QQ Writing Club

[TanaNari]

So I just had the world's dumbest idea for a fanfic and I'm trying to decide if I want to do it or not:

Click to shrink...

I don't know if it would work as a whole fanfic, but... you could probably make a pretty hilarious short fic out of it.

 

[Audrey Frost]

Starting this Saturday, I'm going commit myself to writing at least 1,200 words a day on my novel, Sys Admins vs. Cryptic Souls.

Probably need to write more to meet my two-month completion goal for my novel, but it's a start.

I'm not starting just yet since I've gotta finish up some outlining.

(I saw this thread was dormant, but I wanted to do the challenge. Please don't smite me, mods.)

 

[Audrey Frost]

I'm going to make it a late night tonight to finish this outline so I can start plugging away on the draft.

I'll shut up now so I can get to it. XD

 

[GiftofLove]

I'd forgotten about the writing club. This brings back some memories.

Feel free to post commitments in here if you'd like. It's what the thread is for, so I doubt the mods mind.

If there's interest in restarting the writing club challenges, I'm willing to return to actively managing the thread. I can't make any promises on the banners we used to give out as rewards, though. It's been quite awhile, and I'd need to check in with the admins to see if they're willing to keep giving them out.

 

[Audrey Frost]

I'd forgotten about the writing club. This brings back some memories.

Feel free to post commitments in here if you'd like. It's what the thread is for, so I doubt the mods mind.

If there's interest in restarting the writing club challenges, I'm willing to return to actively managing the thread. I can't make any promises on the banners we used to give out as rewards, though. It's been quite awhile, and I'd need to check in with the admins to see if they're willing to keep giving them out.

Click to shrink...

I'm definitely using the thread to stay on task, so I'm appreciate that you and the mods have got the time.

Now for commitments, I've got good news and bad news.

Good News: I wrote my first 1,200 words, though much that is for the end of the novel since I immediately knew how I was closing it out and wanted to get it in a document while it was fresh in my head. I'm also low-key scared of rushing the ending towards the end of my two month deadline, so this is insurance against that. I was a little bit of a lazy fuck though, since I stopped exactly at 1,200 words because ...

Bad News: I'm still working on my master outline, which will help me write this novel faster and stay on track, because I don't have a whole lot of spare time to get this done properly. This weekend is going to a drop-dead effort to put this to bed.

That's pretty much my progress at the moment. If anyone is interested, I'll post very rough draft excerpts in spoilers here as I go along, but the finished product is going to have its own thread.

Getting at back it now.

 

[Audrey Frost]

I did the standard 1,200 words this morning, before resuming the outline after tackling some non-writing stuff today. I've got enough surviving hours in the day to finish this outline, which mean I'm free just worry about drafting next!

I'll share the progress with y'all soon.

 

[Audrey Frost]

I did another 1,200 words ... for a random scene ... for about three hours after work, but I'm going to chillax for a bit before resuming the outline, which I added a plot twist that I wound needed chart out more fully. Finally, I'm seeing the end of this.

 

[Audrey Frost]

Busy night tonight, so the lone highlight is finishing the daily 1,200 words.

I'm looking to start accelerating the progress tomorrow.

 

[Audrey Frost]

Finished 2,335 words last night then went into a coma, but I got carried away by the scene didn't finish my outline.

Gonna button that up tonight.

 

[Audrey Frost]

I strictly cut myself off at 1,200 words tonight because I need to get this damn outline done, so I'm dedicating the rest of the night to it.

(I'm also considering just posting here every two days or so, since I'd rather not spam the thread, be under the gun to report every night, and I'll have more time to focus on writing.)

 

[Audrey Frost]

Managed to do usual 1,200 after work in a couple hours, but I'm going to up the ante from here on our.

I'm wrestling this outline to completion today.

 

[Audrey Frost]

Spent some time in the writing wilderness.

I did finish the outline, I've got a roadmap for the story to guide the most pantsing I've done ever, but I had to rework a few details and that took longer than expected. Since I didn't do much writing during that time, I couldn't count that towards the challenge here, so I'm back at the foot of metaphorical mountain, lol.

Anyway, 2,398 words is my count so far tonight and I'm thinking of doing a writing marathon tonight to make up for lost time.

If you want a sneak peek of my very rough first draft so far, here it is. Keep on mind I'm just getting words on the page right now for massive editing later.

