Life In The Fastlane – Sample Chapter

Since January I’ve been working on my first full novel titled Life In The Fastlane. The first part was completed several months ago and has been out to Beta readers and come back with some great feedback. Part two was finished about a month ago and is at present fermenting on my hard drive whilst I work on part three. As the whole process seems to be going so well I thought I’d let a little taste of what I’ve been working on out of the bag for all to see, and comment on.

What follows is from the beginning of part two, the chapter is called Canon To The Left Of Me, Canon To The Right. I’d be grateful if anyone can give me some feedback, let me know what they think, let me know if they’d want to know more?

So without further ado fly you monkeys, fly….

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Bennett’s knuckles were white as he gripped the armrests of his chair, all around him the bridge shook, annoying rattles and squeaks that he made a mental note of to tell the maintenance crew about when they returned to Los Alamos. Apart from that the bridge was quiet, the crew tense, to his left Patterson stood behind the navigator, his eyes locked on the readouts.

“Range?”

Lieutenant Kelso partly turned; her eyes still on her station. “We’re still at least fifteen minutes out sir.”

“Too long, increase speed.”

Patterson turned to look at him. “She can’t take the stress sir, she’ll shake apart.”

Bennett glared at him as he slammed his hand on the hand rest. “Then shake her apart damn it.”

He saw the look that passed between Patterson and Kelso. Bennett had seen the two of them together during R&R, he was glad his young First Officer had found something of interest other than his career, but he’d have to keep an eye out incase this blossoming relationship threatened the smooth running of his bridge. Patterson turned back to watching the navigators station, the intensity of the shaking seemed to increase. Bennett looked round, he knew his ship. She could take it.

The minutes crawled by, no-one on the bridge spoke, they all knew what they were heading into, all knew the seriousness of the situation. Bennett was about to ask what their position was when the speaker overhead crackled.

“I’ve managed to bounce a signal off an outlying drone.” Callum was a new addition to the crew, a communications expert who had proved his worth in upgrading the ships internal and external systems.

“…there’s too many the skies full…”

“…the Mark Twain is going down, she’s on fire…”

“…tighten up the left flank, plug the gaps…”

Bennett recognized the last voice, Captain James Moorson of the Alexander M Palmer.

“Range?” Bennett barked.

“We’ve reached the outlying ships.”

Patterson looked across at the Tactical Station. “Lower the shields, launch our drones, reduce speed…”

“Belay that, take us in flank speed.” Bennett saw Patterson turn to look questioningly at him but chose to ignore him.

The shutters that protected the bridge windows snapped shut, the lights brightened and everyone looked to their stations. They now relied on radar and the drones to be their eyes. Bennett swung a screen across in front of him and watched as the Vegas headed into the battle.

“They’ve launched airmines.” Patterson looked at Bennett, his eyes imploring, they both knew the danger the mines meant. He nodded at his First Officer.

“Reduce speed; let the drones to clear a path.”

They were still a long way out, when most people think of an aerial battle they have images of ships tightly packed together, daring maneuvers, one-on-one dog fights. In reality a battle can cover several dozens of square miles. Ships like the Vegas need a lot of room to move, she could take a mile just to turn and face the way she’d come. Real airships were not designed to behave the way the ships in the movies did.

The outlying ships were those that were damaged and were trying to return to base. Below, plumes of smoke rose from less fortunate ships, black smears on the landscape, debris scattered over hundreds of yards.

“I’m picking up a UFS transponder signal.” Callum adjusted some dials. “It’s the Palmer, she’s taking a pounding.”

Bennett looked to his screen calling up Callum’s station feed. The image was blurry, being bounced across miles of debris strewn sky and via several booster drones. The Palmer was smaller than the Las Vegas. Smoke was pouring from the rear section of her single gondola and her envelope looked to be deflating. Several smaller ships surrounded her, taking pot shots. Standing off was a larger shape, nearly equal to the Vegas.

“We have a lock on that ship yet?”

Patterson looked at him concern on his face.

“Transponder identifies it as the Luigi Galleani.”

Despite the situation Bennett smiled, the Galleani was the most powerful ship the Soviets had this side of the Rockies; a dangerous opponent but a great prize.

“Zero in on the Palmer, deploy the rest of our drones give then some cover. Bring the main batteries to bear on that ship.”

Around him his crew carried out his orders, they knew what to do; they were the best to come out of the academy in the recent draft. They had to be to get a berth on the Vegas, Bennett was very picky about who he would trust with the safety of his ship.

The Ship lurched, a loud clang reverberated overhead. They were taking fire, the enemy knew where he was going and were trying to slow him up to give the Galleani a chance to move to face him. But the Vegas was the most technologically advanced ship in the air, no matter which flag was painted on the side, and she was built to take a lot of punishment.

The images of the Palmer and Galleani grew on his screen, Bennett could make out the damage the smaller ship had suffered, yards long rents in her envelope, gaping hole in the aft of the gondola. He could imagine the damage inside, the casualties.

