Novel excerpts

As I type this my back is beginning to ache in body memory. It was terrible. I was in incredible physic distress from the pain and the realisation of what was to follow. My boyfriend's mum kept giving me the homeopathic drops but because I hadn't eaten they made me nauseaus and I threw up. After that she dripped it onto my leg instead. I started kicking her to make her stop. At five am when I'd gotten up, I'd put a C.D on and because I couldn't speak it played continuously for twelve hours. Not only was I in physical pain and emotional distress, I was also really irritated about having to listen to that music for such an extended period.

The baby never left her embryonic sac and would have been born in her egg-shaped cocoon had I not asked the midwife to pinch it to move things along. Her highness made a big fuss over this, insisting that the baby would be born “lucky” if she were to remain in the sac. There was a long lapse in the emergence and birthing of the head which may have contributed to my daughter's disabilities. I was over it and got on the birthing stool. She rushed out and almost hit the floor, caught by the midwife's scooped single arm beneath her. A brown, dark-haired tiny girl who made eye contact straight away and had the cutest little cry. Her Apgars were nine and nine. I looked at her and thought Down Syndrome. No. Down Syndrome. NO. I locked it away in a brand new compartment of grief and loss, alongside my many others.

Like the others, it came back to haunt me. The baby had problems attaching at the breast, the baby was asleep all the time. The baby had low muscle tone, blue hands, feet, and face, and was missing several reflexes. The first maternal health nurse visit sent us to the children's hospitals infant ward. In a separate room with a large glass window I sat alone watching a whole row of happy new mums tending to their newborns, babies who cried much louder and more often than mine. I had a sinking feeling. My child was clearly different. I seemed different from the mothers, too. They seemed to be actually enjoying their newborns.

The first thing the doctors said was, we think she has a heart condition. We were sent down for an ultrasound on her heart. It was strange seeing an ultrasound done on this tiny girl. They concluded that there were several small holes which were expected to close on their own. They did.

Suddenly there were scores of medical students rudely peering over her crib, talking about her. I wished they'd fuck off. Blood was taken. Even when she was screaming it was obvious that my little buddha was more beautiful than any child there. Sometimes when I look at her now in her peaceful moments with her legs crossed and her serious round face I could swear she's a deity.

We were moved to a more private back room and I was given the heartbreaking news that they thought she had Down Syndrome. I floated across to her crib, so in love with her and her little turkey neck and her tiny relaxed hands and her wise eyes.

And I experienced emotional pain so intense it was as though someone had crushed my entire soul and taken every particle of joy fragment inside me and blown it all away in the wind with their gaping ugly mouth, laughing as I got smaller and more lost. So you thought you deserved happiness? it seemed to say.

And my dream baby flew away into the night, waving me goodbye forever.

Uh, wow. That was poignant. I'm not sure that act can be followed, but... I'm going to give it a shot by sharing something completely different. The scene is an early morning private meeting between Monique, a youngish minister of a powerful council and the octogenarian chief of Police, Chief Weber, who is sitting on a pier pretending to fish.

...

Again to her surprise, Weber chuckled, the most blatant grin she had ever seen from him forming on his face. Monique stared at him.

"What?"

Still grinning, Weber said, "I have footage. But I can't give it to you."

"Why not?"

Weber shook his finger at Monique. "Because I gave it to somebody else."

Monique resisted the urge to reach up and throttle the mischief out of Weber. "And to whom did you give it to?"

Weber folded his arms on his lap and started humming a tantalizing little tune. "Oh... it's a long story, so says a little bird."

Monique boggled. "What!?"

"That's an outdated unit of power, Monique. The correct word is 'pardon'." Weber was clearly enjoying this.

"That doesn't make any sense," Monique bristled. "How is that even possible?"

Leisurely, Weber started folding his legs up onto the pier. "It's not a matter of possible if it's already happened." He then pushed himself off the pier with a grunt, brushing his fishing vest off. "See, Monique, I'm just the local cop. And an old fogey," he winced, as his back cracked while bending over to pick up the empty cooler and rod, . "It's time for the young cadets to take over, and not a moment too soon."