Spoiler: Incomplete Sucky Chapter 1 Draft

Wakefulness hits me with the softness of sledgehammer. I'm sore, lethargic, my body's feeling like it doesn't really wanna move this morning. It being in motion seems an impossibility. I'm the kind of tired that you feel deep in your bones that weighs you down, makes you think you'll never get out of bed again.

Recently I've been feeling that way a lot.

My comforter pulls me down in bed, reminding me of how Amani used to roll on top of me to pin me from getting up, trying to me under the sheets with her for a few more minutes.

"Can't you call in sick?" she'd tease me up close, her smile making her morning breath worth it.

Beneath the covers her curves tempt me everything I'm leaving behind.

Actually, I'd already left it behind, with the only souvenir from that time being the note she left me in our, my flat, after taking everything that was hers away.

All that's ahead of me is the same old cycle with work and waiting for work to come around.

So I get on with it.

Throwing off the blanket with more force than necessary to get the blood flowing in my arm, my back cracks as I sit up. Pins and needles prickle my toes, which I try to scrunch away. My fingers My fingers tingle, so I flex them too. Poor circulation is probably to blame.

Stretching might help, but who am I kidding I'm barely good enough to make it to the bathroom. Swinging my legs to the side of the bed, I press pins and needles in my toes into the warm fibers of my heated brown carpet that Amani always said was ugly, but has held up since I parted ways with the agency and went private sector.

Stubbornly, the pins and needles still seethe on my soles. Inspired by their persistence, I hoist myself off the bed and it's stuck across the bedroom to the bathroom, digging my heels into the carpet while dragging my soles to exorcise the prickling possessing my feet. Just before the bathroom, a shiver runs up my legs as my soles touch the cold hardwood of bedroom flooring, then the clammy ceramic tiles of the bathroom.

Residual sleepiness and gunk in my eye have me walking wobbly to the sink. Light switches on, the bulb brightening just enough to not be blinding to my bleary morning eyes.

A tired man looks at me from the mirror. All my imperfections make themselves known. Insurgent gray hairs stick out from the black ones in low Caesar cut, however hard I try to cut them out. Extended crunch time at work has hung bags under my eyes. Dried cracked skin I used to get up early in the morning to hide from Amani peaks out from my mostly manicured beard. Some beige scales flick the brown skin I've lived in or with since birth. Bloodshot eyes take a hard look at all this.

Well, I'm not going to become more beautiful moping in front of the mirror. Snap out of it.

"Cold," I ask the sink, running my hands under the faucet as the stream of ice cool water falls from it. Cupping my hands, I catch it, splashing it over my face. The chill jolts me awake. Just what the doctor ordered.

I keep lapping the water on my face, washing away the grime in exchange for the new day's load. Blinking away the dampness, I peep at the mirror.

"News," I burble at the mirror through the water.

Today's AR news feed flashes up in the corner of the mirror. Within the inset, footage comes on of a swarm of underwater observation drones hovering above what I know is the severed trunk on a deep data transfer cable.

Which is concerning, to say the least, since those cables are the backbone of the modern Net, alongside other insignificant systems such as the global economy, or the parts those at the top of tend to think about.

Bracing for the bad news, I break my toothbrush and toothpaste out of the cabinet behind the mirror, fastening the door back in place so I can brush my pearly white while watching the fallout on the feed.

Doing its best impression of these days would call a generic American female, in that language, the anchor's AI-generated voice runs down the damage, newscast neutral.

"- aggravating tensions in the South China Sea." Not a great start.

Putting the paste to brush, I stick both my mouth and start scrubbing.

"Amid a heightened standoff between NATO and SCO forces in the South China Sea, the sudden failure of an American-managed sub-sea quantum relay hub has introduced a new complication to the equation."

Onscreen, cue a cut to footage of a fleet of Chinese naval vessels in formation on the ocean. In spite of my Navy years giving me more than a good look at these ships, I widen the news window with my free hand while brushing my back teeth.

"The US alleges the cable was sabotaged by a state-sponsored Lethal Autonomous Weapons Swarm, which official claim have been sighted in the region. China denies this, claiming it was a natural failure or a faulty maintenance operation by contractors responsible for the cable's maintenance."

No surprise there, though the current administration here could be bullshitting, lying motherfuckers that they are.

My tongue slide slickly over the lower teeth I've just finished, so I spit the toothpaste in the sink to circle down the drain, to the sewers down low.

"Both NATO and SCO are maneuvering fleets to physically secure surrounding area."

