Writing – Page 11 – Penny Higgins – Storyteller • Artist • Scientist

Stink Bug – Chapter 2

Once again, the whim to write fiction has struck me. Here is more of the Stink Bug story which started with this post. Where do you think it will go next?

**********

The bug was just floating there in front of me. It was all I could see. It filled my vision from edge to edge. And it was laughing.

How do bugs even laugh?

I tried to swat at it. My arms felt leaden. My hand passed through the bug as though it was only vapor. It flickered, then became solid again. It still laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

The bug fell quiet and dissipated. I was left in dark silence. The silence hurt. It pressed on my ear drums. I tried to cover my ears, but my heavy arms wouldn’t budge. I tried to cry out, but I hadn’t the strength. Only a tiny moan escaped my lips. “Help,” I squeaked.

The bug reappeared. “Do you need something?” it said.

“Help,” I whispered again.

“We all need a bit of that.”

“Sorry—,” I started. I didn’t mean to squish you.

“We don’t like being crushed.”

“Sorry,” I exhaled.

“You can help us,” it said.

“I can’t—.”

“I can let you move.”

“Breathe,” I mumbled.

The bug came close. “You don’t like where you are?”

“It hurts.”

“That place. Where you were. Is it better?”

I didn’t answer. My life was dull. There was a faint glimmer of interest in the back of my mind. But I was paralyzed and afraid. “Can’t move.”

“If you could move.” Suddenly breathing came easier. I rubbed my face with my hands. “Is that better?”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“We need to talk,” said the stink bug.

I looked at it and it stared back. “We need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes. You can help us.”

“Do what? How?”

“We are prisoner.”

I shut my eyes. A vision of bugs in tiny prison cells danced through my mind.

The bug laughed. “Not like that. We are not like this.”

I looked at it again. “What—. I don’t understand.”

“Will you help us?”

“Do what?”

“Come with us. We will show you,” it said.

“I can’t just leave.”

“You already have.” The bug chuckled.

“Where will we go?”

I saw a light out of the corner of my eye. I looked directly at it. It grew brighter. “We go there,” said the bug.

“What is it?”

“A path.”

I looked at the bug. “I can’t.”

The bug looked sad. Somehow. “Please,” it said. “We are prisoner. You can help us.”

“I’m just a middle-aged, overweight, accountant. How can I possibly—.”

The bug cut me off. “You can. Please. Come.” The stink bug began to crawl toward the light. It waved me to follow. And I did.

—

Go on to Chapter 3.

Go back and start at the beginning.

My 18 Things

18 Things is a book written by Jamie Ayres, to be released on January 24th. In celebration, Jamie is hosting a one-week blogfest in which everyone is encouraged to blog (or otherwise post) their own bucket list of 18 things (or fewer). It seemed like fun, so I decided to join in.

I do have a bucket list, tucked away in my brain somewhere. There are items that have been on it for as long as I can remember, and other things that have been added recently. Occasionally, something gets removed. For whatever reason, I have abandoned some things on the list. It’s never been a long list, so I’m not sure I can make it to 18, but I’ll try.

Firstly, there are the things that have always been on my bucket list:

1) Own an equid. I don’t care if it’s a horse, mule, or donkey (or a zebra, for that matter!), I just want an equid. I can trace my being where I am today all the way back to when I was four years old, and my mother told me about her horse. (Read about that here.) I love the beasts, and I want to own one (and hug it and love it, but not necessarily call it George).

2) Drive a race car. Even though I no longer keep up with NASCAR (mostly because very few of the races are on the non-cable networks anymore), I have always loved racing. I was raised around cars and the smell of garages. There’s a local track here that I can go to and just sit with my eyes closed taking in the sounds and scents. I’ve always wanted the experience of going full-throttle at Daytona. One day I will.

3) Write a book. I mean fiction. Well hey! I need to change this to ‘publish’ a book, because I have actually written a book now. Two, to be exact, with two more in progress. So, OK, publish a book.

