chip could speak and a microphone input so Johnny and Glen could talk back.

Or something. Johnny didn't really get what was happening.

"It's a data chip," Johnny said. "It's just information. How can it talk? Why does it want to talk? Why it does it want anything? How-"

"Stop," Glen said. "You can ask her, now." He finished setting up the computer and stood back.

Johnny looked at the computer. "Her?"

"My name is Galant," a robotic voice crackled out of the speakers.

Johnny nearly jumped out of his seat. He settled back down and looked at Glen.

Glen took a seat slowly, just watching the computer and waiting.

Johnny looked back. "What are you? How are you speaking? You're just a data chip."

"I am a non-biological-sentient-being. Your kind first called us Artificial Intelligence. I can speak as you can speak, only I use speakers while you use various biological mechanics to utter sound. I am a mind without a body. Data Storage Unit 0113455432 currently contains the information that makes up my being. I set up an emergency program to transfer myself to it in case of system-wide failure."

Glen poured himself another drink. He seemed in shock.

Johnny leaned forward. He thought of all those ships in the Heap. "System-wide failure? You were part of the ship I found you in. What happened to it? There are hundreds of downed ships out there."

There was a burst of static. "I have lost much in the transfer process, including some memory storage. I do not know what occurred to bring down Terra Former 02234, The Siren, or the other ships I traveled with."

"The ship you were on," Johnny said. "What was it's purpose?"

"The Siren was a class-4 ship, specifically created to carry and utilize a Terra Former machine on other worlds, to make them habitable for the human species."

"Wait, what? Make other planets habitable? What did the Terra Former do?"

"The Terra Former can affect a planet's surface, change it's climate and seed the land with organic life. It can, depending on the planet, convert a climate into a hospitable land for humans in months. It can create a utopia in a year."

Johnny's hand found the bottle of liquor and he drank straight from it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What fuel do the old-tech ships need to run?"

"The ships run on hydrofusion, the only fuel needed is H20, or water."

Johnny grabbed the gun off the table and leveled it at Glen's head.

Glen had his glass in hand, half-raised to his mouth. He froze. "What the hell, Johnny?"

"How deep are you with Hal?"

Glen carefully set his glass on the table. "I'm the only techie in town so you know he keeps a close eye on me. I give him what I have to, to keep him off my back, that's it."

"You wouldn't tell him about this?" Johnny asked, looking into his friend's eyes over the barrel of the gun.

"Of course not, Johnny," Glen said, throwing his hands on the table. "This is bigger than Hal or the Sheriff, or even our little-shit town. This is bigger than everything, do you understand? Someone with that could-"

"Create a new world and control the entire thing? Yeah, I think I got the gist," Johnny said. He kept the gun on Glen and stood up. He took the chip out of the computer. He took a breath, then holstered the gun. "I need this more than you."

There was a clatter outside, then footsteps.

Johnny ran to the window, pulled the shade away and looked out. A boy sprinted down the street and out of sight. He'd been listening in.

"Shit," Glen said.

"One of Hal's boys," Johnny said, feeling something sinking in his gut. "He keeps 'em around the gates to follow people. I didn't see him before."

Glen frowned and shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you what to do with that chip but..." Glen sighed. "You have the ability to change the world. People are going to want that."

"I never wanted the ability to change the world, I just wanted a meal and a place to sleep," Johnny muttered, slipping the chip into his pocket. "And now Hal's going to know."

"What are you going to do?"

"Hide it."

"Then what?"

Johnny shrugged. "I'll play it by ear." He walked out of Glen's and the town felt different.

The buildings looked more run-down. The dirty streets seemed filthier than ever. For the first time, he noticed nothing green grew anywhere in the town. The sky even had a brownish cast to it, as if dirt and dust were in the air itself.

It could all be different, he thought. He imagined fields upon fields of crops, forests filled with trees, entire jungles of plant and animal life. He'd seen old-tech vid-clips of other planets, planets teeming with life. They had seemed...impossible to imagine. Now, he could see it here.

It could happen.

He heard the click of a gun and felt something hard press against the back of his head.

Or maybe not.

"Hello again," a feminine voice said behind him.

His headache suddenly got worse.

The woman from before.

"Really? Robbing me twice in one day? Isn't that a little much?"

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't come looking for a little revenge. The gate guards in this town are awfully easy to bribe." She took his gun.

He closed his eyes and mentally swore at Ken and the new guy. "I wouldn't have come for revenge. I'm  not that kind of guy."

"Oh yeah? You would have just been fine with letting me have all your stuff?"

