Six Sentence Sunday

Welcome back, Sixers. I’m going to post something today that is completely different from what I’ve done before, though still in the same universe. This is from the third book of the trilogy, working title War’s End — though I hope I can come up with a better title before publication. This is roughly halfway through the book, and a moment before this scene, Coralie is on a spaceship.

She had to protect the baby.  Coralie tried to make a rigid shield of her body and arms as she rolled through wet, foul-smelling greenery, punctuated by harder masses that might have been tree trunks or rocks — she was too confused to tell.  Around her, familiar voices cried out in shock, and somewhere a dog yelped.  What had happened?  This wasn’t the ship!  The uncontrolled tumble ended with a blow that drove the breath from her lungs, and for a moment she could see nothing but colored flashes as she struggled for air.

If you like this excerpt, or want to play yourself, check out the other fine authors at Six Sentence Sunday.

Six Sentence Sunday

This starts directly after the last sentence from last week, referring to the physician, Nik Tarlian. It then omits about a page that would be hard to follow as an excerpt and continues the scene from Tourist Trap. As a reminder, Zhaim is treating his injuries after beating Roi. He is also in rather a hurry to make a planned Council meeting.

The man was a competent physician, but he was also a sentimental fool. He was very likely to spread the word that one of Zhaim’s slaves had managed to defy him, or even pick up the fact that Roi had been involved, and later on, when the bodies were discovered, that might draw attention Zhaim could not afford.

He reached for the synthetic skin spray and applied it to both hands, then pulled on a pair of thin black leather gloves. He would wear his black leather tunic and breeches today, he thought. The crested shoulder would hide his own swollen joint, and the sleeve cut, intended to emphasize that the wearer need never exert himself physically, would explain any stiffness in his use of the arm. Fashion demanded that he wear gloves with the outfit.

That’s all from Tourist Trap, as the published book is available. Next week I’ll go back to bits from the trilogy in progress, or one of the shorter pieces I’m thinking of putting on Smashwords – if I can figure out how.

Meanwhile, have a look at the other fine writers participating in Six Sentence Sunday – just click on the logo.

Six Sentence Sunday

Last week on Six Sentence Sunday I posted the end of the scene where Zhaim catches and beats Roi unconscious. Here’s Zhaim, a short time later. Again, this is from Tourist Trap. Nik, by the way, is a physician, but also a good enough esper that he just might pick up Roi’s connection to Zhaim’s injuries.

Zhaim scowled as he dabbed antiseptic on his hands. Not only had he cut his knuckles on the brat’s teeth, the young devil had managed to bite him several times during the beating. He hissed as the antiseptic foamed in the crescentic wounds on the heel of his right hand. His shoulder ached, too, but at least he’d managed to keep the brat away from his face. As it was, he would have to keep his hand and shoulder hidden until they healed. Certainly he couldn’t ask Nik Tarlian to treat him.

Like the excerpt? Want to play yourself? Check out Six Sentence Sunday and have a look at the contributions of the other fine authors.

Six Sentence Sunday

I wasn’t planning to continue the scene from Tourist Trap, as I wasn’t sure how to break up the 9 sentences remaining. But it got so much attention last week I decided to cut the next 3 sentences and give the end of the scene. Next week I might give Zhaim’s POV, a little later. Meanwhile, I decided to include some eye candy of a somewhat different sort, thanks to Hubble.

Timi’s grip on Roi tightened as Zhaim stalked forward, his arm swinging back as he came. Roi tried to duck away from the blow, but Timi’s hold swung him into it instead. His head snapped to the side, and then before he could recover another blow slammed into his stomach, followed by a kick to his groin.

The world narrowed to a maelstrom of fists, knees and feet. He felt ribs give, and then a tearing pain as Timi’s body twisted his shoulder out of its socket in an effort to keep him on his feet. He hoped with all his heart, as the darkness closed in around him, that at least one of the dogs would get its message to Kyrie.

Did any of the dogs make it? Get the book!

Lots of other talented authors are posting six sentences of their work today. To find them, click on the Six Sentence Sunday logo below.

Six Sentence Sunday

Here is the continuation of the scene I have been posting from for the last two weeks. This is from Tourist Trap, published last year and given the Garcia Award for best fiction book of the year. The “he” in the first sentence is Roi, whose arm has just been grabbed and twisted behind his back by his friend, Timi.

When he rolled with the pull, the shift in his weight allowed Zhaim to pull away and struggle back to his feet, shaking with fury.

Roi could hear the sob in Timi’s breath. Timi’s body, yes, but it was Zhaim’s will that twisted his arm so high that his shoulder joint screamed protest, and jammed Timi’s arm across Roi’s throat. The heavier boy’s body pulled him to his feet, and he managed to glance around as he was jerked up. The girls were sprawled bonelessly where they had fallen, their wet clothing plastered to their bodies by the rain. Then Timi swung him around to face Zhaim, and it took all his self-control to keep his head up and his eyes steady on his brother’s.

Zhaim’s face was contorted with rage, and the beamer was shaking visibly in his hand.

What’s Six Sentence Sunday? A group of writers get together each Sunday, under the hashtag #sixsunday, and post exactly six sentences from their work, published or unpublished. To see what other writers have posted, click on the logo.

 

Six Sentence Sunday

I’m going to continue from last week’s snippet from Tourist Trap, again to emphasize what Derik wants Roi to strip from his memory and put into storage a couple of hundred years later. Note that Zhaim is Roi’s half brother.

