I’ve been tagged! My good writer friend Darci Cole (http://darcicole.blogspot.com/) participated in this game. Then she managed to track me down and tag me, despite my years of ninja training. Impressive, Darci. Most impressive.

So, here are the rules:
1. Go to Page 77 of your current manuscript.
2. Go to line 7.
3. Copy & post the next 7 lines as they’re written — no cheating.
4. Tag 7 other writers.
5. Let them know.

I had fun locating the exact spot in my manuscript, and it’s a thrill to share a small excerpt from The Year of Lightning with all of you. However, I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t bend the rules a little. The game calls for only seven lines, but I want you to have a little more of the scene. From my own experience, it can be difficult adjusting to a story’s rhythm with such a small excerpt, so hopefully the extra lines will give you a better reading experience.

So, which writers have I decided to ambush *ahem, tag* with the game?
Ellie Soderstrom
Jack Flacco
Jason McIntyre
Ryne Pearson
Leigh Fallon
Jen Conroy
Consider yourselves on notice!

Okay, now here’s my excerpt from The Year of Lightning:

Neil leaned in close, tilting his head to examine it from another angle. “This one goes pretty deep. You need stitches.” He retrieved a needle and thread from the kit and looked at her apologetically. “This’ll hurt, but we have to.”

Valentine took another deep breath and nodded. Her left hand clutched the pendant around her neck. “Okay.”

Her dad set to work. She forced her gaze in the other direction, trying her best to focus elsewhere, to pretend the sting wasn’t there. The cool metal in her left hand – that felt better.

“How does it feel?” He was halfway finished.

She swallowed. “Um…not too bad.” Her voice came out strained. “I think it’s going a little numb.”

A smile touched the corners of Neil’s lips. “You’re a tough girl, Valentine. Always were.”

She felt taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He finished the last stitch and reached for the shears. “Remember when you sprained your ankle at that dance recital? You were only eight, but you barely even cried.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“You could hardly stand, but you still wanted to do your routine.” His smile widened. “That Russian teacher of yours said, “Flower cannot stand on broken stem. Do not be fool.” And I had to make you sit down.”

She grinned at the memory. “We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.”

Neil stiffened. His face became a mask, still as stone.

Valentine’s heart sank. No no no… “Well, I mean, uh….” She grasped for something to say, but felt frozen inside. Her father looked down again, not meeting her eyes. Please no…

He set a bottle of peroxide and a clean cloth on the counter. “Twice a day,” he muttered, barely audible. “For a…a week or so.” He turned to leave. He was slipping away from her. She could already feel him running. Her chest tightened inside. Please, not again! “Dad.” Her good hand shot out and grabbed his forearm. “What’s wrong? Why can’t you talk to me anymore? What did I do?”

Neil recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “Valentine, no….that’s not….you didn’t…”

She waited for more. He just looked down, his face a mask of pain. “Then what? What is it?!”

He shook his head at the floor. “I can’t. I just…..I can’t….” He seemed to grope for more, but nothing came.

She stared at him, and the tightness in her chest hardened. He won’t even try. Her need for him began to boil into something else. “So, that’s all, huh?”

He finally looked up at her with reddening eyes. His silence stretched on.

Her resentment solidified. Fine. Valentine nodded, set her jaw, and stood up from the counter. Letting go of him, she walked to the door. “Forget it.”

“I…” she heard him call feebly. “I didn’t mean to…”

She fled to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. As soon as the latch clicked, she leaned against the painted wood and sagged to the floor, face in her hands. Why?

The story of Exile Sun continues! In the game, humanity’s first interstellar fleet has spent two hundreds years cut off from contact with Earth, stranded around a distant star. “Freedom, Part One” introduced you to the crew of the colony ship Freedom on their journey to the Novus system. When we last saw them, they were faced with betrayal and mortal danger. Now let’s see what happens!

Freedom, Part Two

Six Months Later

Cold.

Liana shivered and rubbed her arms through the sleeves of her uniform. They were always cold now. With usable power growing scarcer by the day, they couldn’t afford to waste it on luxuries like atmospheric conditioning. She stared through the handful of wallscreens that still functioned, eyeing the unfamiliar stars. Each day, it felt as if the icy blackness crept farther inside the walls.

“Sir?” Grayson said to her.

Her stomach grumbled. She pressed a hand against it to quell the nausea hanging at the edge of awareness. The half-rations weren’t helping, either, but what could they do? Freedom’s companion fleet hadn’t included any hydroponic vessels.

“Sir?”

Liana shook the hazy thoughts away and focused on the present. Lieutenant Grayson looked back at her with hollow, sunken eyes. “We need him to make a decision now, sir.”