Monique struggled to her feet. "You keep talking in portents. What's happening?"

"The world shall go mad, and once again history will be rewritten." Weber slung the rod over his shoulder as he started walking away. "Whether you want to be among the writers, is up to you."

Still rooted to the spot, Monique called after him. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know why I've lasted in this business longer than you've been alive? It's because I chose my friends carefully." Weber quavered, before breaking into song as he wove among the trees and disappeared from view.

Blinking in confusion, Monique just stood there, even after Weber's singing had also faded and disappeared.

Mine sucks but here goes. It's a Harry Potter fanfic btw cause that seems to be all that I can write atm :P

Introduction

My family you will have heard of and you most likely have heard of myself too. People know of my family even if they do not immediately recognise me. Not many people have and those who have don't connect me to my family. Sometimes that is a good thing, sometimes it isn't. It really just all depends on the situation that I'm currently in. My family has a long history which isn't all the surprising if one looks at our family tree. You can trace it back to the Roman Empire. It is rather impressive with the amount of people that are on it. Of course it is going to continue further through my two son's and my wife's brother's children though they will not have the family name. Yes my family is the infamous Black Family of Magical Britain and I am Orion Black youngest child and only son of Melanie McMillan and Arcturus Black as well as heir to the Black Family. My family has given me the task of recording our family history for the future generations to come in a Black Family Chronicle and this is what it is going to be.

Our first known ancestor was Nero Arctus Black in the Roman Empire. It is rather impressive that we can trace our family that we know of ancestors back then. Though not much else is known about them. From there we can travel all the way through the centuries to my children. Hopefully as time passes and they grow older they will continue to add to this Chronicle for their descendants to know of our families past.

Here's mine. It's nothing great, just some dialogue that I had fun writing:)

“Damn it!” he shouted, looking at the time on the stove. It was already lunch time and he was over five hours late for work.

Sam punched the buttons on the phone and held it to his ear.

“Sam? Where the hell are you? Are you okay?” Mike asked right away.

“Hey, man. I’m sorry I’m late. I – ”

“Yeah, yeah. Forget about that. Are you alright? Last time I saw you, you were hightailing it out of the pass. When you didn’t show up this morning and I couldn’t get a hold of you, I got worried that something was up. I was about to come over there in a few minutes and beat your door down if I had to.”

Sam sighed. “No, I’m okay. It’s just that ... well,” he hesitated, “Hayley left yesterday. She’s gone and I don’t know where she is.”

Mike was silent for a moment, probably searching for the right thing to say. “Oh. Man, I’m sorry. How you handling it?”

“Well, that depends. Do you mean right now or last night?” Sam said.

“That bad, huh?” Mike asked. Then he said, “Look, buddy. I’ve been through that before. It’s misery, I know. Why don’t you take a few days to get your bearings.”

Sam regretted spilling the news to his boss. He didn’t need anyone’s pity right now. “No, Mike. I’m fine, really.”

“Yeah, you’re fine and dandy enough to call me halfway through the day and let me know, what, that you couldn’t get your ass of the floor where you cried yourself to sleep? Let me guess, you did the whole fetal position thing too, right?”

Sam didn’t know what to say. Mike was right, but that wasn’t something one man could ever admit to another. “Uh – ”

“No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear the answer to that. I mean, I told you, man. I’ve been there before,” said Mike.

Sam shook his head. His boss was never afraid to put everything out in the open, no matter how much Sam didn’t want his emotions waving around like a pair of boxers on a clothesline for all the world to see.

Mike continued and said, “So anyway, you get yourself straight, you do what you got to do, and then you call me. Until then, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. You got it?”

“Mike,” Sam protested. “You know you need me.”

“Hell yeah, I do. But I need you without all your moaning and groaning. You know what I’m saying? Besides, I just got some trainees to initiate.” Sam heard the mischievous glee in Mike’s voice. “So I think I’ll be alright. You got it?”