Zhaim could not have been expecting anything but cowed obedience or flight. When Roi launched himself at his half-brother, the older R’il’noid stood frozen for long enough that Roi’s hand was firm on the beamer as they fell together. All that Zhaim had done to him and to the people he loved most came flooding into his mind, and his whole being exploded into an inferno of rage. He fought for control of the beamer, slamming the stock repeatedly into Zhaim’s shoulder when he couldn’t get it into his brother’s face, using teeth and knees relentlessly. He was ready to kill his brother as that brother would have killed his friends, slowly, savoring every bit of pain he could wring from his helpless victim.

Then he felt Timi’s delayed shock, and his left arm was grabbed and twisted behind his back.

Tourist Trap is available in hardcover, softcover or e-book – see the sidebar.

Don’t forget to visit the other participants in Six Sentence Sunday. Just click on the logo below.

Six Sentence Sunday

Quite a few comments last Sunday expressed confusion over Zhaim. I thought I’d explain something and give a snippet from Tourist Trap, my now-published book and winner of the Garcia Award for best fiction book of the year.

The R’il’nai and some of the R’il’noids in my fiction are able to strip memories from their minds into computer storage. All but Roi have done this in fairness to the “new” Zhaim, so Roi alone has the memory of Zhaim before Marna imposed an artificial conscience on him. He also seems to be the only one who has retained the memory that Marna said the treatment should be repeated every quarter century. The snippet below was well over 200 years before Rescue Operation in story time, when Roi was only 18.

The woods lightened ahead of them, and the mist lifted as they entered a clearing. Roi glanced around quickly, looking for something they could use as shelter. Nothing but grass and sodden wildflowers. He checked the compass and headed straight across, hoping the Mastodon River wasn’t too far away.

He heard a thunderclap behind him when he was halfway across the clearing and spun to face it, fearful he knew what it was. Zhaim stood before him, a triumphant leer on his handsome face and a beamer swinging toward the party.

If you want to see other bits from both Tourist Trap and Rescue Operation, click Index above and then Six Sentence Sunday.

There are lots of other great authors on Six Sentence Sunday. Click on the logo to find them. They’d all love your comments.

Commenting on Blog Posts

There are times when I’d like to comment on a post and I can’t.

I’m not talking about blogs where the author has turned off comments because he or she doesn’t want to be bothered. Nor am I talking about books and magazines where you have to be a subscriber to comment. (I do feel rather annoyed that the New Scientist will not recognize that to save paper and storage space I have an iPod subscription.) I’m talking about blog entries that ask for comments, such as some on Six Sentence Sunday and Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday, and don’t allow me to comment.

I suspect that in many cases the author of the blog has no idea that people who want to make comments cannot make them. If by any chance mine’s in that class, for goodness sake contact me at sbowling at mosquitonet dot com and I’ll try to figure out how to fix it.

So far, with my WordPress blog, most of my problems have been with captchas and with Blogspot blogs.

Most captchas are only an annoyance to me, though they may make commenting impossible for those with visual or aural handicaps. Usually I can get one by at least the second try, though I have run into a few lately that three tries (after which I quit) were not successful. One type has separated distorted letters, and I can never figure out whether and where to put spaces. Other times I am sure I have gotten it right (3 times!) and the thing keeps coming back with “you didn’t get it, try again.” But the worst are the ones that won’t even accept my identity.

Many Blogspot blogs have a “select profile” button that in some cases gives you a choice of Google Account, LiveJournal, WordPress, TypePad or OpenID. The only one I’m familiar with is WordPress, but when I try it, it just gives back my entry without forwarding it to the site. I’ve heard this is because the blogger in question has enabled captcha, and there is a bug in the captcha code for blogspot.

There are other blogspot blogs, with what looks like the same “select profile” button, but the button gives you three additional choices: AIM, Name/URL or Anonymous. These I can comment on with no problem, putting my WordPress blog in as the URL. I have no idea, though, of how the blogspot bloggers set up their sites to use one or the other “select profile” buttons, or a third option that simply gives radio buttons.

I don’t think I use captcha. WordPress asks me to moderate all comments before they appear, and has a built-in spam filter (akismet.) Some of the spam is clearly machine-generated. But of course I don’t see the blog as readers see it, so if I’m wrong, please let me know.

Six Sentence Sunday

This is the end of the first chapter of my current WIP (at the editing stage) Rescue Operation, continuing on from last week. It’s the first book of a trilogy, starting a couple of hundred years after the end of Tourist Trap.

He [Roi] leaned back, closing his eyes, and the pair took the hint and left. Dad, Roi thought miserably, Marna, why did you have to die and leave me with this? It’s more than I can handle. I’m doing my best, but I don’t think my best is good enough. And Zhaim’s not helping. At worst, if he’s escaped the bonds you put on him–Roi didn’t even want to think about that.

Be sure to visit the other Six Sentence Sunday authors.

Six Sentence Sunday

Another snippet, continued from last week, from the end of the first chapter of Rescue Operation.

“It won’t happen again,” Roi said, “but I couldn’t do anything for Horizon.” He lifted his head, blinking wet eyes at Mark. The next time he had to reinforce Marna’s bindings, he swore to himself, he would insist that the part of the Inner Council he trusted back him up.

“Maybe,” he continued softly, as much to himself as to Mark, “I can get enough change in the situation to force reconsideration. But I don’t think I can do it by a Council vote. Meanwhile, I’ll have to do what I can with the other situations.”

Be sure to visit the other Six Sentence Sunday authors.