That would be pure showboating. Neither us and our allies or the Chinese with Russians and their other rump states in tow wants to escalate to direct kinetic war. So everybody will use proxies. Either software agents for cyber warfare or underwater autonomous drones babysat by some poor canned sailors in the submarine, like I used to before I hit my limit.

Still, this is bad and could become worse. There's an appetite, maybe even a hunger, in the East and the West to be top dog, the undisputed dominant hyperpower on planet just like the US used to be before we assed out that advantage we had last century.

To get back to that time, we've dusted off the Monroe Doctrine and we've been backing the most brutal right-wing autocrats across the Americas for more than a century to lock down the Western hemisphere.

On the other side of the globe, the Chinese bought out the bankrupt Russians right after Ukraine fell. With the resources of Russia and the bread basket that was Ukraine, the People's Republic leveraged that to get most of mainland Asia on side with a chunk of Africa following, especially when the Equatorial crop failures set in.

Now the Cold War has settled on this status quo between the two blocks where they occasionally snipe at each other in deniable ways while picking off the remaining smaller unaligned nations slowly being forced by climate change to choose a side.

And that is bad, but the wrong people or property catching a stray quick change all that.

Even a miscalculation or misinterpretation of events could spark something, like, say, unexplained activity in the South China Sea such as local network outages or seismic data anomalies that could be interpreted by overworkerd military and intelligence personnel on hair trigger as a sign of enemy action where there is none.

"Cut the feed," I tell the mirror. I can't remember what the newsfeed was saying for the last minute anyway and I'm not going to be able to probably hear it in the shower. They're directed vodcast speakers you can buy that allowed directly on your ears and beam the sound to them so you could hear them over a hurricane, but I never find it in me or my wallet to blow money like that. In my mind's eye, Mom nods approvingly.

The newsfeed dies, taking someone's stereotypical female new anchor voice with it.

Inside my bowels, an impatient shit nags me for release. Obligingly, I flip up the toilet seat lid and park my ass on the porcelain seat. A few seconds straining Has me done with the business, which plunks into toilet bowl water. Flushing and forgetting, I step into the shower. My first foot in slips, but I steady myself against the shower wall.

Whew. Close call.

Nearly had a "I've Fallen And Can't Get Up" Moment there. The fall got my heart rate up and I'm thinking the blood rush is blurring my vision a bit, but otherwise no worse for wear.

Catching my breath, I climb into the shower and wave my hand for the spray. Warm water gushes from the shower head at the perfect temperature thanks to the sensors in the stall.

Dousing my head in the spray, I reach for the Head & Shoulders without looking, crack the top of the bottle before turning over to squeeze the shampoo out in my hand. Still sleepy, I let the water run over my face to wake up, then slather the Head & Shoulders on my scalp and where the dry patches were under my beard. Soapy foam breeds under my finger tips as I massage in the shampoo. The shower head adjust itself to spray a stronger flow on my face and scalp to rinse off the foam, moving on to sprinkling the rest of me after.

Completely wet, I put my hand down under the body wash dispenser and its sensor drools the clear gel, which I wipe on my thick washcloth, smushing into the fabric for absorption. Working methodically, in a slower-paced version of the procedure I used to follow in Navy. Rub down each arm for a minute. Burrow into each armpit with the soapy washcloth to banish body odor there, since I have can be a bit more fragrant than I like to admit. Scrub down my chest like a washboard. Dig into my belly button to get any dirt as weird as it always feels. Reach behind my back to clean it which Amani did for me when we showered together. Polish the old rear end. Bend to suds up my legs, scrouging between my toes and under my soles while I'm down there. Extra body wash goes on my washcloth to soak my junk for a thorough cleaning since it does get gamey. Then stand around for the shower hose me off, wash residue and dirt whirlpooling around the shower drain.

Altogether a nice fifteen-minute experience.

Back on the boat, we used to call this a Hollywood shower because of how long and glamorous a luxury it was to us on a sea tour.

At sea, standard practice was the Navy shower, or a combat shower if you're nasty.

It goes like this.

You turn the water on for about 10 to 30 seconds to get wet. On the mark, you shut water off. As quick as you can, you scrub down with soap and shampoo. Once you're good and soapy, you turn back on for 45 to 60 seconds to rinse everything off.

If you're doing it right, this all takes less than two minutes, start to finish.

Can't say I'm happy with how everything in my life has shaken out, but one of the joys of being a civilian is taking your time. Compared to the service, it's like you have all the time in the world.

"Shut off the shower and put on the dryer," I shout over the stream.