“Yeah. I got it,” Sam said, accepting defeat. “Hey, thanks, Mike.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m the all-American boss of the year. Anyway, you take care of yourself. And don’t you dare let me find out that you spent your time whining in bed all day. You understand me, de Luca? Like I said, you do what you got to do and then you get your ass back to work.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later, Mike.” Sam hung up the phone and laid his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure time off of work was what he really needed right now. He was doing perfectly fine going crazy on his own, and not having the certainty of the mountains to reassure him every day was sure to make his struggle that much more difficult.

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Rebekah :)
Click the banner to check out my blog!

Tabby lay in bed, staring at the ceiling blankly. Anna returned from the kitchen with two cups of steaming coffee, placed them both carefully at Tabby's desk, then climbed back into bed with her. She raised herself up on one elbow, looking into Tabby's bright green eyes, and spoke softly.
"Tabby, darling, you've got to get up soon. Chris is coming here in a while, he says he's got a great idea."
Tabby gave no immediate response. Anna waited patiently, laying next to her girlfriend, wrapping her hands around Tabby's waist, hugging her close. Eventually, Tabby sat up slowly, and signed one word.
"Fine."
Tabby got up and climbed over Anna without another word, collecting a cup of coffee from the desk, and wandered out to the kitchen. Anna sighed and followed her. As much as Tabby pushed her away, Anna knew that she was grateful for the company. Anna also knew that Tabby was always like this before she had her first cup of coffee of the day. Hearing her start to move kitchen utensils around, she exclaimed an unprintable expletive and hurried out to the kitchen. True enough, Tabby was preparing to make something to eat, a recipe for naught but disaster, Anna knew. She gently took the spoon and whisk from Tabby's good hand, and guided her over to the table, where she sat her down.
"Wait here, sweetie. What did you want to eat?"
"Pancakes." Tabby fingersigned in reply after a short pause. Anna rose from kneeling beside her, walked into the kitchen and put on an apron, then attracted Tabby's attention again.
"It'll be about 15 minutes. Do you want something else while you wait?"
"Toast." she signed.
"Coming right up." Anna said with a smile, putting bread into the toaster and pushing the handle down with a flourish. Tabby did not respond at this showful display of cookery, which dejected Anna slightly.
As Anna busied herself with making breakfast, Chris let himself in the front door, knowing that Tabby would not hear him knock or ring the doorbell. He walked through into the kitchen, greeting Tabby first, with a signed 'hi', a hug and a kiss on her cheek, only raising a brief happy look from her, and then proceeded in to where Anna was cooking. He greeted her also with a kiss on the cheek, and a hug.
"How's she doing?" Chris asked Anna.
"Poorly." Anna replied, concentrated on whisking eggs, sugar and soymilk together. "She's barely said a word to me all morning, yesterday she didn't talk to me at all. She's barely said three words to her mum over the entire time she's been home, either."
Chris put the kettle on. "And how are you holding up?" he asked.
"Not that well either. It's...really difficult to watch someone you love go through something this painful. She wakes up crying every night, she thinks I sleep through it but I always wake up when she's having her nightmares. She screams and cries and writhes, she relives it over and over every night. In some ways, I think it would have been easier on her if she'd died that day." The toast popped from the toaster. Anna grabbed it, and savagely started to spread margarine on it, so savagely that the toast began to break apart in her hands. Anna switched from margarine to Vegemite, spinning the lid so fiercely that it spun off and flew away, landing in the sink amongst the dirty breakfast dishes.

It's not my favourite (ie: the one I think is the most powerful/able to be appreciated), but that one isn't suitable for this forum.

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You could have said a word, but you turned away. Or do you always act in such a passive way?

2008 NaNo: 帰り道 // the returning road (Failed)
2009 NaNo: スパイス！ (Working Title)

In the summer I started swimming lessons in the ocean. The scent of coconut-fragranced suncream smells like “before.” That was the first time I ever felt different, and it was because the waves frightened me. The other children were having a blast. I've always felt strangled in the water, never been able to relax in it. The first division; my inability to swim well. My lack of desire to swim at all.

