Archive for October 2017

Wordspew 2 NaNoWriMo 2017

Sitting at home with my cats. Here is another one.


Maxwell held up his sword, His Sword, and grinned as he studied it for the hundredth time. Four and a half feet of steel worked by the keeps master blacksmiths, its grip wrapped tightly and neatly with new leather, and the edge wicked sharp after hours of careful honing. He held it up to the light and peered down the clean straight edge, carefully testing it with the pad of his thumb. This sword was worth more coin than his entire family would see in a decade, and it was his. The blade slid back into its plain wood and leather sheath with a soft click. He stood up and adjusted his belt again. The sword hung differently than the wooden practice blade he had been using for the last two weeks, and he was not at all used to the weight of the chain armor hanging over his body. He took a few steps and adjusted again so the sword hung comfortably on his hip without repeatedly slapping into his thigh.

“Ranks!” The voice of Sir Kyler Gathright boomed off the walls of the keep and cut short a hundred conversations. Maxwell picked up his helmet and shield and fumbled with his chin strap as he hurriedly made his way to his spot in the row after row of soldiers. He was three ranks back in the third file, almost right in the middle of his unit which was a bit to the left of the center of three just like it. “Telarian forces were spotted this morning landing north of Greyrock Bay.” Every man among them stood silent, some eager for the news, some terrified, and many like Maxwell feeling a confusing mix of the two. “If they make haste they could be over the pass by tomorrow and upon us.” Maxwell managed to get his helmet afixed correctly and slung his shield over his shoulder. ” Tonight we will make camp outside the city and be ready to march to meet them at the first light of day!” A cheer rose up from the gathered men, soldiers who had just a few short weeks ago been farmers, and fishermen, and woodsmen. Among them were the regular soldiers of the keep, but even they had never seen real war. It had been a generation since the Telarians had last been pushed back from Seaguard and few who remembered those times were fit to fight.

The Assembly broke and Maxwell joined the others in packing up his bedding and few belongings. “The Telarians don’t stand a chance” one soldier shouted to the cheers of anyone in earshot. Maxwell added his voice to theirs, though a little voice in his mind did wonder if their few weeks of training had really prepared them to fight against the empires invading army. He shook the thought away. Sir Kyler had fought in the last Telarian war and was leading them himself and Maxwells own unit would be fighting under the command of Sir Thomas Pickering. They had battle hardened knights on their side and Seaguard at their back, there was no way they could lose. He hefted his pack over his shoulder then paused. There was a shift in the noise filling the courtyard. Cheers and boasts were giving way to shouts of alarm, then screams of terror. He turned and his pack fell to the ground. Coming over the seawall were huge spiders, each the size of a war horse. He fumbled for his sword, his mouth suddenly gone dry. Riding these spiders were small figures, clad in armor and firing arrows from short bows. “To arms!” A strong voice rang out and Maxwell found his sword. He pulled it from the sheath as the man next to him fell with an arrow protruding from his throat. Mark he thought, his name was Mark, he was a sailor. The blade felt incredibly heavy in his hand as he lifted his shield and stood waiting for the beasts.



Wordspew 1 NaNoWriMo 2017

Yep, it’s that time of year again, I’m going to do the thing that makes me no fun for an entire month!

Join me!

In preparation I am trying to use the tiny amount of time I have at work to vomit out some words. Here are some, raw and unedited.


Insert flange GG into socket QB… Harold continued to look for anything like a flange. He had been looking for hours and had yet to find one, or anything with the label GG, or QB, or anything labeled at all. What was a flange anyway? Harold put down the wriggling part he had been inspecting and picked up another with three eyes and a soft downy fuzz. He had to quickly grab it with his other hand to prevent it from biting him. It had two sockets of different sizes and shape and nothing that seemed flange-like. “God damn it!” he put it back in the box and looked at the instructions again. The pictures were so generic he couldn’t really tell one from another, and all the writing seemed to be translated from german into english by way of thai. “Hmm” he looked over all the wriggling parts, each nested in its own form fitting styrofoam chamber in a series of nested trays. He took all of the trays out of the fridge sized box and laid them out in the order he thought they had originally been when he had opened it. The trays had no numbers or other markings so he wasn’t entirely sure if they were in the right order or if they had a top or bottom, but after shuffling a few around and arranging a couple based on some primitive aesthetic hunch he figured he had as good of a guess as he was ever going to have.

