Worlds within Worlds #1.5

Jiar found Leic, as was right: they often slept together and had a tight bond between them. The pool was in a place of sharp rocks. He was already reaching his arms around the tough leather of Leic's sac when I reached his side.

'You brought his clothes with you?'

I nodded as I loosened the straps that held the bag to my shoulders. 'Fresh and supple, from good bark. Achoa finished sewing them three sleeps ago.'

'Achoa is a bitch with the needles.'

'She guards her grove fiercely. Strong bark.'

'She sews badly on purpose. Leic knows her tricks.'

'She never sews bark for me.'

'You are too good at thieving it.'

'So?'

'And you are shorter than her.'

'Always she promises to sew me a fine cloak.'

'And always you fall for her lies. Give me your blade.'

I loosened the knife from its loop on my belt and handed it over. 'I know her tricks.'

'Maybe if you let her win, she would sew you a good bark jerkin.'

'It hasn't worked before. She has sharp teeth, has Achoa.'

Worlds within Worlds #1.4

The memory rolls through the kelps of my mind, revealing the hidden things.

My name is Kal, I remember.

Kal I do not remember. You I know. I shall not aid you.

I remember the healing pools. I remember that when my body's flesh failed – drowning, perhaps, or an accident with an axe, or overwork, or being at the wrong end of a bad kicking, or letting a woman butcher me as I fucked her – I would wake again in a healing pool. Start again. Strive again.

I remember the peace of the healing pools, caught between the land's cliffs and the sea's storms. Some pools were warmer than others, some were deeper than others. Some had crabs and anemones and swaying weeds to entertain my eyes in the time between my reassembly and my resurrection. Some pools – like this pool – were less interesting.

I know who I am, and I know where I am.

Worlds within Worlds #1.3

Geyt kicked me awake. He was the current leader of our gang, and thus it was his job to kick us awake. If there are qualities to leadership beyond the ability to kick us awake, then Geyt made a special effort to keep them hidden.

'Up, Kal! To work. Leic is due to walk among us again. You must go find him.'

I liked Leic more than Geyt, whose kicks were less coordinated and more likely to cause damage. Leic was better at finding the shape of a good vessel, too.

Within moments of the kick I was walking away from the camp, passing beneath the wide-limbed trees towards the healing pools.

Jiar joined me in my task before I had reached the cliffs. He was the next smallest of us, and thus the second most likely to be kicked by Geyt.

'Leic will spit teeth when he discovers who won the fight to replace him.'

'It's too late for him to challenge,' I said. 'The hollowing is half-done.'

'Leic would have found us a better bole to shape.'

I hadn't bothered to answer the man; the fight was old news and I had no interest in discussing its details with one of the losers.

We reached the land's edge at a place where the cliffs offered an easier climb down to the healing pools.

'Do you know where he is?'

Jiar shook his head. 'His burning was long and bright. He'll be in deeper water.'

I pointed towards the rocky stack with the arch at its base and the tree sprouting from its midpoint: 'There's guardians over there. Half a dozen at least.'

'No. Too deep, I reckon. The kelps grow thick at the footings there. Let's try over this way first.'

Worlds within Worlds #1.2

You are different. You are old and new. The other eggs are new. You are new, and yet you are old.

The words that rouse me are in my head, but I know they are not my words.

My eyes open to a blur of dancing shadows. I can feel a membrane surrounding me, tucking my limbs tightly into my belly and chest. Inside the membrane, I seem to float across a landscape of pebbles and sands.

A dark marble of fish cruises between me and the landscape. Sparkles of brightness and dimness weave across the sands and pebbles in patterns.

I know you. I do not remember you. The others – I do not know them, nor do I remember them. You – I know.

Something stabs at my back. The pain jerks me away from the mesmer of patterns, which in turn are disrupted by my reaction. The fish darts out of my view with a flick of its tail.

I shall not aid the other eggs. They are new. I do not know them. I shall not aid them. I know you, yet I do not remember you. You must remember you. I cannot aid you if you cannot remember you.

I must remember me. Which means there is a 'me' to remember. Which means I must have memories.

It is too much. I close my eyes against the sands and the stones and the memory of the marbled fish, and I float.

Worlds within Worlds #1.1

1. The Healing Pool

I am ... tightness.

No.

There is a tightness. There is a ... me. There are two things: the me, and the tightness. The tightness is apart from me. The tightness surrounds me.

There is a ... light. This is a third thing. Light. Sky. I am not the sky; it is apart from me.

The tightness confines me. The sky shines on me.

There is a ... shape in the sky. It is a long shape, a yellow shape. The shape moves beyond the tightness. The shape grows.

The shape ... pokes ... at the tightness.

ThereIsAPain! The pain ... it is on me. The pain is – short? Shiny? Sharp. Very sharp!

