Tag: A. Catherine Noon

Eden Hail, of Eden\’s Eternal, recently challenged me to a writing duel. Here is her challenge and my response:

The Challenge:

“Your h/h get thrown out of their time (forwards or backwards, whichever you are more comfortable with) and only one of them remembers they are from the present. The other thinks they are native to the timeline. How does the \’native\’ persuade the traveller that they are both exactly where they want to be?”

The Response:

Untitled

The portal closed with an audible sizzle, a little like water on an active electric connection. Jake shook out his shoulder-length hair, the curls sweat-flattened and kinky. “Sara. Hey, Sara!”

His jump partner stood next to him and stared up at a baobab tree. Her eyes met his. “Yes, sir?”

He snorted. “Funny. Let’s go. We need to get to the compound before sunset or there’ll be Hell to pay.”

She fell into step beside him.

“This was a smooth jump,” Jake mused. “I hardly feel it. What about you?”

“Jump, sir?” Sara regarded him with wide blue eyes, her nostrils flared a little. “I didn’t jump, sir.”

Jake frowned. “What?”

She didn’t say anything, just studied him with that faint air of perplexity in her eyes. They started walking again; Jake wasn’t sure who initiated it. He cast around for something to say but came up blank. Finally, he caught her arm and swung her to face him. She moved in his grasp like she was dancing. It completely unsettled him. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sir?”

“Sara, what are you playing at?”

Sara frowned. “My apologies. I’m not playing. But, shouldn’t we get to the compound? Look, sunset.” She pointed over the baobab tree nearest them, where the sun was clearly visible. The bronze disk sank alarmingly fast toward the mountains, shadows already lengthening on the valley floor.

“All right, let’s go,” he ordered. He took off, not caring if she followed or not. He just wanted to be moving. After a moment, she followed him. The trail wound around a long hill. The compound’s wooden posts were visible around a copse of alders and he sighed in relief. “We’re here.”

Kunte stood in the gatehouse, his smooth skin shiny with sweat. “You’re back!” he shouted, white teeth flashing in his face. “Sara!” He pronounced her name like the Latin, Sahrah, and Jake smiled. They got close enough and the tall warrior stepped out to clasp his forearm. “Ukutzu!”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Jake muttered.

Kunte grinned at him, eyes twinkling. “How could I forget the first word you said to me?”

“I was asking for fruit juice,” Jake muttered. “How was I supposed to know you don’t speak Ghanan?”

The African laughed, the deep bray of joy a welcome sound to Jake’s ears. Kunte turned to Sara and held out both hands. “Sara. Welcome back!”

Sara frowned. “Was I gone long?”

Kunte looked startled. “Not any longer than expected,” he answered literally.

They walked through the gate, leaving Kunte to his duties. Captain Sam Miller strode out of his small tent, his arms bare to the shoulders and black suspenders dark against the khaki shirt and pants. His sidearm nestled up against his left pectorals, a ring of sweat surrounding the holster. His boots left swirls of dust in his wake. “Jake, you old dog! What kept you?”

Sara shrank behind Jake and he stepped sideways to block her view from the Captain. He signaled with two fingers by his pant leg and watch the Captain’s eyes follow his hand. Sam frowned slightly but said, “Come. My tent has wine. I’m sure you’re fatigued.”

Jake nodded and turned to Sara. “The women’s tent is there,” he said, pointing. “I’ll collect you in a moment. Go, get settled and something to drink.”

Sara looked up at him with wide blue eyes and nodded. She turned without a word to the Captain and Jake watched her walk away, a tentative step that seemed jarringly unfamiliar in her body. He was so used to her purposeful stride that this alteration left him unsettled.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“Inside,” Jake murmured.

He followed the Captain into the cool gloom of the tent. “What’s happened?” Sam demanded.

Jake didn’t reply right away. He poured himself a glass of wine and didn’t dilute it, just slugged it back in one gulp. He turned to meet the concerned gaze of the Captain and sighed heavily. “I think there’s been an accident. Mindlock.”

