Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Going silent for a while
Given the lack of replies, and given thay I have no other news to report about my writing career (or lack thereof), I am going silent on this blog for a while. I might maintain Twitter/tweeting for a while.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Doorway into Faerie
Today's Friday Photo was one of my experiments with long exposure times in near total darkness. The lights are Christmas lights which were hung around a large picture frame. The room was dark except for those lights. The exposure time was about five seconds or so, and I moved the camera around a bit. The result was this rather nice shot of what appears to be a doorway of light, just the kind of thing that would lead the unwary into the land of Faerie.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
3WW: Whitewash
Today’s Three Word Wednesday haiku.
The three words: Angelic Foster Ruin
Whitewash
by Mendur
The angelic snow
hides the ruin of our flaws –
fostering new hope.
The three words: Angelic Foster Ruin
Whitewash
by Mendur
The angelic snow
hides the ruin of our flaws –
fostering new hope.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Farscape: Guardian Angel
Just a bit of silliness this time. The usual disclaimers apply.
TITLE: “Guardian Angel”
“John! Look out!” Zhaan yelled at him, still clasping one hand to her side to slow the bleeding from the knife wound she’d taken.
Crichton turned to see a very large humanoid charging toward him and raising a wicked-looking club to splatter his brains all over this alien world. The human tensed and prepared to dodge. Before he could reach Crichton, though, the club-wielder was tripped when a pair of Vorkarians engaged in their own battle rolled in front of his feet. The giant went down with a crash on top of the other two.
“Come on,” growled D’Argo. “This riot is getting even worse.”
The group ran for the transport pod. None of them were sure what had sparked the riot. D’Argo had muttered a comment that it was probably Crichton’s fault, but that was almost a reflex by now. Rygel, on his throne sled, was able to skim above the heads of the surging crowd. Aeryn was on point, sidearm drawn. Even out here in the Uncharted Territories, the sight of a Sebacean with a drawn weapon was enough to make most people get out of the way. D’Argo held his Qualta blade one-handed, the other supporting Zhaan. John was bringing up the rear.
A blast from an energy weapon struck nearby, just missing John’s head. It was close enough that he could smell the ozone left in its wake. Even as he looked around, an answering shot from Aeryn’s weapon took out the shooter on the rooftop across the street.
“Keep your head down, Crichton,” she chastised him. “We’re almost there.”
Crichton’s reply was lost in the shouting of the crowd. “Probably for the best,” he thought to himself. “I don’t need them riding me any more than they already are.” He dodged another rioter and continued doggedly after the others.
The riot had reached the transport landing areas. A roar from the Luxan and a few well placed shots by the ex-PeaceKeeper cleared a path. Rygel had the door open as they arrived. Aeryn leaped inside and began the launch sequence.
D’Argo helped Zhaan into the doorway, then turned to face the crowd. Crichton had fallen behind in the surging mob. The Luxan growled and, with a roaring hiss, plunged into the crowd after the human. He grabbed the collar of Crichton’s flight suit and pointed him in the direction of the pod. “Go!” he shouted.
As he turned around with Crichton, a thrown brick hit him in the arm, causing him to drop his blade. John grabbed it and, together, they bulled their way through the crowd to the pod’s doorway, Zhaan firing Aeryn’s sidearm from the doorway to clear the path once more. Once aboard, they quickly closed the hatch and Aeryn launched the pod back toward the relative safety of Moya.
On the trip back, they checked their wounds. The cut in Zhaan’s side was painful, but shallow. D’Argo’s arm was badly bruised, but not broken. Aeryn had suffered a few scratches and cuts from the first stages of the riot. Rygel had a small gash on one arm, about which he complained endlessly. Crichton was unharmed.
“How the Hezmana did you manage *that*?” the Hynerian demanded, still bemoaning his own injury.
“I don’t know,” Crichton said. “Maybe I had a guardian angel today.”
“A guardian angel?” Zhaan asked. “What is that?”