Ocean

my body fills the floor
moves in unsynchronised dances
my sweat clings to your skin

I am shy, poised
like a kidney sensing sodium

I hiss and vibrate grey
you slip into my silk
float on my plasma surface
thinking that I exist purely for you

This is my confession

you, immersed in my amniotic fluid
sip from my never-ending womb
and lose control

I eject you lifeless onto my shore
& leave no apology

I hiss, dance in silk
& reverberate in blue

In my third year of primary school I became a curiosity. There was some kind of disorganisation with the teachers and they kept getting switched around. Our first teacher scared me because I kept reversing my letters and he tore pages out of my workbook. I viewed this as a severe betrayal, and was very upset that my book had the remnants of its old pages in the spine, reminding me that I was a failure. I would have been disinclined to further use the book had I been at home. I would have flown into a rage. I would have thrown the book at someone's head.

This is the second “before.” My mum says I was nice then. I was.

Sometimes people look at me when I have my daughter with me and feel sorry for me. Sometimes they think I'm a saint. Sometimes women think I'm just a beautiful young woman and they glare at me. Sometimes men don't like that I'm not a doormat and they feel threatened by me. Sometimes people get intimidated by my intensity and seem frightened of me. Sometimes people think I am nothing more than crazy.

One of my pet hates is when I park my car in a disabled bay and people glare inside, trying to figure out how on earth I ended up with a blue sticker.

Recently at the shopping centre a woman grabbed her tag and flicked it against her car window like the ugliest fish tail I've ever seen. Then she saw my daughter and recoiled. But the damage was done. I helped my child out of her seat and silently wondered just how many times I have to apologise for my losses.

I wrote this bit today that made me rather happy. Just a lil' conversation between my MC Linda and her assistant Nita. Nita has been sorting through the company slush pile while Linda proofreads.

---

Nita rolled her eyes. ‘Slush pile. There was this one book written about a pandemic that started in an underground lab in Canada and gradually spread across the whole world, carried by pigeons and other birds, so kind of like the avian flu but not, and it was intentionally made by scientists in this lab, so kind of like The Stand but not, and the only place that didn’t get infected was Madagascar, which turned into an idyllic paradise where everyone worked the land and the men all had multiple wives so that they could have loads of children, so kind of like Utah but not, and it ended up with they were going to build big boats and go exploring to see if the rest of the world had recovered yet, so kind of like the Ark but not, so they’re building this boat and this seagull flies down and lands on the boat and it pecks one of the guys on the hand and the final line was this really long-winded sentence about them all watching the lines of infection creeping up his arm, knowing that despite their best efforts, they had been undone by their own human arrogance.’

‘It sounds like you got pretty into it.’

‘Nah, I just flipped through. I figured it was going to be just another post-apocalyptic science-fiction saga based on the title alone, but it really surpassed my expectations.’

‘What was the title?’

‘Pandemic! Exclamation mark and all.’

‘So did you let the author know that we’re not really looking for speculative fiction unless it’s got backing from an agent?’

‘That’s the thing. He was trying to sell it to us as non-fiction. I believe the line in the cover letter was “a chilling look at mankind’s inevitable future unless the truth about the government’s plans for genocide is revealed”.’

‘That’s pretty special.’

‘So what should I say?’

‘Tell him we’re not accepting unsolicited non-fiction submissions at this time, thank him kindly for thinking of us first in his bid for publication, and for the love of God don’t give him any personal contact details.’

---

I think one of the most fun parts of this novel is describing the various unsolicited manuscripts that turn up at Buen Rollo Publishing.

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Municipal Liaison for Australia and New Zealand :: Melbourne
Moderator for Games, Diversions, and Other Exciting Forms of Procrastination

Rexanna rose to her feet, picking up the box and the old stained dressings. She signalled for Evander to retrieve the blood stained bowl of water and follow her outside. Rexanna quietly shut the door and her hand lingering on the knob, her eyes staring at the worn woodwork.

"She has no name," she said simply. "They did call her something but I won't repeat it."

A very tough scene in my novel, but the words just flowed out of me. i don't know from where.