The Garage was now dominated by a huge white grid made of trays, each filled with a smaller grid of writhing parts of every description. All the arranging and moving had agitated many of the parts and the small space was filled with growls, mewling, a deep bass hum, and several pitches of piping that sounded like an out of tune march played on a flute made out of meat. Harold looked out over the grid and picked up a marker off of the crowded work bench that had not had any actual work done on it in over a decade and went to work. He began with an arbitrary upper left corner and marked it with A. He then went down the left side marking each row with the next letter in the alphabet. He repeated the task across the top and now he had rough coordinates for any given part. It wasn’t a perfect grid by any means, none of the parts were quite the same size and some of them took up more than one row or column or both, but it was a system. Harold had always been a man who could do anything as long as he had a system.

He traced town one side until he reached row G. Following that slightly meandering row he found column G. At the intersection of the two was a yellow sphere with a beak and several stubby protrusions ending in blunt claws. He gently lifted the protesting part and then found the intersection of row Q and column B. There he found something that reminded him of the sea anenomies at the aquarium, but covered in scales. He turned the beaked thing over in his hand a few times until he found a protrusion that was more or less the same diameter of the scaly anenomies central maw. He jammed it in and the anenomie bit down hard. For a moment the beaked thing screeched and fought, then calmed. The two parts began to throb softly in unison emitting a quiet cooing noise. Harold set them aside and looked at the instructions again. Attatch sub unit GB into the side port of AG and rotate ninety degrees… “Susan better really like her new bicycle he muttered” and began hunting for the parts.


“I think that one looks like the moon.” Linda rolled her eyes and sighed “that IS the moon Derrick.” He squinted for a minute and nodded “well, yes I guess it is isn’t it?” Linda kneaded the bridge of her nose. Derrick Jones wasn’t the brightest bulb on the string by a long shot, but he was good looking, had a decent job by the standards of this crappy little town, and was one of the few labor-level workers with a dataport implant, which meant he was Lindas ticket out of her stuck little life. She counted to a hundred in her head, a feat she doubted Derrick was capable of, and smiled “ooh, look at that one” she pointed to a dark plume belched out of one of the factories secondary stacks “doesn’t that look like a bunny?”


The gun was far too light. Something made to take away someones life should have a certain heft to it, a certain gravity. This was a very special gun to be sure, made of carbon fiber and some sort of plastic that was highly classified and could double as a very intense incindiery device under presicely controlled conditions. It was a carefully designed and extremely expensive tool of death… And it really should have had some heft to match. Agent Baker was not an overly sentimental man, but he took one thing in life very seriously. That thing was the ending of it. “On three” he barely whispered and held up one finger, then two, then hell burst through the door in an explosion of wood splinters, blood, and venemous spray.

Agent Yarric went down without even a grunt. A single swipe had taken his throat and a good portion of his chest. He was dead before his body impacted with the wall. Agents Faraday and Holston began spraying bullets as fast as they could pull the trigger, missing Agent Baker by millimeters. The creature rebounded off the opposite wall, leapt, and was on top of Holston in the blink of an eye. Several eyes actually, it was hard to really get an accurate count but it seemed to have at least twenty. Holston cried out and emptied the rest of his handgun point blank into the beast, showering Faraday with a thick green blood that sizzled wherever it landed. Baker grabbed Faraday by the back of his jacket and bodilly flung him down the hall away from the creature. Holstons screams ended suddenly in a wet gurgle and the creature straightened up to its full eight feet of height and turned, The toothy maw surrounded by eyes dripped hot and red and a second mouth at the base of its throat chewed machine-like on some part of Holston. Baker didn’t waste a lot of time wondering which part.

He raised the gun and fired twice. Two more wounds blossomed on the things body, phasing it not at all. Agent Baker fired twice more and he swore it smiled. “Shit” he took one step back and it followed, taking its time. Knowing that it was probably a futile gesture Baker fired round after round until the gun was empty. The beast spit out a fragment of Holstons jacket then screeched, a sound too large for the cramped hallway. Agent Baker thumbed on the safety then pulled the trigger rapidly in a well practiced pattern. The grip of his pistol immediatly began to heat up in his hand. “Come omn asshole!” he lunged forward, thrusting the gun at the creature. His hand plunged into the second mouth and he was driven to the ground under the things weight. He felt its teeth ripping through the muscles of his forarm and hit bone a split second before the gun ignited. He braced his feet against the creature and pushed, screaming as his arm came away, now ending about three inches past his elbow. The creature stumbled backwards and began to writhe, a thick black smoke stinking of burning fish and petrochemicals pouring out of both its mouthes. Baker began undoing his belt as the beast turned to flee. He wrapped it around what was left of his arm, grit his teeth, and pulled hard as the thing collapsed and began to burn.