“What’s the state of the rest of the battle group?”

“Six ships down, the Denver and Mississippi have withdrawn with heavy damage. The remaining three are holding their own trying to keep the worst off the Palmer.”

“Time we evened the odds.” Bennett looked across at Patterson. “Deploy the hammer.” Patterson nodded and turned to the vacant station at the rear of the bridge. Callum got up from his station and joined him.

The station was a new addition, something that hadn’t been there a few months ago. The wood frame was bright, polished. The metal gleamed. Central on the wall above was the screen of a Difference Engine, Callum slid into the chair and typed in a command into the keyboard below. The screen came to life, a confusing muddle of symbols and formula. Patterson sat at the second chair and accessed what looked like a basic navigation station.

“Coordinates locked.” A set of numbers appeared on the screen in front of Callum. “Power levels at maximum, target acquired, Fastlane formed.” He punched a command; Bennett looked back at his screen in time to see the side of the Galleani’s envelope bulge outward then rupture as something big and lethal shot skywards.

Callum cheered behind him, Bennett suppressed his excitement. He watched as the missile – that was little more than half a ton of solid metal with one of the new diesel engines bolted on the side – arc round and ploughed back into the top of the envelope. The Soviet ship sloughed sideways as the envelope lost its integrity. The hammer shot out the bottom of the rear gondola, flame and debris following it out. Fires raged within the ship, she began to lean over, turning on her axis, before beginning the slow, graceful fall earthward.

Bennett looked round at Callum’s beaming face.

“It would seem Professor Sykes isn’t full of hot air after all.”

All Rights Reserved © Philip James Norris 11^th June 2013

Flash Fiction – You Can’t Avoid A Little Blood

The time for talking was over, Siron Darr looked left and right, his company lined up beside him as they always were. The odds weren’t good, thirteen against fifty, but he’d seen worse. The Scallian’s were showing steel already, those deadly curved blades they favoured. The time for blood had arrived.

Darr felt movement beside him and saw Malash, the Shifter, step forward. His skin was alive, moving like waves on the sea. Darr smiled; the odds weren’t that bad after all. He drew steel, long sword in his right, shorter blade in his left, and gritted his teeth. The wet sounds next to him, the crunch of bones, ripping of clothes, were the only sounds and both groups tried their best to ignore them.

The low rumble was felt more than heard, Darr saw some of the Scallian’s pale; they were a superstitious race and he could see they were spooked, uncertain. Tales of Shifters existed in every society Darr had visited, from The Four to far away Sarakesh, but none had seen one in centuries. There was movement to his right, a black hulk towering above him. Darr was reckoned a giant, standing near seven feet tall, but compared to this, he was no bigger than a Scallian. Malash the Shifter was gone, a monster Gorilla twice Darr’s height stood in his place.

The moment broke the same time the Scallian’s did, Darr and his company surged forward, swords and axe’s flashing in the sunlight, screams and blood filled the air. Above all the mighty roar of the beast, it tore into the Scallian ranks throwing bodies around as it they were toys. Darr cut three down from behind; there was no room for honorable conduct in situations like this. All around bodies littered the ground, broken, cut and bloodied. Darr was glad to see none were his friend’s.

One, braver than the rest, turned and stood his ground, Daar swung and their blades locked. He had some skill with a blade this one, they cut and thrust, parried and twisted. But Darr was stronger and stood head and shoulders above the smaller Scallian. No matter what skill you had, size and strength always mattered. Eventually the Scallian made a mistake and Darr split him from shoulder to gut, both hands gripping the hilt, his full weight behind the cut. The Scallian didn’t cry out, he didn’t have time to, the look of surprise on his face nearly made Daar laugh out loud. Then, like a dead fish the Scallian flopped boneless to the ground. Darr moved on, he was already forgotten; there were plenty more where he came from.

The rest of the Scallian’s were broken, half their number dead the rest fled. Darr stood covered in blood and gore, his company around him all breathing heavily but alive. The monster Gorilla stood beside Darr, its arms covered in blood, the fur matted.

“Just a little chat you said?” Joakim, Darr’s second, spat onto the ground, his one eye blazing with battle fever still. He pointed at the bodies. “Is this your idea of a chat?” Darr smiled as Malash, the Shifter, began to change next to him, his skin moving like waves on the sea.

“In situations like this,” Daar wiped the sweat from his face, his hand running up over his bald head. “You can’t avoid a little blood.” He looked round the ring of bloodied faces, all battered and scarred from a life time of living by the sword, and they all nodded in agreement. Beside him the noises had stopped and Malash was Malash again, a frail grey skinned creature with an over large head and black eyes. He looked at Darr and smiled.

“Better than sex.