4) Get a Ph.D. Oh, wait. I did that. This is an item that was on my life-goals list when I was a kid. Sometimes it’s nice to include things like this to remember your successes, especially when things start feeling overwhelming and impossible. Happily, not only have I gotten my Ph.D., I’ve also managed to earn the respect of my colleagues in my (albeit narrow) areas of specialty. That’s pretty cool.

Now, if this is a proper bucket list, it oughtta have items on it such as things to try (bungee jumping, anyone?) or places to visit (the pyramids, maybe?), but I never seem to think about these things. I’ve gotten to do some pretty amazing things already, and I’m sure I’ll do more (but probably not bungee jumping). I’ve been places where most people will never go and will probably have opportunities to do that again. But there still are a few things:

5) Learn the longsword. I’ve always had a deep and abiding interest in the Historical European Martial Arts (HEMA), and finally decided that I really want to learn how to sword fight like a knight. Only last November, I finally found an instructor who can help me do this.

6) Write a screenplay and have it get optioned. Seriously, how cool would that be? I took a screenwriting class way back in graduate school, and last year I actually wrote a complete screenplay (which now needs to go in the recycle bin so I can start over – my first drafts of anything are always pretty bad!). There’s some big screen writing festivals (like the Great American PitchFest) that I’d like to go to eventually, once I’m convinced I have a ‘optionable’ script.

Geez. 18 things is really hard!

I could, I suppose, add a list of people I’d really like to meet. It would be best, of course, if I had cause to meet them because of who I am, not just because I’m a drooling fan. But I’d accept a random meeting in a hotel lobby.

7) ‘Weird’ Al Yankovic – musician. I’ve always loved his music. As a kid, they were just funny parodies. As an adult, I really appreciate his musical talent and the original songs that he’s written. Seriously any song that can incorporate the phrase ‘Islets of Langerhans’ deserves a Grammy. I listen to Pancreas and Hardware Store whenever my mood needs a boost.

8) James Purefoy – actor. I’ve only recent become a fan (in the last two years). The first time I knew I was watching him in a movie, it was the movie Ironclad, where he played the lead of Thomas Marshal, a Templar Knight. Then I saw him in another movie, and realized I was seeing him everywhere in all manner of roles. He’s an incredible actor, and (or so it seems from anecdotal evidence and various interviews) a genuinely nice, caring human being. The admiration goes a bit deeper, however. Something clicked in me after seeing Ironclad. It reminded me of my wish to learn the longsword and was what motivated me off the couch and into the gym. Since seeing that movie, I’ve dropped on the order of 30 pounds and am easily in the best shape I’ve been in since I graduated high school. I started taking sword lessons (yay!) and started writing my first novel then, too. He doesn’t know it, but his work has been very inspirational to me. I’d like to meet him and thank him.

Well, ten shy of 18. Still, it’ll take some doing to accomplish these things, especially in addition to all the other things I have going on, like maintaining a marriage, keeping a job, and raising a special-needs child. This will work. For now.

Prince of Herongarde – an excerpt

Because today I’m fresh out of blogging juice, I thought I’d post an excerpt from my novel in progress: Prince of Herongarde. This chapter, for the moment anyway, is called Immediate Care.

—–

Trey felt himself being lifted from Garnog. Familiar voices comforted him and he relaxed. He opened his eyes again and stared at the wood slatted ceiling over his head. They had carried him into the castle, but he didn’t remember the move. The bed was comfortable. He drifted off again.

“Trey?” A rough hand stroked his cheek. “Trey. Please wake.” Trey opened his eyes and met the gaze of his father, King Anthony. “Thank God you yet live,” breathed Anthony.

“Aye, Majesty,” mumbled Trey.

“Gilbert is here. He will care for you,” said Anthony. “And Arin.”

“Aye,” groaned Trey. “Aye!” he said louder. “Aye, your Majesty. Tis Falgarth. Falgarth did this.”

“I know.”