The spray cuts off immediately in the Dyson dryer kicks in, blowing in from vents in the ceiling and from the tops of the walls in the stall. Breeze sweeps through the shower. In less than a minute, I'm bone dry.

It's chilly, with the bathroom turns up the heat as I step out the stall. My foot lands wrong. Somehow I misjudged the raised bar of shower. The hamper keep from hitting floor. Lucky break.

Walking out the bathroom, I head back to the bedroom, to my closet. Today's supposed to be a long one for Friday.

Sometimes I'm forgetful, that's why Google keeps track of my schedule for me, but I don't need it to remind me about the cryogenic thermal cycle and quite a bit calibration recharacterization slotted in today. If you're thinking that sounds complicated that's because it is. All week I've been low-key agonizing over the maintenance and this is probably gonna eat up my entire weekend, to which my direct report would say this is why they pay me the big bucks.

Might as well wear something comfortable if I'm spending the weekend at work.

Choosing carefully, I unrack my favorite brown cargo pants with extra pockets which are useful for carrying small tools and cables, a flannel shirt with rollup sleeves for the cool server farm or warmer office, a black zip-up hoodie, and a leather fleece jacket to layer on top of it. For footwear, I pluck a pair of black Skechers sneakers since I see much standing in my future.

Not exactly a coordinated outfit, but a benefit of work in the tech industry is being able to roll into work looking like bum.

Adequately accessorized, as Amani would have put it, I toss the clothes on the bed and place the Skechers at its foot.

Fishing out and snapping on some Under Armour underwear from my drawer, I quickly slip on everything I've laid out with the speed that would make a drill sergeant proud. Fully clothed and feeling fresh, I walk out, bedroom lights dying behind me. Winding around the hall, I jog down the stairs, foot falls landing as heavy as punching back blows. A few stairs feel a little shaky might have to check those when I get back home. Wouldn't want to break my momentum right now.

I plot a direct course through my living room to the kitchen. Not that there is much to navigate around besides the cheap IKEA furniture I bought just to have some. Just a coffee table to put things down on, surrounded by the two armchairs and sofa I purchased purely so I'm not sitting on the floor. On the wall facing the sofa sets a super-sized smart screen that I occasionally watch YouTube videos of the esports games I miss.

This place feels a whole lot emptier since Amani moved out.

Don't know why I keep bringing her up, torturing myself like that. I mean I know why. I miss her. Except that doesn't change that she's gone, for good, and I need to get good with that.

Life is moving on.

Moving on to the kitchen, I pick a pot out of the dishwasher, finished running from last night, on my way to the sink where I fill it with tap water. Shuffling it to sit on the stove, I turn the hot plate under it up to high to save time.

Could kill time while waiting for this water to boil. What to do?

My preview of the news was bad enough that I'm not eager to turn on the kitchen screen for a sequel. Usually I let the car drive me to work so I don't need to listen for the traffic report and the brokerages I use for investing are on point enough that I'm not qualified to second guess their quantum processors' positions in the markets. No legit investment outfit has humans managing portfolios.

Decision-making is for machines. Humans just explain the aftermath.

Though you still need sys admins with those machines, if they're on a network, so that means job security for me. Robots haven't retire me yet. Yay.

Only small bubbles are drifting up from the bottom of the heating pot for now, so I take down the ceramic mug Amani gave as a gift one birthday that says, "My Favorite IT Worker", and a Lipton's tea bag from the box in the overhead cabinet. Due to being falling down tired, the pep from the shower is wearing off, I grab the paper bag the Domino's sugar is packaged in and pour out in my mug enough to give an elephant diabetes. Should keep me wired for the morning.

Shutting the bag back in the cabinet, I drop the tea bag in the mug on top of the sugar, leaving the string and tag hanging over the lip. On time, the water in the pot begins boiling, rattling on the hot plate.

Switching off the electric stove, I grip the pot by its handle and tip the steaming water into the mug. The excess I dump into the steel kitchen sink, which thermal shock from the hot water causes to buckle with a crack. I place the pot back on the stove. No need for it to go in the sink. It only had hot water so it's clean for cooking dinner or whatever meal I have when I get back. Probably instant ramen to keep things simple.

I pick up the tea mug. Warmth tickles my knuckles, but the handle is encouragingly cool to the touch. Plucking a spoon from the plastic cup where I keep some eating utensils since amani is not around to chide me otherwise, I stir the sugar and the tea blender-quick after throwing the tea bag in the trash can.