I'd love to, but so far none of it is presentable on its own. Perhaps later.

Of course, if anybody wants to read and comment, pm would probably be most appropriate, I'm uploading my novel here:

http://z10.invisionfree.com/Old_World_Chronicles/index.php?showtopic=225...

Actually, on second thoughts, here's an excerpt from the latest section, hope its not too long:

“The stone walls are high, and partitioned by a series of towers that lance the sky. Carven statues of creatures you have never seen before scowl down at you, as if to warn you of traspassing.” He said.

“Got a map?” Phil asked as soon as Jorsi had paused in his description.

Jorsi sighed, and pulled out the map of the castle from under his chair, “You guys take all the fun out of being a GM.”

“Spare us, we all know what a gothic castle looks like, you can do descriptions later.” Phil said, “Dave, scan the castle for secrets.”

“Ok. Hope the roll is good.” Dave said as he fished out a dice bag from his pocket. Pouring the dice onto his lap, he picked out two d20’s and rattled them in his hand before casting onto the table. Dave scowled, “I hate my luck. A 14.”

Jorsi shrugged, “Can’t have everything easy.” he said as he marked several secret corridors into the castle, “Your divination is only partially successful, there is still a lot of Koethe blocking your abilities. You manage to divine the position of several entryways, but nothing significant.”

“Oh well. We probably should take the front entrance anyway.” Said Phil.

Tessa frowned, “Whyever the hell would you want to do that?” she asked.

“Front entrances aren’t trapped, only guarded.” Sarah said.

“Yeah. We don't have to deal with slimey monsters that are in the sewers, or giant spiders, or those bloody giant rats. Just the guards, if there are any.” Pascal said.

“But why?” Tessa asked.

“Simple. People always go in secret entrances, so they’re heavily trapped and guarded by hoardes of nasty creatures. And front entrances are for admitting people into the castle. Since that part is completely under the control of the owner of the castle, it’s hardly going to worry them if someone enters that way. Especially since they usually have a full view of the front door.” Pascal said.

“So what? We just waltz in the front door, kill all the guards, and hope we can talk with the villian?!” Tessa looked incredulous.

“Oh, I don't know about the talking part, but the rest is about right.” Phil said.

“You guys are wierd.” Tessa said.

“You get used to it.” Sarah said.

“That levitation spell still work?” Phil asked Dave.

“Unlimited castings, unless my hp is below a certain level, yeah, pretty much.” Dave said.

“Alright, we levitate to the front doors.” Phil said, “And we knock on the big knocker things.” he added quickly.

“We -” Tessa was about to protest.

Pascal rolled his eyes and interrupted her, “Yes, Spikey, we knock. It’s proper etiquette to let your enemies attack first. That way we don’t kill anybody we aren’t supposed to.” he said impatiently.

“You call me that again and I will throw something at you!” Tessa cried.

“Sure, Spikey, whatever.” Pascal said, grinning at her. Tessa made a face and lobbed a book at him. Pascal ducked, “Hey!”

“I warned you.” Tessa said smugly.

“I thought you were joking, dammit!” Pascal said.

Tessa smiled maliciously at him, and completely missed the despairing looks that passed between Phil and Dave.

“Alright, enough of that.” Jorsi said, “The mighty twin doors you've just knocked on open with a loud groaning and creaking. The interior of the entry hallway is dark and light sparsely by glowing blue globes. Rows of collumns, their sheer sides covered in writhing engravings, march down on either side of the doors to the end; where a great iron throne sits. From what little you can see, the throne is fashioned after the skeleton of some mighty beast. Though what beast, you cannot tell from here. After the rolling thunder dies out, the area falls eerily silent.” Jorsi continued.

“No enemies. Shit.” Pascal said.

“You should go in first. Hide and see if you can find anything.” Phil said.

“Hell no! I ain’t getting myself strung up on the rafters! You’re undead, you can’t die. You go!” Pascal cried.

“I’m hardly the best of candidates to be entering an undead hallway, we like our turf unscathed by competition.” Phil said.