Bits Of News

I read a lot of blogs by other writers, and I’ve noticed that at one time or another all of them have been visited by the Not Worthy Monkey. That devious little bastard that sits on your shoulder, whispering in your ear about how bad a writer you are, how no-one will ever be interested in what you’re doing. He always comes visiting when you’re at your lowest and so more open to his bogus “advice”. The little bugger turned up on my doorstep about a week or so ago, totally unannounced he plonked himself into by chair, pulled my laptop over and started reading, giggling as he went.

My current WiP had been going well, part one wrote and with beta readers, and part two progressing better than I’d thought. But he was doing his utmost to put paid to that feeling of wellbeing that has been with me for the most part of this year. That feeling that finally I’d hit on something that might just do it, might just get people interested in what I had to say. In the space of a couple of days I hit snag after snag. Characters wouldn’t behave and the flow stalled. Since he came calling my writing has been hit and miss, going from everyday to every other day, and then every other other day. I was despondent, finding excuses not to open the file up and start writing, the Not Worthy Monkey was winning.

Then last night that all changed. It’s amazing how effective two emails can be to lifting the spirit.

I submitted a short story to the third in Pill Hill Press’ Monster Hunter anthology collection – Use Enough Gun - close to a year ago. I’d already had my story Groundhog Day published in the second volume and was over the moon to be accepted again. Then things went a bit awry at Pill Hill, the result being the site closed and all the authors were told the rights to their stories had reverted back to them. But then came Miles Boothe like a veritable knight in shinning armour, he took up the challenge and created Embry Press, a new publication house that would be specializing in stories about monster hunters. Whilst he was sorting things out he told all authors accepted by Pill Hill that he would be carrying on with publication of the third volume.

Last night I had an email from him, it had attached the edits for my story Jack, he’d indicated some changes that helped the pace and tone of one of the action scenes. He also put a note on the email saying he felt that this story was the best work I’d done. Four little words, best work I’d done, that’s all it took and the Monkey was riled, his grip on me weakened and he was starting to become dislodged. But I wasn’t out of the woods yet, he was still in my head, his case still unpacked.

Then I had a second email, this one was from Douglas Strider – author of the brilliant Space Danger: The Deadly Planet of Death -, Doug is someone I’ve know for about a year on Twitter, his a fellow budding authour, and he kindly accepted my request to beta read the first part of my current WiP. He’d done a great job, he’d given me lots of comments, ideas and a huge barrel of encouragement. He liked what I’d done and how I’d done it, and what’s more he wanted to find out what happens next. I was high on praise and my back sore from all the clapping. The Monkey, he was on the doorstep his case in hand, a dejected look on his face as he went on his way.

Now I have my laptop back, now I have my mojo back, the Monkey banished – for now – but I’m not complacent cos I know if I’m not mindful he’ll be back.

To Miles and Doug I’d like to say’s thanks, you’ve lifted a flagging writers spirits a thousandfold.

Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge – Burns The Fire Brightly

For the second time in a week, I come over Shatter Hill at midnight and see fire at the crossroad below. Not an unusual event in itself, everyone knew it was the quickest way in and out of Hell. But the past two occasions had happened during Holy week, and everyone knew it was frowned on to travel when angels were about. Not that anyone had seen hide nor feather of the Blessed Folk in a long time, but that was another issue.

I pulled on the reigns and the mule whinnied before stubbornly stopping, we both sat there looking down as the last embers flickered and died, leaving a prone figure face down in the dust. The mule whinnied again, eager to be off, but the situation intrigued me and once intrigued I liked to see a thing through. A man who had no right travelling the night road at this particular time had dropped by, it was my duty to find out why. I clicked my tongue, the mule looked over its shoulder, a quizzical look on its face; and with a snort it jerked forwards.

The man was tall and lean, dressed in a uniform that was tattered and blackened in places. I knew a soldier when I saw one, I’d been one, still was. This one was different, his skin grey, mottled. His skull totally hairless, one hand was under his body, but the other was stretched out; the hand looked withered and only hand three fingers. The mule sniffed and then whinnied, stamping one hoof on the hard packed ground. I’d learned long ago to listen to the reactions of animals; they had a sense beyond the norm. But I was committed and swung myself off the seat and walked over to the man.

Kneeling beside the body there was a peculiar smell, sweet, cloying, like spoiled meat. It reminded me of the aftermath on a battle field; the dead piled high, carrion filling the sky. I reached out and pushed the body over, he was light as a feather. I stepped back and will admit I was surprised, not a bad trick as usually nothing catches me out. Stretched out looking up the man was stranger than I could have imagined. The head was misshapen, long, stretched almost. The features flattened; the nose just two slots between the eyes and mouth. The eyes were big, way too big for the head. It gave a groan, the mouth just a line, no lips and no teeth from what I could see.

“Hnnxshhuiio…” I didn’t understand what it was saying, which was strange?

“What you saying there fella?” The eyes flickered open, black pools, all pupil. I crouched down next to it, reached over and placed a hand on the chest, feeling around. I’d reached its abdomen before I got a rhythm. “You a long way from home?”