Trey shut his eyes to focus on speaking. “There is… I have in the saddlebags. Garnog.” The effort was exhausting.

“We know, Trey,” came Gilbert’s voice. “Rest yourself, aye?”

“How is it?” asked Anthony.

“It must be cleaned first, your Highness. Then I can tell you,” replied Gilbert.

Anthony patted Trey’s cheek. “Rest you, then.”

A shuffle at the door announced Markus’ entrance, followed closely by Kevin. In his hands were the saddlebags off of Garnog’s saddle. A table was quickly cleared and the contents of the bag were spread out.

Markus immediately picked up piece of fabric which bore the insignia of Falgarth. “There it is,” he muttered.

Anthony took it from Markus and frowned at it. “I have been blind.” His eyes fell upon Kevin, his closest friend since the day he entered training to earn the Mark at the age of six. “Aye, Kevin. I should have listened.”

“None would hear him, your Majesty. How could you know?”

Kevin had returned the previous day with the grim news. He had spent several days patrolling the border with Falgarth and had himself discovered evidence that Falgarth mean to invade Herongarde, validating the claims that Trey had been making for more than a year. Anthony, upon hearing this news, had sent pages to summon the Lords and Mark-bearers of Herongarde to the castle for council and, most likely, to discuss defense.

Anthony looked at Trey lying helpless on the bed. Tessa was bent over him, caressing his face. “I would that I could have known before this happened.” If Trey were to die, there would no longer be an heir from Anthony. The crown would pass to Markus, and then to Balayn, as Trey’s closest relative. Anthony had hoped that Trey would remarry and bear an heir himself. On this day, it did not seem likely.

“Do we know what happened?” asked Kevin.

“Attacked by men of Falgarth,” muttered Markus, “but we know nothing else. He traveled with a woman.”

“Where is she?” asked Anthony.

“I know not, but Balayn—,” started Markus. “Speak of the Devil.”

Balayn walked into the chamber and looked around. He caught Markus’ gaze and approached, wearing a smirk.

“We were just speaking of you, Balayn,” said Anthony. “Know you where the woman is now who traveled with Lord Trey?”

“I put her in the dungeon where she belongs,” Balayn boomed.

“What? This was not my instruction,” said Markus.

“She bore the weapon of a Mark-bearer. She should be put to death.”

“She what?” asked Kevin.

“She had Lord Trey’s sword on her hip,” growled Balayn.

“She also said Trey bid her bear it,” said Markus.

“I think she lies,” muttered Balayn.

Anthony looked back at Trey. Tessa was looking up, listening to the men’s conversation. Anthony walked to Trey’s bedside and leaned close to Trey. “Trey? Remember you a woman with whom you traveled?” Trey moaned in response. “Trey. Do you remember?”

“Aye,” breathed Trey.

“She had you sword, Trey.”

“Aye.”

“You bid her bear it?”

Trey was silent. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t remember much at all. The pain in his leg was a terrible distraction.

“Did you bid her to bear your sword?”

“Aye.” He honestly did not remember, but he did know she had helped him. And she could wield a sword. He might have told her to carry it. “Aye,” he repeated, not sure if he had said anything the first time.

Anthony straightened. “Fetch her to us. I would speak with her.”

“I will go,” volunteered Tessa.

“As will I,” grumbled Balayn, casting Tessa a stern look. They walked together out the door.

Anthony watched them leave. Markus came close and put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Trey is strong, brother,” he said. “And Gilbert is an excellent care-giver. There is little doubt of Trey’s survival.”

A poker was jammed into the fireplace, below the coals. Anthony eyed it sadly. “Aye, he will survive, brother. But with what manner of lasting injury?”

Stink Bug – Chapter 1

I sat in the study, working away upon that which I hoped would be the final draft of this insane report. Honestly, I really couldn’t care less if the value was 1.01 or 1.03, but the boss cared and the boss signed the paycheck. I was lost in another computer spreadsheet; all the numbers looked the same to me. Maybe I needed to take a break.