He gasped. “What?”

“She’s showing all the signs of it,” Jake went on. “She kept calling me sir. She doesn’t know where we are, and she seems changed somehow. Like the implants took over.”

The Captain grunted. “Who was the technician?”

“Wallace,” Jake replied. “I know him. He’s good, never misses.”

The Captain digested that. “There’s been word lately, Jake.” He poured himself a half-snifter full, then followed that with the chilled water from the crystal pitcher nearby. He spoke to the tent wall without turning. “Something in the psych journals, not yet widely reported. It’s been happening more often, with the new drugs.”

“What’s been happening, Captain? What is wrong with her?”

Sam turned and met his gaze. “The personality splits, essentially. The mind can’t take the dual reality and chooses the new one, essentially erasing the old one. Most of the time it’s not gone entirely, but it’s like a dream. Not real to the person any longer.”

Jake stumbled and sat down, his knees like water. “What?”

The Captain regarded him. “The theory is, the jumper either wants to believe in the new reality so it becomes a compulsion, almost a delusion. Or, they think it may be a malfunction with the biochemical reaction to the drugs at the synaptic level. Dr. Leary postulated it as early as 1968 that lysergic acid diethylamide could do –“

“This is Sara we’re discussing, not some lab rat!” Jake shouted. “I don’t care about some twentieth century quack doctor! This is 2238, for Earth sake!”

The Captain fell silent, regarding him with a sad expression in his eyes. “In point of fact, it’s 1926.”

Jake wanted to shout, or even better to strike at the other man, but knew that wouldn’t change the truth of what he’d said. “Is it reversible?”

The Captain didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t have to. Jake read it in his eyes.

My essay, \”By Hand vs. The Keyboard\” is up on the Writer\’s Retreat Blog. Stop on by for a visit and let me know what you think!

I\’ve been tagged!! Kathleen Oxley, at Kathleen Oxley Erotica, is doing a phone tag game called \”Whisper.\” The rules are:

1. Make a change in the paragraph below. It can be as little as a single word or almost every word, so long as we can still recognize the paragraph you received (the one here in this blog, not the original on Kathleen’s blog).

Here\’s my paragraph:

Roberto opened the Porsche’s door, the muscles on his forearm rippling under the skin. His short sleeved t-shirt was some kind of silk or rayon that outlined his chest, the twin mounds of his pectorals punctuated by the nipples just under the fabric. Laura didn’t see the lily right away, he held it down by his right leg between his body and the car. She watched the blossom as he raised it to his nose to inhale. As the flower came even with his face, his eyes snared her – startlingly sapphire in a brown face, heritage from his German mother. He said nothing, but took her hand, his own fingers warm and pulsing with life. He placed the thick stem of the flower against her palm and raised her knuckles to his lips. His mouth brushed her skin, silky and hot, and raised every hair on her body. He turned and sat back in the car, his Rottweiler Suzie studying her from the passenger’s seat. The engine flared to life and Laura watched the taillights retreat, the flower pressed to her chest.

2. Tag three people, and link to them. Also link to the person who tagged you so the chain will not be broken!

3. Now go to the original paragraph here and let Alice know you did it. She will link to you.

4. For extra credit, head over to http://aliceaudrey.wordpress.com/ around June 9th for the contest based on this meme. You could win a $20 gift certificate.

I\’m tagging Eaton Bennett, Eden Hail, and Tess Miller.

Have fun!!

Eaton Bennett, over at Passionate Fiction, tagged me some time ago and I’m very tardy in responding. Sorry! But here, better late than never, is my response:

You’re feeling: A little over full. I ate more grain than is really good for me today. It tasted good, but I feel bloated. I’m feeling inspired to write, sort of bored with where I am at the moment. I’m looking for a writing challenge.