It opened its mouth, the eyes wavering around, trying to focus. “Where…”

“That’s better, got the beat of you now.” I took my hand off and sat back on my haunches. “You fell, not sure where from cos I not seen the like of you before.”

“Earth…”

“Earth?” I looked up and down the length of it. “You ain’t like nothing that walks there.”

“Attacked…had to defend ourselv…” The eyes drooped and its head fell sideways. It was normal for any traveler coming through to be disorientated, but this was different. I suppose it not being of the Earth the reaction was different, thing is, if it’s not from there then how had it come to be here?

I looked back at the mule; it looked at me with those sad eyes then down at whatever our new friend was.

“Can we keep it?”

“It ain’t supposed to be here.”

The mule looked up into the eternal darkness above.

“What if more come?”

I smiled; what indeed. The crossroads were meant only for humans, but seemed someone had found a way to send something different through. What was their intention, to threaten us, to force us into a reaction? Who knows, it’s been so long I’d forgotten how humans think.

“We’ll have to take him in.” I looked back at the mule, he had the right of it; this would have to be reported.

“Aye, suppose you’re right.” I got up and headed to the back of the wagon and grabbed the edge of the tarpaulin. “He ain’t gonna like it though.”

I flung the tarp back; another body lay on the bed of the wagon. This was the one from a few days ago, he at least was human, but looking at him properly I realized I’d missed before that he too was in uniform, his too tattered and blackened. I looked past the mule at the prone figure and then back at the one in the wagon and whistled. I shook my head as I walked over and picked the figure up; walking back I looked the mule in the eye.

“If they’re fighting a war up there; there’ll be hell to pay.”

The mule brayed with laughter.

 

All Rights Reserved © Philip J Norris April 2013

Evolution Of An Idea

Idea’s, I have plenty. Idea’s for short stories, idea’s for novellas, novels, screenplays, flash fiction. But – as a great writer once said – to have an idea is not enough, no matter how good the idea. The trick is to formulate that idea into something less foglike, turn it into a solid thing, a thing that can be picked up, tinkered with, polished, perfected, made into something other’s would like to get on board with and maybe – someday – look round and say “hey, that’s a great idea.”

Idea’s, what to do with them? Plot and plan, sit and make a spreadsheet, detailing every nuance, every minute details down to what colour thong your protagonist is where today? Or just run with them, see where they take you as they whoop and holler across the fields of your imagination. I’ve never been that much of a planner, I’ve tried, sat and worked out what the characters are like, their stories, their histories. But then part way in I get that feeling that instead of spending time doing this I could actually be writing. Everyone ha their own way of doing it, their own rituals that have to be performed in exactly the right order so as to raise the story from the ooze. My way – like most of my life – is to just wing it.

Life In The Fastlane – my current main WiP – started life as a short story, a military steampunk with ingredients from SF and fantasy. An alternate history of the mid-20th century. But after submitting it to several magazines – and getting rejected but some nice feedback – it started to become more than a self contained story. The characters were crying out for release, their world began breaking the bounds of just over 6,000 words and demanding to procreate. So it was the short story became part one of a bigger story and the idea began to evolve.

It wasn’t a conscious effort, I didn’t find myself sitting for hours working out which direction to go. I made adjustments to the initial short story – which is now out with beta readers – and dived headlong into part two. It was this headlong dive that became a bit of a marathon, resulting in part two surpassing part one in words and character view points. As of the end of March part two is nearly complete – well the first draft is – and is bordering on a novella all on its own. I already know where to go in part three, but I have no map to take me there, I’ll be jumping on that wing again.

Where am I going with this? Nowhere, I’m rambling, making my inner thoughts public. I feel it helps to vent every now and then. But I just wanted to get it out there, feel some sort of release. With parts 1 & 2 almost in the bag part 3 is the biggy, its the one that could make or break the whole project. I’m entering into unknown territory, beyond 25,000 words territory.

But I have an idea I know how this will play out, I just hope it’s an idea people can get on board with.

 

 

So, February…

A day early but…

So February…

Another month down, ten more to go until I hit the big 50; so what did February do for me?

BOOKS

Quite a mixed bag this month…

First up there was Space Danger: The Deadly Planet of DEATH by Doug Strider. I had an early look in on this as Doug (who I’ve known on Twitter for about a year) asked me to beta read for him. Great little novella, with funny settings, characters and a story that whips along nicely. If you like Douglas Adams & Terry Pratchett you’ll like this.

Man to Man by D.E.M. Emrys is a tight short story about a grizzled warrior who just wants to get on with his life and forget his past. But the past doesn’t stay away for long.

The Alchemist of Souls by Anne Lyle, you can see my review below this post.

 

Still reading…

Dreams and Shadows by Robert Cargill is a quirky read, shades of Neil Gaimen so I’ve been told (never read him so will have to take their word for that). If you like stories about creatures that live unseen alongside the “real” world, this is for you.