What I really wanted was an escape. I had gotten tired of dealing with minutia. Is this what life was about? No. I didn’t think so.

What, then?

Part of me was tempted to just hit delete, and then e-mail the boss and tell him to jump off a cliff.

I knew that wasn’t really an option, so I took a breath and kept plugging away.

As I typed, I noticed a bug buzzing around the room. I was curious, because in January, when there’s two feet of snow on the ground, I don’t expect to see bugs. It wasn’t a constant buzz, but when it flew, I knew about it. It was like a little tank flying around my head. In the quiet moments between its flights, I continued to work.

Technical reports are dull to write, and this one was no exception. Luckily, I was able to cut and paste stock text from older reports, so I didn’t have to rewrite everything. I hit paste and watched the text appear in my report. It was the wrong text. “Dammit,” I cursed, and went to press the escape key. Something brushed my finger as I did so.

There it was. An enormous stink bug on my keyboard, sitting right there on top of the escape key.

The stink bug was blocking my escape. I laughed. Maybe this is a metaphor for my life.

I blew at it. It remained fixed. I lifted the keyboard and tapped it, hoping the bug would fall off, but it held fast. I poked at the bug with a pencil. Nothing changed. No matter what I did, the bug was unmoved.

The stink bug was blocking my escape.

The damn stink bug.

Stink bug.

If this was a metaphor for my life, this bug was my boss. Or at least this lame-o report.

I shook the keyboard violently. “Get off, you bastard!”

It waved its antennae and stuck its proboscis toward me, as if it were sticking out its tongue.

I grabbed a reference book – an enormous collection of data tables. It was huge and satisfyingly heavy. I held it up and giggled. Then I smashed it down upon the bug on the keyboard.

The stench was amazing. I was slammed back into my chair by it. My eyes began to water and the scene about me blurred. The images on the computer screen began to distort. I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face.

It occurred to me that everything was eerily quiet. I looked around. The lights flickered, then went out. The open files on my computer screen suddenly poured out of the monitor and onto my desk. Then the monitor melted, and vanished.

I was hit by a gust of wind, as the reference book suddenly exploded off the keyboard. The keyboard and book evaporated into the air. Suddenly, I realized I was alone, floating in the air, hovering somehow. Yet there was no ground. No up, no down. I was surrounded by a glowing gray fog.

I looked up. The bug was there looking at me waving its antennae. And it laughed.

—

Make suggestions in the comments about where this story should go…

—

Read Chapter 2

Read Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4

Read Chapter 5

Welcome to 2013

It’s a new year. 2013 is all of five days old. And I’m exhausted already. But it’s a new year. A completely arbitrary starting point, of course, but an opportunity to ‘start afresh.’ What do I want to do with this year?

Frankly, I haven’t had any chance to think about what I want to do with this new year because the old year just won’t let go! The end of the fall semester always means playing catch-up with all the things that I put off doing because I was busy teaching. I look at my to-do list and it makes me want to cry. But what can I do?

Well, it’s time to put up or shut up. There are things I want to accomplish this year and there are things I have to accomplish this year. Right now, the have-to-dos out-weigh the want-to-dos, but I’m making a point of continuing to slog forward on the want-to-do list. Luckily, with want-to-dos, I’m willing to work on them at funny hours, because I want to do them.

Have-to-dos get done at work. I have to get the elemental analyzer running properly (that’ll be Monday’s task). I have to catalog some fossils (to do on Wednesday). I need to grind up some teeth and fish scales (not sure when I’ll do that, but I will). Oh, there’s data to normalize. I can do that remotely from home. That might wait until someone prompts me. Class preparation: Sadly, that will likely wait until classes start. I just don’t have time to think about it right now. And there’s a couple of papers to review here. That won’t be too bad. Oh, and those every-Tuesday for the next nine weeks talks. Yeah, I need to get on that! I have five of them mostly ready now. I’m in good shape.

