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Genre: Adventure
About maggieprizazzLocation: San Luis Obispo, CA Home Region: Age:28 Website: http://maggiemakesit.wordpress.com/ Favorite novels: The Left Hand of Darkness, Jackaroo, Captain Blood, Lady Chatterly's Lover, Howl's Moving Castle, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Catch 22 Favorite writers: Cynthia Voight, Zora Neal Hurston, Gregory McGuire, Oscar Wilde, DH Lawrence, Douglas Adams Favorite music: Beethoven 7 in A Non-noveling interests: archaeology, geology, meteorology, astronomy -- I know, such a nerd. |
Joined: November 1, 2009 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 41 NaNoWriMo buddies: 4
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Brief Author Bio: I'm an environmental scientist, beer brewer, jazz and blues singer, costume maker, and jewelry designer. I grew up in Oakland. I graduated college and got a job in San Luis Obispo. I was discouraged about my writing in middle and high school (thanks to the cunts I went to school with) and found the college environment much more supportive. I've always wanted to write a novel and my first one I've been writing in my head for several years. I didn't finish it in 2009 so I guess I'll continue it 2010. For the time being, I'll edit this first bit. |
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Synopsis: The Chronicles of Grin, Book 1; Wanderings
The world as we know it has ended. We are now ghosts that watched man climb higher than we ever imagined. We watched them populate the heavens and meet others that dwelled there. We watched hubris and arrogance destroy them, taking many innocents with them. We are now all ghosts observing what remains of man.
The Great Devastation brought our age of man lower than we ever thought possible. There are arguments about what caused the holocaust, but it hardly matters now. The great war was followed by drought, famine, disease, and bloody skirmishes for what was left. When the worst of the fighting was done, man numbered in the thousands. Most survivors tried to reclaim life, as we knew it, calling it a better time. They searched for resources we once found plentiful. They attempted to collect and repair technologies that remained but were hobbled. They perpetuated a cycle of violence and suffering.
Hundreds of years ago, three hundred sixty-seven men, women and children decided there was another way to live a better life and made the crossing of barren lands to the west. One hundred ten survived the journey to the western coast. They called the people they came from the Fareasters. The Fareasters did not miss them when the left and did not know of this other way of life only a few hundred miles away, beyond the transcontinental mountains, a desert, another mountain range and a great valley, on the western coast of the continent. The survivors were not known to exist, so they were not given a name. They called themselves villagers. The Elders created a place where there is no capitalism. They Elders balance their population and resources. They teach the history of the Great Devastation, in the hopes it will not be repeated. They live tolerance and empathy. They managed the villagers in such a way as to give them what their hearts desired, within reason. Their agrarian utopia succeeded, but not without sacrifice.
The Elders prayed to remain undiscovered. They feared the Fareasters would succeed in resuscitating old technologies, that flying machines would again take the skies and great armies of wheels would again scratch the earth. Their greatest fear was a villager might betray them to the complete ruin of everything they had worked so hard to create and keep.
Excerpt: The Chronicles of Grin, Book 1; Wanderings
“I think I see my first order of mischief,” Yevon said.
She looked around to see if anyone in the cart followed their conversation. “The dunes?” Aqui lowered her voice. “You can’t be serious.”
“I wonder how many leagues to its south end.”
“I don’t think we’d survive to find out.”
“Scared of all the tales you’ve heard,” he sounded surprised. Aqui was not known for pusillanimous statements.
She scoffed. “I barely believe them. It’s like the tooth gremlin that will eat your enamel if you don’t properly clean them.”
“Oh, no. That one I believe. Why do you think Vincent has no teeth?”
Aqui paused to remember the stinking maw in that greasy visage. “Fair point. But no, the punishment.”
“What punishment? Have you ever heard of the punishment? The worst thing they can do is send you to nurse the crones for the rest of your life.”
Aqui groaned. Villagers in hospice could be entertaining with their maundering anecdotes of days gone by, but mostly they were terribly pitiful in their caducity and ennui, leaky wraiths in white papery skin with sunken eyes. Since that day the crone accused her, she was not fond of visiting hospice. The worst crime committed in her lifetime had been a murder. The Elders ruled him a continuing danger to society. With no place to hold him for the remainder of his life, they sentenced him drink a hemlock tea. Trespassing could hardly warrant punishment of that kind.
“So?” Yevon persisted.
“Sure. I’ve always been curious. I prefer to die young with dignity. There is nothing worse that wasting away.”
“Don’t be stupid; they won’t kill you. You don’t sound very excited. We’ll never get caught. I’ve spent hours watching and plotting possible paths. Nobody watches.”
Aqui shook her head, ruefully. “When you go wild you go big.”
“When shall we go? Tomorrow?” He effused and his excitement was contagious.
“Not tomorrow. I go to Creek to see my family.”
“Then when?” he hissed.
“Whenever the opportunity arises.”
He leaned away a little. Aqui turned to see a triumphant smile on his face. He winked at her. She checked the cart again for listeners. She feared their urgent whispers might have attracted attention, but she met no eyes and all the passengers seemed otherwise engaged. She caught Yevons eye again and gave him a reproachful look. He scowled back at her, but he couldn’t keep a big smile from taking its place. Aqui felt herself involuntarily smiling back. She caught herself admiring his generous lips and quickly turned back to look at the view.
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