Ack-Ack Macaque by Gareth L Powell is brilliant so far. Funny and gripping, plus who can’t love a foul mouthed, cigar chomping, booze swilling one-eyed gun totting monkey.

TV & MOVIES

Still keeping up with The Following (Sky Atlantic), though I do fear it’s in danger of over arcing itself. Nearly mid-way through S1 and the tank is being filled with water, the shark is on its way and the bike prepped for the jump. This show is in danger of losing itself in its own backstory, too many flashbacks (memories of LOST) and not enough answers. It needs to either give something back to the viewer in the way of answers, or have the bad guy’s cock-up once in a while. The whole “everything is pre-planned” theme its using is wearing thin and getting to the point of being unbelievable (how can Carroll – who is in prison and has been for years – know Hardy will be somewhere/do something at a set time so he can counteract it).

Halfway into the re-watch of S2 of Game of Thrones (Sky Atlantic), still by far the best thing on TV by far. S3 is only a few weeks away, there will be blood, and dragons. Ripper Street (BBC1) is still gripping stuff, dark and brutal and my hat goes off to the BBC for not toning it down in any way.

Went to the flicks this month and caught A Good Day To Die Hard. Bruce is still king, yes it was corny, yes it was OTT, but hey – Yippe Kiyay Mother Russia.

WRITING

Slight downer with the writing this month, all the short stories I had out in the big bad world have now come back with rejection slips. Very disheartening, but it goes with the territory. I’m already looking at other outlets to send them to.

The TV script has been put on hold; hit a few snags that need ironing out so looks like I may miss the BBC Writers Room Spring window.

Prepping is all done on the post apocalyptic novel, and the alternate history one.

Current full on WIP is a short story I wrote a year ago that I’m re-working into a novella or (possible) novel. Part one is out with beta readers, part two is about a third wrote. Not rushing it, still trying to keep to my writing plan of having a finished novel by the end of the year.

So, January

So that was January, first month of 2013, eleven months until I hit the big 50. So what did it mean for me?

BOOKS

I finished Great North Road by Peter F Hamilton. This was the first of his books I’d read outside of the Commonwealth Saga. It was enjoyable, though I did find some sections overblown and there seemed (to me) to be a lot of filler.

I also read Redshirts by John Scalzi. I was expecting something more along the lines of Galaxy Quest, if that was what he was heading for then it fell well short of the mark for me. There were some funny moments, but I did not have any of the laugh-out-loud moments some of the reviewers seemed to have enjoyed.

I was back on familiar territory with Bait Dog by Chuck Wendig (a double bill of the novella Shotgun Gravy & the novel Bait Dog). Familiar as in I know what Chuck is about, have  a pretty good idea of how he works. Though I will be honest and say I was surprised by the intensity of this one. Also it was Chuck without any psychic or vampiric powers. A hard hitting story of bullies, racists and sadists. Not for the faint of heart.

Just finished (last night) Apocalypse: Year Zero, a collection of four novellas that center of four women who go through life changing, and shattering events – 911, the Boxing Day tsunami, hurricane Katrina and California’s “big one”. The end result of these experiences is they each find they have power over fire, water, wind and earth. And as they slowly come together over the course of the four novella’s it’s revelaed that the Four Horsemen were not men at all.

 

TV & MOVIES

Well actually only TV, I did intend to go and see The Hobbit for a second time but never got round to it. TV wise I’m now a proud subscriber to Sky TV, and boy am I a happy bunny. Watched Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior (available on Alibi) staring the brilliant Forrest Whitaker. Some pretty hard, brutal stuff in there. Also been watching Ripper Street (BBC1) set in Victorian London in the months after the Ripper killings. Dark, gritty and no holds barred, it also stars Gerome Flynn who seems intent on carving out a niche for himself as a hard as nails character actor (he’s also the brilliant Bronn in Game Of Thrones)

This week started watching The Following (Sky Atlantic) staring Kevin Bacon. Ex-FBI agent brought out of retirement to bring down an escaped serial killer. It has echoes of Red Dragon but an interesting twist is the serial killer has amassed a following, he’s been creating serial killers, he has (possibly) an army of them. Its not for the faint of heart (especially episode 1′s Ice Pick lady scene) but looks to have the makings of a gripping drama.

I also received my DVD of Dredd, watched it and still think its a brilliant stab at bringing the iconic character to the screen. Its just a shame it bombed at the cinema and so highly unlikely and sequels will be forthcoming.

 

WRITING

Some sad news last week when I received an email telling me that Pill Hill Press has closed. Pill Hill gave me my first break, published my first short story. On top of that I have another story accepted by them that was due to be in their next anthology. But there was a sliver lining, Miles Boothe – another author and ardent monster hunter – has created Emby Press and intends to honour all submissions made to Pill Hill. So hopefully in a few months the anthology will be released.