Now for the want-to-dos: Finish the rewrite on my novel “Prince of Herongarde.” I can do that, if I can just shake this migraine. Blog every day. Yeah. That’s what you’re reading. Progress as a swordsman (or should it be swordswoman?). Getting there. I’ve had health problems of late, but I’m not going backwards. That’s good. Do some more sewing. I have been offered a couple of challenges. I like challenges. I’ll get ‘er done, but maybe not this month.

Naw, I’ll get to it. I’ll get to it all. I just have to accept that January will be the month of the have-to-dos and postpone many of the want-to-dos for later in the year. I have to remind myself not to get frustrated and surround myself with people who will encourage me when I get down on myself. I think I’m ready. Are you?

What does it take to become an expert?

I’m a member of Litopia, a self-proclaimed “Writer’s Colony” on-line. It’s actually a great place to go and hang out with other writers and learn the trade.

Recently, a discussion thread came up about what it takes to become an expert. It was linked to this post.

Importantly, it made the point that the transition from novice to expert was marked by preferentially focusing on negative feedback over positive feedback.

Here was my reaction:

Expertise is a funny thing. For me, in my field (which is isotopic analysis of tooth enamel from fossil mammals), becoming an ‘expert’ isn’t something that I sought to do. I just wanted to do the best I could because my own research depends upon this kind of analysis. I don’t feel like an expert – I know that there’s tons of room for improvement. (But maybe this goes to the point about how experts focus on the negative more than the positive.)

But one day, about a year ago, it happened. I got the first e-mail I’d ever gotten that said something to the effect of “We have these enamel samples that need analysis, and we’ve heard you’re the best.” After I scraped my jaw off the floor, I told them that I could analyze their samples and there you go… Since then I’ve gotten similar e-mails from people all over the world and from students who want to study with me.

I guess I’m an expert.

What makes me an expert? Getting out there and getting noticed is important. So, not all experts are introverts. I mean, I guess I could be an expert and introverted, but who would know? What would it get me? Naw, I get out there, go to meetings, use Twitter and blogs, and talk about what I do. Other people notice and they decide I’m an expert.

Maybe being an expert isn’t something that you decide. Maybe it depends upon the perceptions of other people. And if enough other people – especially those that you yourself would call experts – are calling you an expert, maybe it’s true.

I’m all right with that.

HEMA – inspiration through perspiration

It seems that a great number of practitioners of the Historical European Martial Arts (HEMA – think of them as the Knightly Arts of Swordplay) are also writers and enjoyers of great literature. This seems to be the case for women, anyway. I am a member of an international group of female HEMA participants, called Esfinges, and this question was put forward to the writers in the group:

How many of you are inspired in your art by the things you read, and what in particular inspires you?

I hadn’t really thought about it. I know that attempting to write a novel that included swordplay is what made me seek out an instructor so that I could finally properly study HEMA. But I was already interested. I’d been fascinated with swordplay and the discipline of knighthood for what seems to have been the better part of my life. But I’ve also always wanted to be a writer. So which came first, the sword or the pen?

It’s funny as I think about it, because I think both followed from imagery. I know this, because images of swords have been a part of my repertoire for years. Check out this painting I did in high school. There are swords there. I was trying to capture a moonlit battle. I don’t think I succeeded, but I still like the painting.

Caniberons sword fighting. Acrylic on canvas board. Done back in high school. See? My interest in swordplay goes way back! All rights reserved.

When I think about the sword, I see pictures. Images of the gallant knight on his steed. The violent battle, ending with the battered and bloodied knight kneeling in prayer over his lifeless opponent. I feel it in my chest – the pounding of my heart. And in my arms and back – the violent shock of steel meeting steel. Reading solidifies these images, as does watching sword fights (especially those that are realistically choreographed), or looking at page after page of photos in knights in armor. Writing is how I try to express these feeling and visual impressions. Actively participating further helps me find that connection between the real and the envisioned.

Then I write and practice more, and rewrite and read books and papers, and I rewrite once more after pondering deeply for a few days.

