Things I do to entertain myself whilst writing
- in-jokes
- really obscure in-jokes
- references to stuff I like
- make alien names bastardisations of actual words
- puns
- picking names for characters from the entire histories of Doctor Who or Star Trek
- picking names for characters that are the complete opposite of their personalities
- going really close to an expected pattern and pulling away at the last instant
- count how many words I have left before I can slope off and watch bad television
Challenge #00464 - A089: The Trouble With ELFs
It sounds like Uplifts have a bit of a stigma attached to them- their origins were illegal, so they themselves are considered sort of dodgy. Some further exploration of that, please? After this long, they can’t be the only people to have experienced origins/modification for the use of others and had to fight their way up to ‘people’ status afterwards (super-soldier attempts, etc). Perhaps there’s a ‘Lab-breds of the Galaxy Unite!’ sort of club for mutual support.
From the Wikipedia Galactica: ELF/E.L.F.: Engineered Life Form. A creature or being engineered to specifications and produced as merchandise. Examples include Skitties™, Cleaners, and antiseptic phage virii. Some cogniscent entities are also ELFs, such as the Faiize, Uplifts, and numerous attempts at the Enlisted Man.
Uplift: A domesticated animal uplifted to the level of cognisance, usually by means of genetic engineering. Uplifting, the practice of making an Uplift, is illegal in the Galactic Alliance. Uplifted beings, the products of uplifting, are not.
Shayde watched Rael land on his seat at the bar of Unsuitable Food and order a deep-fried platter -beignet style- with a side of chocolate sauce.
“Bad day at the office?” she guessed.
“Literally,” he grumped. “I made the mistake of offering my services to the Cogniscent Rights Committee.”
She winced. “Eeee. Ge’ him a hot chocolate on me. All th’ trimmins.”
“Four Hours. Four hours in a booth, sorting paperwork. There’s an entire planet where five sixths of the population are Uplifts. An entire world of Uplifted slaves. Do you know how many of them are called Spot?”
“At an uneducated guess?” Shayde propped herself up on the counter in the manner of all cogniscents prepared to be there a long time. “A full metric fookton.”
“HA! Twice that and then some.”
“Extra marshmallows,” said Shayde to the Gyiik serving at the bar.
“Thanks.” He sighed. “And there was a two-hour conference about what to do in the case of duplicate names. Not a lot of those poor animals can handle change…” a soft sound into his hands that was almost a sob. “…we had to use numbers. Numbers! They’ll never escape being things and I had a hand in it…”
“D'ye need a hug?”
“…‘nkoo…”
She wrapped her arms around him and soothed his simulated hair. “There na… I dinnae think any of 'em would blame ye. Desperate times and all…”
“Some of them were designed… to have just enough intelligence to read directions and take orders…” A definite sob. “I don’t think I could look any of them in the eye…”
The Galactic Alliance doesn’t hate Uplifts. It hates what it has to do because Uplifts exist.
[Muse food remaining: 53. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
REBLOG IF YOU ARE A WRITER ON TUMBLR
IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT KIND OF WRITER YOU ARE YOU CAN BE WRITING: POEMS, FANFICS, IDK NORMAL FICS, NOVELS, SHORT STORIES, IDK ANYTHING!! JUST REBLOG!!!
(via roryink)
Headcanons list! (Add more if you wish)
- ½ = How the character feels about people taller or shorter than them
- ± = The character and what they think about math
- † = How the character feels about murder
- @ = How the character appears online
- ¥ = How the character handles money or spends it
- ° = The…
Ask this about ANY of my characters :D
(via cosmignon)
Lady slings the booze.
It’s been shown that Mystique (in her comic incarnation, at least), when her ability to focus is sufficiently thrown-off by illness, drugs, emotional shock, or othersuch concentration breakers, that her ability to shapeshift is disrupted, to the point that she can’t maintain a form, often shifting uncontrollably/unconsciously or even sporting features from multiple recently-assumed forms at once in a Picasso-esque jigsaw. Once I learned about that, I couldn’t help but wonder just what sort of awkward/amusing/embarassing/etc. situations might occur if this sort of problem occured to her Evo incarnation when she got drunk… and then I immediately thought of you. Take it away, Nutter!
(#00420 - A045)
There’s a million stories in this ‘burg. Many of 'em you just plain wouldn’t believe.
I’ve seen some things.