To your left: My coworker Holly, as we sit in a conference room along the window and eat our lunch while reading and writing. She’s reading Harry Potter over again.

On your mind: Whether Michael and I should move now and experience the place we’d like to buy property, or put it off for another two years until his son graduates from high school. Also the gas prices are up over four dollars right now; what is wrong with my country? I don’t understand how we went from the America I knew to this. It’s disheartening.

Last meal included: Pad Thai with tofu and the aforementioned pizza slice, a deep dish Chicago-style pizza from Giordano’s that had spinach and mushrooms on it. Yum city, but buuuurp.

You sometimes find it hard to: play. It’s infuriating. It’s much easier for me to work fifteen hours straight than play. This is a habit I’m trying to correct.

The weather: Gray and yucky. I’m very ready for summer. The clouds are starting to break up, finally, but it’s been a long, slow winter.

Something you have a collection of: Yarn. I have an enormous stash. I have put myself on a purchasing diet until I make some things with what I have. I have a particularly lovely metallic filament inside some silk alpaca that’s gorgeous and comfy. I have some lovely alpaca silk I bought on my honeymoon, and some gold and red silk that I’d like to make a holiday sweater out of. Plus I just bought a book on lingerie knitting. Oh. Yeah. Books. I have more books than some small town libraries.

A smell that cheers you up: Stargazer Lilies. I love that flower. Heady perfume, pretty blossoms.

A smell that can ruin your mood: Marlboro Red Pack (cigarettes); old cigarette and stale beer smell.

How long since you last shaved: Sunday night.

Current state of your hair: Long and getting longer. I dyed it brown in January but am letting it fade. It needs a trim, the ends are a little split, but I love my hair long. It’s back in a barrette at the moment, since I didn’t put on makeup this morning and look scruffy with it down.

Largest thing on your desk/workspace (not computer): Telephone. (Well, it is!) Pictures of family in frames. Fish bowl for Swimmie II, the Siamese Fighting Fish.

Your skill with chopsticks: “Man who catch fly with chopsticks can do anything.”

Which section do you head for first in a bookstore: Well, three, really. Science-Fiction/Fantasy; Horror to see any new LKH books; then up to writing; then over to crafts and knitting. Then over to magazines if I haven’t found any good books. I look for craft and writing magazines.

Something you are craving: Sex. (Hey, you asked!)

Your general thoughts on the presidential race: I am disturbed by the Democratic Party’s inability to unite behind a single candidate and am concerned it will cost them the election in November. I used to like McCain, but I’ve seen a number of things lately that disturb me, including his stance on abortion rights and his religious beliefs. I have no problem or interest in his religion; wheat concerns me is that he appears willing to allow his religion entry into his political decisions. What happened to the separation of church and state? I will say, though, that I’m tickled pink that for the first time we are seriously considering a woman or a Black man for president. We’ve come a long way. (We still have a long way to go, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.)

How many times have you been hospitalized this year: Once.

Favorite place to go for a quiet moment: Since I like quiet moments, I have several. One is the conference room I’m sitting in right now. Another is the mediation room at the Art Institute, built by a Japanese Architect. The other is my apartment. If I really need to hide, then my bed is a good spot.

You’ve always secretly thought you’d be a good: Novelist.

Something that freaks you out a little: When the elevated train sways to one side or the other on curves around Sedgewick and before Fullerton. It sort of leans out to the side and I always wonder if we’ll derail, and if we do, where does the train go? It’s not like there’s any track on the side of it (that’s why they call it an elevated train…)

Something you have eaten a little too much of lately: complex sugars. Pasta and bread, particularly, though also potatoes and milk sugar.

You have never: gone skydiving. Nor will I. Jump out of a perfectly good airplane – what’s wrong with you??

You never want to: Sky dive. Jump out of a perfectly good airplane – what’s wrong with you??

I’m not going to tag anyone right now because everyone I share blog with has already been tagged. But thanks, guys, for sharing with all of us!