I seem to be clearing out my writer’s block which is nice. Molly and I are talking about tag-teaming a story, something we’ve both been rattling at on and off since just after we got out of college, and I’ve actually started working on some fan-fiction again.

I have a long ongoing story called, “Out of Retirement it was getting away from me, and needed a re-write so that it flowed better given I started it a few years ago and have been working on it sporadically. I finished my edit of the first chapter the other night, and got part way through the second. I’m tackling a bit more of that now while the munchkin is napping and my husband is out having some chill time. There are something like sixteen chapters on the story right now, so it’s going to be a while, but I’m hoping that if I smooth things out I will be able to pick right up and then actually finish the arc/idea and then move on to some other things.

So far I think the Doctor Who piece is the only one that I started and finished within a fairly decent time.

Here’s a collection of a few snippets of stories and ideas collected from Ergo Writing as I finish the transfer of “bits worth saving” and close it down. Although I don’t know if either of them will make much sense without the full context which is sadly at the moment entirely in my head:

This first bit was posted on April 20th 2007, but written a while before. It was intended to go into “Forsaken” a story I have on the go about genetic engineering.

“You can come through the back door. Leave the car,” Neural disappears off screen, and I take the car down closer to street level. I don’t understand why we haven’t seen any Seekers. Something has to be going on.

I find myself glancing in the rear view mirror expecting to see the light’s glinting off the smooth metal surface.

Michael doesn’t say anything until I land the car and tell him to get out. Instead of doing so he turns to me and asks, “Why don’t you trust the professor?”

“Because he’s obviously brainwashed you, who knows what he could have programmed you to do.”

He reaches into his jacket even before my brain really processes his movement and with two fingers on the end of the gun’s grip throws it down into my lap, “So you know I’m not going to kill anyone,” he says.

I don’t point out to him he could probably easier kill someone without the gun.

This next piece is fan-fiction. Harry Potter inspired. Some friends and I like to work in “Marauder era” which for those not entirely familiar with the series is what the era when Harry’s parents were in school is often referred to. It’s from the perspective of Remus Lupin. Perhaps eventually the piece will extend itself enough I can put something up on fanfiction.net but I don’t seem to be able to pin much down lately. It was posted on the other site on 25th April 2007:

“I don’t think he does anything besides read…” the taller one remarks glancing over at the other one with glass and scraggly hair.

I sit cross legged in the arm chair, having re-read the paragraph four times because my attention keeps being drug away by the fact that they’re talking about me.

“Can’t be healthy,” the first one continues.

“I’m pretty sure he snores,” the one with glasses remarks, “so that means he MUST sleep.”

Fifth time. I close the book, gather my things and head for the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the first says somewhat sarcastically as I move around my chair, “Were we bothering you?”

“Just need something from the library,” I answer, and go down the stairs and through the portrait hole.

“We’ll have to try harder,” one of them says.

I was going to post a third one which had some cursing in it, but it’s by far the longest snippet, probably three times as long as the other two combined, so I will save transferring it and put it in an entry by itself.

Now, to transfer the poetry and short stories.