Something that is me ... moves. Pushes. This is – not – a thing. It is a does, not an is.

It pushes against the tightness. It pushes against the sharp yellow shape. It pushes.

Not it. I.

I push with my ... with my arm. I push with my leg. My leg pushes as I ... struggle to ... straighten my leg. My knee. My knee is tight against my ... chest. My chest is tight against my ... chin! My chin! My arm is tight around my knee. The tightness surrounds me. I push against the tightness.

The shape pushes against my tightness. The shape pains me.

Within the tightness I push. I – rush? Run? No, roll. I roll and the sky ... slides. The sky ... is not. The sky – marks? Moves? Yes! It moves. There is no-light ... dark ... at my chin, at my ... face. The dark faces me. The shape is ... gone.

Spintrap - Worlds within Worlds

So here's the Camp NaNo deal. I'm gonna attempt to finish the first draft of Part 2 of my SpinTrap series by the end of the month. I've already written 14,000-odd words, so they won't be included in the NaNo wordcount. But so you both know what the heck is going on in the rest of the book, I'll post those words to the blog now, and then add the new bits as I write them during the month.

Because I tend to revise as I write, this may turn into a mess. Whatever.

Wish me luck!

Camp NaNo 2013

Camp NaNo - write 50,000 words in July - started yesterday. I'm in. Unfortunately my word count yesterday was ... 0. Today I've improved that to ... 579. But it is a start!

Anyways, because I've recently published the first half of my second novel, I'm gonna be working on the second half. Which means the story's not gonna make a lot of sense to folks who haven't got up to speed with Kal, Sam and their mates. So go buy the book!

Smashwords
Lulu.com
Amazon.com
Amazon.co.uk

Enjoy!

Hello, campers!

Nine months is a long time to be absent from a blog. A pregnant pause indeed!

Though, in my flimsy defence, I've always been crap at keeping a diary. Diaries are things that other people impose on me.

Anyways: what's up, Rik?

Well, thank you for asking, dear reader. The most important what's up that I need to report is that I am still actively seeking employment. I did manage to get a job last October - seasonal work that took me through to January - though, truth be told, I ended up a lot poorer from the experience. Since then, I average 5-6 job applications a week, and get responses on them maybe 2-3 times a month. I've had 3 job interviews in 6 months.

This may interest you: one employment agent came back with the feedback: 'your online portfolio is a little underwhelming'. Huh? But any feedback is good feedback, so I decided to do something about it. Over three months I developed an entire JavaScript library from scratch. I use it to draw stuff on websites using a canvas element. It's good stuff. I've even overcome my loathing of Twitter to tweet about it! (I currently have 12 followers - ain'tcha just proud of me?)

What I haven't got from all this intense coding activity is ... a job.

Whatever. Here it is. Enjoy!

Is blogging yesterday's fun activity?

Snowdrop poem: Canalside Encounters

Canalside Encounters

When she sees the tiger she stops, frozen.
The beast is a shape of shadows curled
across the track, a camoflage of stipples
and two-tone stripes stacked to an eye
wide to refract the world around.

"Old Tom, he said he saw a cat
at play this morning, sheep in jaws.
I told him: 'Nonsense, man!' But here
she lies, as wide as bulls at must
and not a jot of fear in her.
Now I know cats, and if this one's
as full of mutton like he claimed
then it's no threat to you nor me.
You let me walk ahead, my girl;
I have no fear of death by claws."

As the woman bustles her way around her,
Snowdrop reaches to snatch at her shoulder,
suddenly ashamed of her stalling fear.
She misses her target: the Mistress is quick
on her feet, and eager to end her adventures
in this terse, ungracious, graceless future.

"You come now, kitty: hear my words.
My lady has to pass this way
for she has business to attend --
she has a world to fix, so shift
your paws and curb your meowl
and let us by. We have a hill to climb!"

... and the tiger stands! Slowly, she moves,
taking her time to test the stretch
of each of her shanks, and arches her back
and steps to the side, snuffling at ices
that snap beneath the set of her paws.

She doesn't wait for the woman to beckon
her forwards. She keeps the force of her gaze
on the canal waters that clatter and scatter
in their trammeled course; she trusts her ears
to anticipate fangs. A touch of fur
levers a scream from her lungs, choked
by her throat before it flees to the gale
that batters about her. She braves a glance.
The tiger's stare is steady, unblinking,
a test of acceptance: a truce, of sorts.

"Sweet Mary, womb to Jesus Christ!
I've never seen the likes before:
this beast has plans to walk with us
it seems, and you to guide it, child.
I see behind us others come;
they fight the winds to claim a place
with you -- the hoodeners, poor sods,
that gentleman who talks too posh
and up ahead I see a flame
astride the barks of Jenny Twig ...
lead on, my Lady: bring us home!"