Dipping my pinky into the tea to feel the temperature, then sucking the sweetness off it, I down the drink, not so much enjoying it as fueling the machine for the morning. Flipping open the dishwasher, I place the mug and spoon in an empty rack, leaving them together inside to await dinner's dirty dishes.

Would have loved to get something more, but I don't wanna run late and it pays to leave time for the unexpected.

On my way out the kitchen, I pull my Meta augmented reality glasses out of my pocket. In the left hand side of my vision, the heads up display says it's only 5:33 AM.

Decent cushion for any traffic. On top of that, I'm all paid up on my bill for priority routing in self-drive mode with the municipality. As long as I let the car do the driving like a good little responsible citizen, The city of Detroit's smart brain for traffic management will guide my Tesla to its destination along the fastest possible route, even if it has to hold up lower tier subscribers.

As I glide through my living room and scoop up my laptop bag from where I dumped it on the sofa last night, the glasses cycle through their boot processes for higher functions. Sorting spam from my mail and calls while flagging the most important incoming. Surfacing high interest news content from mere clickbait. Remembering weather to remind me of any necessary undone tasks before I run out the door. That type of thing.

Shouldering laptop bag, I open then close the front door behind me, letting the smart home system lock me out.

Out in the driveway, the Tesla's already pulled out of the garage, waiting for me.

Weather's looking to disappoint today.

Sky above is uniform gray, promising rain in hours.

"Meta and Google forecast predict heavy rain late this morning," My glasses inform me ever so helpfully via bone induction.

Going back into the house for an umbrella would be the smart play here, but I'm already outside and halfway across the lawn to the car in driveway. When I get to work, I'll just be quick about getting inside.

At my body's length between me and the Telsa, the left side door extends open from its black body.

I come around from the left to enter, but stop mid-crouch.

Not quite across the street, about diagonal from my house, there's a black Tesla Suburban sedan parked In front of the Reeds' place.

Something's up. The Reeds drive a Ford Intrepid SUV In every house on the street has a garage, which the HOA gets on our backs about using so we don't block the road.

I'm also the only early riser on the block. All my neighbors either have more reasonable working hours or are blessedly retired. I know Howie's still working for the city as a civil engineer until he hits retirement age at 75, but Sable works from home as a Google contractor, as a soul supervisor, I think.

All the above distills down to no reason for a sedan parked in front our their house at 5:53 in the morning.

I'm going to be late for work. I'll have to stay late for work as a result. But I write my own performance reviews as CTO, so I can cut myself some slack, though I'm gonna get an earful from the team when I come in fashionably tardy.

Also the Reeds kept an eye out and lent me a hand when I first moved into the neighborhood after accepting LogiCore's job offer. They showed me around, helped me unpack what little I had, and hooked me up with the HOA. If they caught me outside during the summer or hadn't seen me in awhile, one of them would come knocking and invite me out to iced tea on their porch.

Nosy neighbor or not, I owe them some concern.

"Keep the engine running," I tell the Tesla, walking away toward the Reeds'. Don't really know what I'm walking into, come to think of it. "Activate your dashcam," I call back to the Tesla.

"Keep it focused on me."

"Already done," The Tesla assures me.
The paranoia of being a black man in America might be getting the better of me, but Detroit has taught me that if some shit goes down, you need to have it on film rather than have faith the powers that be will take your word.

Crossing the road, I pass behind the Tesla Suburban to get a good look at its license plate.

"Google Security," I whisper, summoning the app on my glasses lenses. "Scan this license plate and tell me who it's registered to."

Except that's unnecessary by the time I finish the command.

"Cancel that last."

I've lived on enough bases to clock that the sedan has a military license plate.

There's only two reasons a military vehicle would roll up to a house and a residential neighborhood off base.

Either the Reeds are being investigated or questioned, most likely by the Navy Criminal Investigative Service since their Caleb is a Marine.

Or the Reeds are receiving a death notification.

I stop short of the sidewalk. Let me think before I do here.

It's one thing if the Reeds were in trouble, I'd break down a door and take a bullet for them.

Still, what am I doing here?

Paying respects and comforting them? There would be Casualty Assistance Call Officers sitting walking them through the worst day in their son's life and they may be and no condition to talk to anyone else.

Or am I only avoiding the awkward, refusing to repay even a bit of the grace gave me when I wasn't just the new neighbor on the block, but freshly separated from the service and adapting civilian life in a world that wasn't an abstraction viewed through screens and socials while I was on base anymore.