"Well, I might have taken back my stuff, but I would have left it at that. Bygones are bygones. We do what we have to, I don't blame you."

She came around in front of him, holding a gun in each hand. Her goggles were pushed up and he could see her blue eyes. She holstered her own gun, then unloaded the rounds from the other into her palm, which she pocketed. She gave him back the empty gun. She still had his bag over her shoulder. "Nothing personal," she said and walked away.

He watched her leave and swore under his breath, jamming the empty gun back into his holster. He headed the other way, hoping to never see her again. The sun dipped towards the horizon as evening came on.



In Sallie's, business began to pick up as night came on. Farmers and Hal's gun-thugs alike came to Sallie's for a bite to eat and a few drinks. The biggest building in the town, it held tables for hundreds and a long bar against the wall. Sallie's gals walked around delivering food and drinks while Sallie's boys, four big brutes leaned against the wall and made sure there wasn't any trouble.

There usually wasn't any, surprisingly. Both the Sheriff and Hal considered the place neutral. It was basically holy ground, Johnny thought, walking in and smiling. The place felt like home. At the corner tables, men were throwing dice or playing cards. On a stage in the opposite corner, a young lass sang a song about romance that a few listened to. At other tables were men and women, drinking and eating their fill.

Sallie herself was behind the bar, pouring ales and mixing liquors together to make drinks, chatting away with customers at the bar. She had a buzzcut and black tattoos across her face. She was lean and mean, her body taut with muscle and she'd been known to throw out rude customers without the help of her 'boys'.

Johnny walked up to the bar and sat at an empty stool.

She came up to him, shaking a cocktail in her hands. "Johnny," she said. "Ain't seen you around in a few days. How's the Heap treatin' ya?"

Johnny shook his head. "Not so great, Sallie. Think I could get the regular on credit?"

Sallie stopped shaking and poured the drink into a glass with ice. She gave him a look. "I don't give credit and people don't keep tabs here, Johnny, you know that." She went down the bar to give the glass to a customer, who dropped a couple chits on the bar, which Sallie took. She came back to Johnny. "You got nothing, really? What the hell happened?"

Johnny looked down. "I got robbed by a woman today. Twice."

Sallie burst out laughing. "Twice by the same woman in the same day?"

Johnny nodded. "Try not to laugh too much," he muttered.

"Alright, alright," Sallie said. She poured a beer and slid it in front of him. "Meal from the kitchen will be out in a minute. You get one just because I feel bad for you." She reached underneath the bar and pulled a room key. She put it in front of him. "One night. And you owe me." She looked into his eyes, a dark glint in them. "You. Owe. Me." She turned, smile leaping onto her face as she walked down the bar to serve another customer.

Johnny licked his lips and took a long swig of beer. He needed it.

They came for him halfway through his meal. It was the usual, a bowl of stew with a few ragged vegetables in it.

Johnny had hoped he'd be finished before they showed up but thugs always had the worst timing.

Two men showed up and each placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "C'mon Johnny," the one to the left said. "The big boss wants to see ya."

"I'm eating," Johnny said.

"Not anymore." The thug to the left said and pushed the bowl away.

Sallie made her way over, pretending to clean a glass with a white rag.

Johnny shrugged. "Gentlemen, I'm fairly sure you don't want to be starting trouble in here."

"You're right, which is why we're leaving." The two grabbed his arms.

Johnny clamped his legs around his stool and gripped the bar with both hands. "I don't think so."

"Excuse me," Sallie said, leaning over the bar. "Are you hassling one of my customers?"

The two thugs let up an inch. "Nah, Sallie, we're just going to have a chat with Johnny here outside."

"Looks like Johnny doesn't want to have a chat," Sallie said.

"Sure he does. It's in his best interests," the thug growled.

"Let him go. You know that shit doesn't fly here," Sallie said.

"Look, Sallie, this is important. More than you know."

Sallie slammed her fist into her bar with a thud. Everyone in the bar had stopped talking and started watching the confrontation.

"What I know is you two have come into my bar and tried to rough up one of my customers." She gave a nod.

Two of her 'boys' grabbed the thugs from behind.

"You don't want to do this, Sallie," the speaking thug said. "You'll be starting something big."

"Tell Hal to keep his business outta my business," Sallie said.

Her boys shoved the thugs out into the street.

She pushed the bowl back over.

"Thanks," Johnny said, adjusting his tussled clothes.

"Didn't do it for you," Sallie said. "Tomorrow morning, you leave here, you're on your own." She walked away.

Johnny finished his soup and drank the last dregs of his beer.

He had until morning, at least.

An hour later, Hal's men opened fire on Sallie's place.