I’ve had a short script placed with Twisted Showcase – a web based anthology series (named in the Guardian’s Top 25 web shows in 2012) – for several months now but they have been struggling to fit it into the filming schedule. There was talk of making it as their first animated short, but finding an animator with time on their hands is not easy. Now they are looking into producing it as a comic strip, and if it is successful on the site will be the first of many.

My WIPs are ticking along nicely. I’ve been prepping a post apocalypse novel for a couple of months now which is close to being ready for the start of the first draft. I’ve also finished a treatment for a pilot episode that I will be writing next month. The aim is to have it written, beta read and second drafted by the end of February so I can catch the current BBC Writers Room submissions window. Once that is done I start work on the novel first draft.

I still have four short stories out there in the world waiting on acceptance/declining emails.

 

All in all January was a packed month, February is shaping up to be more of the same.

 

2013 And The Game’s Afoot

2013 is a big year for me, December 3rd I turn 50, so I’m using that milestone as a target and aiming towards it with my writing projects for the year. I decided late last year that I’d been setting myself some unattainable goals, goals like getting a novel written in a couple of months, working on several projects at the same time. All I was doing was painting myself into a corner, and getting frustrated because nothing was getting finished.

As part of the plan to regiment my projects, I had a splurge in November with an alternative NaNoWriMo. Instead of a novel in 30 days I wrote, edited and submitted four short stories, they are all out and waiting on responses (well one was rejected fairly quick, Lightspeed magazine lives up to its name with a superfast turnaround time, but has since been resubmitted elsewhere). Over the Christmas period I spent a lot of time reading scripts, I was preparing my mindset for the main project of 2013.

About four years ago I wrote a novel, it was for a competition and didn’t get anywhere and has been sitting on my hard drive ever since. What I have decided to do this year is re-read that novel and adapt it into six 60 minute episodes. The idea is I’ll submit it to the BBC Writers Room. I’ve already started on the pilot/1st episode and have a rough first draft laid out. the plan is to get a complete first draft of all six episodes done by June/July. After that I’m leaving it for a couple of months before going back through for the second draft. All being well sometime before my birthday I hope to have all six episodes done, polished and in a submittable state.

Of course the script isn’t the only project. Alongside it I’m plotting for a horror novel that should be ready to start writing May/June time (the plan is to use the couple month downtime after the script first draft to do the bulk of the writing). and I’ll also be doing some short stories and Chuck Wendig’s weekly flash fiction challenges.

All in all I hope 2013 to be a productive one, and hope that one of the seedlings I’m cultivating might take root.

Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge – Christmas Is Hell!

I’ve never been able to enjoy Christmas, not since my eyes had been opened to the horror it ensues, the death and destruction wrought simply because of one day. Of course I’m in the minority; part of a dwindling band sworn to defend against the truth that is Christmas, defend the Earth against the savage incursions that happen every year.

It’s always the children that suffer, they’re the ones that believe in the myth that is Christmas, believe that for one day it’s perfectly acceptable to allow a stranger into your home. But it’s that stranger that is the problem, him and his armies, poised to strike should any opening be found.

We were winning the war, just, but it was a war of attrition that was wearing us down, dwindling our numbers year on year. Because of this mistakes were bound to happen, lapses in the command structure; but that’s all it takes, one slip up, and they’re in. Swarming across the Divide in their thousands, all we can do is stem the tide and plug the hole; after that it’s a simple cleanup operation.

But some mistakes are too big to clean up, the incursions on such a scale that the collateral damage brings the world’s attention frighteningly close to the truth. I’m glad to say when that last happened it wasn’t on my watch, south-east Asia isn’t my section, but I know a lot of the guys who worked in that area, who were on duty that night; guys that are still struggling to cope with what happened and what they had to do to stop a full scale invasion.

But stop it they did, but the result was over a quarter of a million dead and large swathes of the coastlines of countries surrounding the Indian Ocean devastated. Was it too big a price to pay? To save the Earth, save over six billion souls from being wiped from existence by Claus and his minions. No, no price is too big for that. In wartime decisions have to be made that go against all that is considered rational and normal. To save a thing you may have to sacrifice a thing. The guys in the Indonesian section knew that, that’s why they plugged the hole, sealed the Divide and stopped the invasion.

But still it has its affects, still has its own sort of collateral. Even now eight years later people who were there that night have counseling, the images of what happened after were beamed around the world for all to see, but to them it was evidence of the aftermath of their actions. Some couldn’t handle it and took the cowards way out, others just withdrew into themselves. Some, the hardy few, still man the trenches in and around the area battling hard each December 25^th in case the Divide should be breeched again. It’s a sad fact that no matter what the sacrifice, whatever the collateral, once a breech has been made it is forever weakened and is a target for continuous assaults.

But we are vigilant, were stand between mankind and the abyss, ready and willing to lay down life in order to keep the enemy out. Christmas is Hell; don’t let anyone else tell you any different soldier.