“It’s a spiritual being who watches over you and . . . .” At the look on the others’ faces, he said, “Never mind. It’s just a human story.”
* * *
“‘Just a human story,’ he says.” A thoroughly exhausted angel, wings drooping,
feathers completely ruffled, was reporting in.
“What’s the matter, Arachael?” asked the chief-guardian-angel in charge of assignments.
“The next time someone puts in a request to keep that accident-prone human safe, send someone else.”
“Okay, Arachael. Take a break. I’ll give you a different assignment. We have a request for a guardian angel to protect someone called Duncan MacLeod. You can start tomorrow.”
The End.
TITLE: “Guardian Angel”
“John! Look out!” Zhaan yelled at him, still clasping one hand to her side to slow the bleeding from the knife wound she’d taken.
Crichton turned to see a very large humanoid charging toward him and raising a wicked-looking club to splatter his brains all over this alien world. The human tensed and prepared to dodge. Before he could reach Crichton, though, the club-wielder was tripped when a pair of Vorkarians engaged in their own battle rolled in front of his feet. The giant went down with a crash on top of the other two.
“Come on,” growled D’Argo. “This riot is getting even worse.”
The group ran for the transport pod. None of them were sure what had sparked the riot. D’Argo had muttered a comment that it was probably Crichton’s fault, but that was almost a reflex by now. Rygel, on his throne sled, was able to skim above the heads of the surging crowd. Aeryn was on point, sidearm drawn. Even out here in the Uncharted Territories, the sight of a Sebacean with a drawn weapon was enough to make most people get out of the way. D’Argo held his Qualta blade one-handed, the other supporting Zhaan. John was bringing up the rear.
A blast from an energy weapon struck nearby, just missing John’s head. It was close enough that he could smell the ozone left in its wake. Even as he looked around, an answering shot from Aeryn’s weapon took out the shooter on the rooftop across the street.
“Keep your head down, Crichton,” she chastised him. “We’re almost there.”
Crichton’s reply was lost in the shouting of the crowd. “Probably for the best,” he thought to himself. “I don’t need them riding me any more than they already are.” He dodged another rioter and continued doggedly after the others.
The riot had reached the transport landing areas. A roar from the Luxan and a few well placed shots by the ex-PeaceKeeper cleared a path. Rygel had the door open as they arrived. Aeryn leaped inside and began the launch sequence.
D’Argo helped Zhaan into the doorway, then turned to face the crowd. Crichton had fallen behind in the surging mob. The Luxan growled and, with a roaring hiss, plunged into the crowd after the human. He grabbed the collar of Crichton’s flight suit and pointed him in the direction of the pod. “Go!” he shouted.
As he turned around with Crichton, a thrown brick hit him in the arm, causing him to drop his blade. John grabbed it and, together, they bulled their way through the crowd to the pod’s doorway, Zhaan firing Aeryn’s sidearm from the doorway to clear the path once more. Once aboard, they quickly closed the hatch and Aeryn launched the pod back toward the relative safety of Moya.
On the trip back, they checked their wounds. The cut in Zhaan’s side was painful, but shallow. D’Argo’s arm was badly bruised, but not broken. Aeryn had suffered a few scratches and cuts from the first stages of the riot. Rygel had a small gash on one arm, about which he complained endlessly. Crichton was unharmed.
“How the Hezmana did you manage *that*?” the Hynerian demanded, still bemoaning his own injury.
“I don’t know,” Crichton said. “Maybe I had a guardian angel today.”
“A guardian angel?” Zhaan asked. “What is that?”
“It’s a spiritual being who watches over you and . . . .” At the look on the others’ faces, he said, “Never mind. It’s just a human story.”
* * *
“‘Just a human story,’ he says.” A thoroughly exhausted angel, wings drooping,
feathers completely ruffled, was reporting in.
“What’s the matter, Arachael?” asked the chief-guardian-angel in charge of assignments.
“The next time someone puts in a request to keep that accident-prone human safe, send someone else.”