Weird…
Things…
You wanna hear an example. Of course. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
It was late. Most of the regular barflies had gone home. Poured into cabs or thrown back into the gutter. The rest were sliding into that state where the world just fails to matter.
I was doing everything I could to give those bums the hint that they should leave when the door slammed open.
She looked like a classy dame in the beginning. Sharp and dangerous and the kind of woman who’s an extreme sport, if you get my drift. She ordered the hard stuff.
An extreme, extreme sport.
I could like her, but I had a home to go to and she was the only one paying. But she didn’t care about change, either; so I could stay technically open for however long she wanted to be my guest.
The crazy stuff happened after the third bottle. Girl can hold her liquor.
Or, should I say, the thing that looked like a girl could hold her liquor. Its liquor. I don’t even know.
She started… oozing. Without dripping. Her features just sort of melted and rippled. Even her clothing got that 'tired candle’ look. Parts of her started changing around. One hoof. A tail. One wing. Bits and pieces of famous people. I shit you not. And her voice… well…
You know that thing they do on youtube where they make some song sound demonic? Like that, but live. Happening right the-get-the-hell-away-from-me in front'a me.
Freakin’ disturbing ya know?
And then - swear to God - she/it/whatever looks at me and says, “See somethin’ you like, handsome?”
If I wasn’t already celibate, I’d have turned.
“Naw,” I said, cool as a cat. “Just watchin’ the drinks. Wouldn’t want anyone takin’ advantage.”
Apparently, I’m too sweet to live.
Whaddayamean what’d I do? I kept the drinks coming until her friend came and got her. None of my business what wants a drink in this dirty town.
[Muse food remaining: 42. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Coming very soon to my Smashwords Profile:
One Year of Instants.
Three hundred and sixty-five stories, all prompted by readers of my blog. Now in an easy-to-access format where you don’t have to plough through my archives.
YOU DECIDE HOW MUCH ONE YEAR OF MY LIFE IS WORTH!
Yeah. Ultimate power. What’s not to love?
Things I say whilst editing One Year of Instants
- Me: (with increasing irritation and head slaps) Title bold, prompt italic. Title bold, prompt italic! TITLE BOLD, PROMPT ITALIC!
- Me: Oh fuck off you stupid little black square.
- Me: I said fuck off, you little invisible git!
- Me: HA! THAT got you!
- Me: Ten more chapters...
- Me: Ten more chapters and I can take a break.
- Me: Ten more chapters and I can get some food.
- Me: Ten more chapters and I can take a wrist-rest break.
- Me: Ten more chapters and I can SLEEP.
- Me: O GOD there has GOT to be an easier way to link the goddamn chapters...
- Me: Fuckit, my wrists hurt. (Goes to watch TV)
- Me: Fuck, I'm tired...
- Me: WHY did I use so much ITALICS?
- Me: (unintelligible crying noises)
Dear Followers:
Once again, I must ask your aid. The book I have coming out this Friday, Hevun’s Ambassador, needs some free advertising. This is the first one that’s actually going to earn me any income.
And this one is really tough, because I can’t write a lot of ad copy without giving massive spoilers.
You may have already seen this pic in my blog:
As well as the link to the book’s page.
Once again, I need buzz.
Especially any positive opinions you may have/had about the first book, Hevun’s Rebel.
This is part 2 of my Biggest Gamble Ever. I need your help.
Please. Generate some buzz. Spread the word. Share the feels. Avoid spoilers.
Good news, Shitty news
Good news: FIVE HUNDRED PEOPLE have downloaded their copy of Hevun’s Rebel.
Shitty news: The sequel, Hevun’s Ambassador, will be delayed until such time as I can lay my grubby hands on a copy of MSWord 97 for the right price ($0)
I was going to release it on Valentine’s Day, but my computers may not be up to the task.
I’m very sorry about this.
If you’re a writer and you see this post, stop what you’re doing.
WHENEVER YOU SEE THIS POST ON YOUR DASH, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND WRITE ONE SENTENCE FOR YOUR CURRENT PROJECT.
Just one sentence. Stop blogging for one minute and write a single sentence. It could be dialogue, it could be a nice description of scenery, it could be a metaphor, I don’t care. The point is, do it. Then, when you finish, you can get back to blogging.
If this gets viral, you might just have your novel finished by next Tuesday.
(via opalhonors)