Now buckle up and prepare to move out.

Stone Cold – A Fan Fiction Short Story

NOTE: The following story is a work of fan-fiction. It was originally written for a competition ran by 2000AD under the title Dredd Lines. Judge Dredd and everything associated with the character are Copyright of Rebellion Publishing. There is no connection between myself and Rebellion or 2000AD, and none should be inferred. Judge Dredd is the creation of John Wagner and Carlos Ezquerra.

 

***

 

“No!”

Cripps flinched, as much from the roar of his Lawgiver as he did from Dredd’s voice. He knew he shouldn’t be intimidated, he was a Judge, well would be soon as long as he got through today. He shot a glance sideways at his assessor. Judge Dredd himself, up until two hours ago he’d been confident of finishing the day with his eagles; then Dredd had walked into the mess and called out his name.

Dredd stood stony still not speaking, but from the stories he’d heard he was like that most of the time. Cripps watched the perp slide down the wall leaving a bloody trail, his Lawgiver hung loose at his side. Dredd walked over to the body and looked down his hands placed on his hips.

“You never read him the charge sheet. Charges have to be read before carrying out the sentence.”

“He went for a weapon…”

Dredd rounded and in a second they were stood nose to nose. Cripps flinched again, if he was going to survive as a Judge he’d have to get that under control. He wasn’t a nervous man; they’d have picked that up in his psych evaluations and never passed selection.

“Weapon? You’re supposed to be a Judge, even if he had a weapon we have to follow procedures.”

He stormed passed Cripps leaving him standing there looking at the body. He heard the roar of a Lawmaster and turned towards his.

“What are you doing?”

Cripps was half on his ride uncertain what to do.

“Carrying on with the patrol sir?”

Dredd motioned towards the body.

“Call that in it’s your perp.” He revved the engine. “Procedure Cripps it’s the first rule of wearing the badge.”

He sped away up the on-ramp heading for the downtown overpass. Cripps settled into his seat looking at the body then triggered his comm.

***

The Obama Concourse was in flames, the remains of two hover transports scattered across a dozen lanes. The west side of Montgomery Scott Plaza was gone, taken out as they’d come in, the air was full of the roar of burning fuel and sirens.

Cripps stood next to Dredd listening to the report from a street Judge. Cripps tried to gauge the reaction Dredd had to what they saw, but there was none, he stood impassively as he was told of over a hundred fatalities; you’d think he was being told his dinner was late for what little emotion he showed. He knew what Dredd was, they all did, the stories were legends, his exploits; his cold heartedness. But up close, as they had been the past few hours, Cripps was having difficulty accepting anyone could be this detached from the world around him.

“There’s nothing we can do here cadet, simple case of droid malfunction.” Dredd turned to go then looked back at the other Judge. “Best have the owner questioned though, and pull his service records; there could be a case for maintenance negligence, culpable homicide.” The other Judge nodded and returned to his cleanup team, Dredd went back to the Lawmaster’s.

“If the company owner is found to be negligent what’s the punishment cadet?”

“Failing for proper droid maintenance carries a mandatory ten year sentence.”

“Why?”

“On your recommendation, after the robot wars, every company that operates droids has to ensure they were properly maintained and serviced.” Dredd looked at him, he wanted more. “To ensure there was no repeat of what went on before the war.” Dredd nodded but still showed no sign the question had been answered to his satisfaction.

“Alongside the negligence charge, if there are fatalities due to the poor maintenance then the sentence is life.”

Dredd started his Lawmaster and pulled away, Cripps watched him glide between the traffic: guess I passed that one then?

***

Billabongs was a popular entertainment franchise, they’d been popping up all over the city for a couple of years. Cheap synthol and high end holoprogs meant citizens could chill out and escape the daily drudge. The entrance faced onto Marcus Collins Drive, three ground cars showed extensive munitions damage, the second level windows blown out.

Dredd stood looking up, Cripps stood beside him watching the Justice Department drone cross the street towards the entrance. As it mounted the curb it was hit, an exhaust trail led up to the east side window.

“There.” Cripps pointed; Dredd looked at him managing to look even more unimpressed than normal.

“Thank you cadet I think I managed to ascertain the trajectory.”

Cripps dropped his arm quickly looking back at the window hopping his embarrassment didn’t show.

“Rocket launcher?” Judge Mitchells looked questioningly at Dredd.

“Exhaust all wrong that came from an inbuilt weapon. We have an ABC up there.”

ABC- Cripps looked from Dredd to the window. He’d never seen one of the old warrior droids, but knew all about them. Their history was required reading at the academy; if it was an ABC they had problems.

“What’s the procedure cadet?”

“Full tactical assault squad recommended, ABC’s have extensive…”

Dredd was already halfway across the street his Lawgiver in his hand.

“Sir?”

“No time.”