“Oh you bunch of pussies. I’ll go.” Tessa said, “I enter the hallway.”

“We peer in after her.” Pascal said.

“Your concern is appreciated.” Tessa said sarcastically.

“The hallway is silent as you enter it alone, you can hear no sound but for the echoes of your footsteps vanishing into the vastnesses above.” Jorsi said.

“Spoooky.” Pascal put on a menacing undertone.

“Ok. So I look around.” Tessa said.

“You see little except for the pillars, and doors that lead off into the depths of the castle.” Jorsi said, pulling out a sheet from under his chair and placing it on the table. It was a diagram of the hallway.

“She isn’t dead yet?” Pascal asked.

“No. She isn’t dead.” Jorsi said.

“Alright, I’m following her in.” Dave said.

“We’re all going in.” Anya said.

“The hallway echoes with the sounds of your footsteps as you approach your companion. The doors close behind you with a rolling boom.” Jorsi said.

“Damn!” Pascal said, “I knew that was going to happen!”

“The entire hallway suddenly lights up. Windows set in the walls suddenly open, flooding light into the chamber, lights burst into blue flame on chandeliers set high up in the roof and the blue globes light up all down the corridor of pillars. You hear a deep voice cry, ‘Let there be light! He said! And there was Light!’ A figure in deep black robes suddenly appears rising from the throne. ‘What brings you here travellers?’ It says in that same deep voice. You notice that the throne isn’t made of iron. It’s made from the bones of a dragon.” Jorsi said.

“We were informed that you were caused trouble.” Phil said.

“Actually, it’s unlawful use of Sorcery.” Dave said.

“Oho! Unlawful use of Sorcery! Says who?” Cries the figure on the throne as it sits back down.

“The An’Mahhe himself.” Dave said.

“Does he now? And I suppose he didn't have the resources to send a proper group down to chastise me, hmmm?” Jorsi said.

“We are the group, Archlich. This can be sorted out without undue difficulty if you allow us to work with you.” Dave said.

“Oh? You know I’m an Archlich, do you? How so?” Jorsi said.

“I’m a Psion. I know the mental signature of every thing that lives, and is dead. My companion here is an Archlich also, so I’ve hardly missed out on that category.” Dave said.

“Roll for bluff.” Jorsi said.

“What’s going on?” Tessa asked Sarah.

“Dave’s bluffing, he’s trying to secure a peaceful alternative. So we don’t have to fight a boss before we’ve actually worked him out.” Sarah said.

“A boss?” Tessa asked.

“Yeah. The big daddy. The head honcho. The dude who runs the show. They’re the guys you meet after slaughtering all their henchmen, and take absolutely ages to kill.” Pascal said.

The dice rattled on the table, “Good thing I maxed out bluff, it’s a class skill of mine.” Dave said, “I got a bluff check of sixty four.”

Jorsi rolled his dice, “You had to beat a seventy. You fail.” he said.

“Dammit! Why can’t we fight the henchmen first?” Pascal cried.

“It's more interesting this way.” Jorsi said, smiling. He was clearly enjoying himself.

Pascal muttered something, and rolled his dice, “Eighty two to hiding in plain sight.” He said.

Jorsi placed the suspiciously Lord of the Rings figurines in a cluster in front of the throne on the map, with one that looked like Sauron on the throne. “You vanish from sight all of a sudden.” he said without glancing at his notes.

“Woo! Sneak attack time!” Pascal wooped.

“I draw my blades and begin my battle focus.” Tessa said.

“I cast Horrific Warding around the group.” Phil said.

“Oh my! Gearing up for battle so soon?” Jorsi asked, “But we’d only just started chatting. Oh, and by the way. No I will not be working with the Mahhe, but thank you for the offer.”

“Then this has to stop. Now.” Dave said.

“Really? And how to you propose to do that?” Jorsi asked.

“By putting Soul Bleeder through your thick skull! Titanic Leap! Sneak Attack!” Pascal cried theatrically, and fished four glowing dice from his pocket. A deep blue light pulsed in their triangular innards.