“Okay, Arachael. Take a break. I’ll give you a different assignment. We have a request for a guardian angel to protect someone called Duncan MacLeod. You can start tomorrow.”
The End.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Punctuation
Today's photo is of a piece of artwork on the IUPUI campus. It attracted my attention because it is made up of punctuation marks. According to the information, it's by William Crutchfield and it's title is "Punctuation Spire". It was "created in celebration of the English language".
Really?
It's 28 feet high and weighs 3000 pounds. I guess the English language is completely over the top. It also contains not a single word but, rather, the only things that *aren't* words in our language.
I could rant further about this but I won't. Draw your own conclusions.
(I do think my photo isn't too bad, though.)
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
3WW: A Cold Day
It’s Three Word Wednesday and you know what that means: haiku.
Today’s words: Control, Flesh, Razor
A Cold Day
by J.M. Mendur
Harsh winter winds slice -
Razors scrape across your flesh
with the gods’ control.
Today’s words: Control, Flesh, Razor
A Cold Day
by J.M. Mendur
Harsh winter winds slice -
Razors scrape across your flesh
with the gods’ control.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Oh! The Humanity! - The Crewman's Tale
An original short-short (245 words) today. Something I did just for fun about a year ago.
Oh! The Humanity! – The Crewman’s Tale
by J.M. Mendur
I was too young to remember the disaster that claimed The Humanity. My aunt told me that the marketing of the disaster put all previous disaster marketing to shame, to the point where every single passenger and crew member had books and movies made of their lives … even if no one knew anything about them. Her “favorite”, she once told me in an archly ironic tone, was about a young man named O’Malley. Here is the story as she told it to me.
Oh! The Humanity! – The Tale of Alexander Christopher Saint John O’Malley – being the fictionalized account of the Flux Drive Engineer Third Class and his terrifyingly tragic yet quietly heroic last moments of life aboard the fatefully doomed star liner ICL Humanity, as reconstructed from ship logs, eyewitness accounts and insurance investigation analysis, by the galactically famous author of such thrillers as “The Spy Who Raced the Eternal Night” and “The Twenty-Seven Deaths of Marcus and Julia Smith-Jones”, Ariella Babbington Lee.
Alexander Christopher Saint John O’Malley, Flux Drive Engineer Third Class aboard the ICL ship The Humanity, looked at the readout from a gauge in his area and said, “Hey. That almost looks like . . . .”
*BOOM*
The End.
My aunt told me it cost her half a month’s wages to get a rare printed-on-paper first edition of that book, and its downloadable version stayed on the best seller list for nearly thirteen years.
That’s why I became a writer.
Oh! The Humanity! – The Crewman’s Tale
by J.M. Mendur
I was too young to remember the disaster that claimed The Humanity. My aunt told me that the marketing of the disaster put all previous disaster marketing to shame, to the point where every single passenger and crew member had books and movies made of their lives … even if no one knew anything about them. Her “favorite”, she once told me in an archly ironic tone, was about a young man named O’Malley. Here is the story as she told it to me.
Oh! The Humanity! – The Tale of Alexander Christopher Saint John O’Malley – being the fictionalized account of the Flux Drive Engineer Third Class and his terrifyingly tragic yet quietly heroic last moments of life aboard the fatefully doomed star liner ICL Humanity, as reconstructed from ship logs, eyewitness accounts and insurance investigation analysis, by the galactically famous author of such thrillers as “The Spy Who Raced the Eternal Night” and “The Twenty-Seven Deaths of Marcus and Julia Smith-Jones”, Ariella Babbington Lee.
Alexander Christopher Saint John O’Malley, Flux Drive Engineer Third Class aboard the ICL ship The Humanity, looked at the readout from a gauge in his area and said, “Hey. That almost looks like . . . .”
*BOOM*
The End.
My aunt told me it cost her half a month’s wages to get a rare printed-on-paper first edition of that book, and its downloadable version stayed on the best seller list for nearly thirteen years.
That’s why I became a writer.
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