Dredd raised his weapon and let off two rounds at the window the rocket had come from. High explosive shells took most of the wall along the second floor out, as rubble fell towards the street Dredd ran up the steps and in through the front door.

“Drokk.” Cripps set off after Dredd his weapon out watching for any movement from above, and then was up the steps and inside.

Dredd was by the elevator, the doors open, as Cripps approached he tossed an anti personal mine in and hit the button, the doors closed and the elevator went up. Dredd headed for the stairs, Cripps ran to keep up; they’d not gone a dozen steps when the building shook with an explosion. Dredd didn’t break his stride and reached the door to the second floor seconds after the blast, without stopping he barged through his Lawgiver raised scanning the room beyond.

The room was a mess, several bodies lay just inside the door, heads split open, limbs missing. Cripps gasped involuntarily, he’d never been squeamish; you couldn’t be if you wanted to wear the badge, but it was a shock seeing them lain out like that. Dredd didn’t break his stride advancing into the room, stepping around the bodies; paying them no heed. To their left the outer wall was gone, blown out by Dredd’s high explosives, to the right another hole where the elevator doors had been. Some of the bodies closer to the elevator still moved, they’d obviously been caught in the blast, Cripps moved towards them and Dredd held up his hand and shook his head. He pointed forwards, touching two fingers to his visor then pointing at a pile of rubble against the far wall.

A metal leg poked out of the top, the ankle rotated with a sickening grating sound of mashed gears, Cripps moved to the other side of Dredd and came towards the pile from a different angle. A sound behind them made them both stop, Dredd was quick but the ABC was quicker, it came down out of the ceiling, one massive arm scythed through the air catching Dredd in the chest hurtling him across the room, he landed perilously close to the exposed elevator shaft. The rest of the ceiling gave way and the droid landed on its one remaining leg facing Cripps.

It towered ten feet high and had three bodies strapped to its barrel shaped chest section. Cripps looked on in horror as one moved, a young woman, she looked at him blood and tears streaming down her face.

“Please…”

He looked towards Dredd’s prone form but he’d get no help there. The droid took a hop towards him bringing one arm up as the launcher folded out from the surface. Cripps scrambled across the floor as the spot where he’d been erupted in a shower of stone and dust.

“Desist and disengage weapons systems droid.”

Cripps tried to put the sort of authority in his voice he’d heard Dredd use, but it didn’t sound the same. He was afraid, he may be a senior cadet and undergoing his final assessment but there was nothing he’d learnt at the Academy that prepared him to face off against an ABC.

The droid fired again, Cripps just managed to get away as what was left of the outer wall exploded sending debris crashing down. He knew he had to end this quick, there was only so long he could evade the shots. Making his way through the smoke and dust he found he was close to the elevator shaft, looking down he saw it was clear all the way down to the sub basements, a good 100 meters or more. Looking back towards the hopping shadow he formed a plan, all he had to do was figure out how to get the citizens off it.

Moving round the outside of the room he managed to get behind the droid, he tried to remember everything he’d read about the ABCs audio range, he hoped the falling masonry and electrical discharges would mask his movements. The body strapped to the droids back was a young boy, it wasn’t moving and as Cripps crept near he saw the ragged hole in the throat. Cursing under his breath he moved to the right where a man was strapped, he couldn’t see any visible wounds but could see he was unconscious.

That meant two were possibly alive, looking at the strapping it appeared to be industrial, setting his Lawgiver to needle laser he took aim and severed the strips holding the man’s upper body in place. Too late he realized his mistake, as the body tipped forward Cripps saw the strips holding his legs in place; the man’s head smacked against the floor, landing under the descending foot of the droid. There was a sickening crunch as the man’s head ruptured like a melon.

The droid stopped and looked down then its whole top section swiveled round and faced Cripps. The arm came up as the next shell cycled in the launchers chamber, Cripps looked at the woman; she appeared to have lapsed into unconsciousness again, toggling the selector on his weapon he fired two high explosive rounds at the droids leg before it had time to level its arm.

The leg gave out as the knee joint disintegrated sending the droids heavy top section backwards; it crushed the body on its back then skidded on the gore straight through the hole into the shaft and was gone. Cripps stood in amazement looking at the dark hole; he couldn’t believe what he’d just done, a loud crash from below followed by a rush of hot air told him it was finally over.

***

Cripps watched the medics giving Dredd the once over, he was sitting on his Lawmaster looking none too happy that they wouldn’t let him go until they were finished. Cripps half smiled and realized Dredd never looked happy. A shadow fell over him as Dredd pulled up alongside.

“Find something funny Cripps?”

“No sir, nothing, nothing at all.”

“Let’s head back; you need to write this one up rookie.”

Cripps nodded and hit the starter then stopped when he realized what Dredd had called him, Dredd leaned in close.

“You did well, it was a tough call; you can’t always save everyone.” Dredd clicked the gear selector then sat waiting. “Lead off Judge Cripps.”