Both my writing and my desire to participate in HEMA derive their inspiration from the images conjured in my head when thinking about the knightly arts. I have always felt that European swordplay is one of the most elegant displays of art in action. There is beauty in the discipline that crosses over to all arenas of life. I long for that peace that comes from such mastery of the body and mind, that is reflected in HEMA. I struggle to express it in my writing. I hope some day to find it and feel it. It’s there. I know it.

My dream job?

National Blog Posting Month – December 2012 – Work

Prompt – If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?

—

Any job in the world, eh? Well, I like what I do, so I suspect that wouldn’t change much. I might adjust the hours I worked; five hours a day suits me better than eight. Then again, I pretty-much do that now. I mean, I’m usually in my office for at least five hours a day. After that, if I can, I might just book out of there. That isn’t to say that I don’t make up that ‘missed’ time elsewhere.

I would like to make writing a greater component of my actual job. By that, I mean non-technical writing. I wish working on my novel(s) didn’t have to come out of my sleep. I wish I actually got paid to do that. Or even got paid for the non-technical science blog posts I write. To have that count as ‘work’ toward my paycheck would be delightful.

Truth is though, I think I do have as close to my dream job as I can muster. I have visions of one day writing a block-buster screenplay or novel and becoming a billionaire. I think if that happened I would still do what I do. Less teaching, less lab management for sure, but more science, and waaay more writing.

For 12-11-12

Why buying used books is wonderful!

This last weekend, Writers & Books, a local bookstore and writer-gathering hotspot had its “Book Thieves Holiday Book Sale.” My husband picked out a bunch of cool books, including an older astronomy book. This is one of many little notes found inside:

UFO from book — A note stuck into an astronomy book. It reads:
“Comet West – March 5, 1976
5:32 A.M.
There appeared at the top of the window a very brilliant light and in the instant that it took me to focus, right before me was a brilliantly glowing ball but of a hazy shape. greenish in color and indescribably bright. It seemed to wobble a little which must have been its revolutions and moved with a slightly downward curve then was suddenly gone. Sky was overcast for next few days.”

This was fascinating. Who knows where this viewer was when he observed this (though I suppose we could figure it out from the other notes and newspaper clippings tucked into the book).

This does seem as if it would be an interesting opening scene for a book such as mine (The Masters).

The Masters – A ‘blurb’

This is a brief description of the novel I wrote for National Novel Writing Month. Based upon this description, would you read the novel? I’d be interested in any comments you may have.

***

Marshall Thomas’ life of comfort, affluence, and fame ended abruptly the day his girlfriend, Katrine, met his fiancee. And he was arrested for DWI. He lost both women that day, and very nearly his livelihood. He found that more than anything, he regretted losing Katrine. A year later, he was making progress along the path toward getting his life back in order. He fortuitously had an opportunity to patch things up with Katrine. She wanted no part of him it seemed, but heard him out as he pled his case. He thought he might have a chance.

Then the Masters came.

They bore down on Earth with great black ships, capturing every human within sight, and killing any who did not cooperate. Their intent was to enslave humanity, taking only those reduced to submissive obedience to serve their new Masters on a distant planet.

Marshall desperately tried to shield Katrine from capture, but with no success. They were forced to board a huge spacecraft where they were subjected to unspeakable horrors. Marshall’s world was shattered, replaced with hellish torment.

But in the darkness was Katrine, and the slightest glimmer of hope.

The vessel carrying the human slaves was attacked by another alien species completely terrifying in appearance. Nearly every human on board was killed by the Masters, to ensure that their prize would not benefit any others. Among those who lived were Marshall and Katrine, still together after having visited Hell itself.

They were uncertain for their future, but, despite all odds, Marshall was committed to make things right with Katrine. And somehow they would find their way home.

Addendum (December 15, 2012):

This story is currently in the Curiosity Quills NaNo-Virtuosos Competition. Here’s my entry. If you are so inclined, please read some of the entries and vote for your favorites. The authors will appreciate it!