Right. More good news. Wearily, she nodded and dragged herself up from the command chair. More sacrifices had to be made, and like always, they couldn’t wait. She forced her feet to walk toward the Commander’s office adjoining the bridge. A flash of anger raced through her. Six months they had been cut off from the fleet! Six months since the Concord’s little stunt had destroyed half their companion ships, and blown them so far off course that they couldn’t chart their way back. Six months alone, traveling aimlessly, with the rest of their fleet slowly dying. And now it was going to die a little more.

PING

Liana stopped. Was that…?

PING

No, it couldn’t be.

PING PING PING

She whipped toward Grayson’s pilot station to see him pointing at his console like he’d just seen a ghost. “…c-contact, sir! We’ve got a contact on SPHERE!”

————————

The Commander’s office door slid open with a quiet whirring sound. Liana hurried into the darkened chamber with a new spring in her step, hunger and cold forgotten. The lights were off, leaving illumination to the stars outside and a computer’s glowing display.

“Sir!” she exclaimed.

“Do you ever wonder what his last thought was, Colonel Ganti?” Des Charognards said faintly from the half-shadow. He stood at the window, shoulders hunched, eyes dark. “Commander Marcus. Do you think he realized he was going to die? That he’d doomed himself, too?”

Liana stopped short, taken aback. The Concord seemed to take up half the Commander’s thoughts these days. During the past months, his humor and easy charm had eroded away, replaced by bitterness and smoldering resentment. It hovered around him now, like a dark cloud.

“Commander, we have -”

“I know, Colonel,” he interrupted, voice loaded with regret. “I’ve decided. Tell the crew to start moving passengers and sealing off non-essential decks.”

She stifled a sigh. Oh right, the sacrifices. Across the fleet, air processing units had been failing for weeks, and with no spare parts they had been forced to cannibalize their own equipment to keep them running. Now even that option was gone, which meant they’d have to start shutting down parts of the ship to keep the rest of it alive. Like cutting off an arm to save the body from gangrene. In the excitement, she’d forgotten all about their most recent problem. Hopefully, now there was a solution.

“No, sir,” she said. “We found someone! Three large settler ships. Contact has been established, and they want to rendezvous in ninety minutes.” She moved closer to the Commander. “They’re fully outfitted, sir. Once we rescue them, they may have supplies that we need. Shall I give the order to meet them?”

Des Charognards’ head slowly turned toward her, eyes burning like coals. “Which fleet are they from?”

——————————-

A heavy silence hung over the six passengers of the small personnel shuttle. Liana examined them each in turn, noting the sunken cheeks and hollow expressions that marked each of them as belonging to Freedom. It seemed to her that this recent development should have been a happy one. Yet, upon hearing of the newly-discovered ships, the Commander’s mood had only sharpened into one of dark intensity. The cloud he carried had grown bigger and spread over the crew.

Not that she was completely at ease, either. After all, none of them had expected to find survivors from the Concord’s fleet. But they aren’t Marcus, she kept telling herself. They’re civilians, alone, probably starving and scared half to death.

“One minute to touchdown, sirs,” the pilot called back to them. The three blocky, building-sized ships lumbered into view. In the center, the Amelia’s forward bay doors opened to allow them entry.

“Do you ever wonder why they never searched for us?” Des Charognards said from out of nowhere.

Several times before, he’d asked this. Each time, her answer had been the same. “I like to think they did look but couldn’t find us, sir.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure they searched for several hours,” he replied with a sarcastic edge. “And now, let me ask you – upon whom does our survival depend?”

This one was new. She fumbled around for an answer that felt right. “Um…well, sir, I suppose it depends on us now.”

“Yes,” the Commander said, as if she’d answered the most important question. “That’s it, Colonel.” He fixed her with an intense stare. “From here on, whatever happens, don’t forget that. It’s up to us.”

She met his stare with a puzzled expression, but nodded acceptance to appease him. What does that mean? Des Charognards’ choice for an escort suddenly seemed less random. She eyed the four crew members sitting across from them. Each of their uniforms had a matching red slash across the chest, marking their assignment on the ship. What is he planning?

Liana brushed her forearms, confirming that the small objects she’d strapped on under her sleeves were still there. She still questioned why she’d put them on in the first place. This wasn’t that kind of boarding party.

When they landed, the settler ship’s portly, balding captain was waiting for them outside the hatch. As they emerged into the spacious cargo hold, he ambled forward with a wide grin and a warm hand. “Welcome aboard!” he said, grasping the Commander’s hand and pumping it with exuberance. “It’s a real pleasure to see another friendly face out here.” He turned to Liana and the four escorts. “And welcome to you, too!”

She nodded distractedly, entranced by the feeling that surrounded her. Warmth. After months of bone-deep cold, stepping onto the deck felt like being hugged from everywhere at once. She breathed deeply and relaxed inside.

“Captain Hart,” Des Charognards returned with a nod, slipping his hand from the cheerful man’s grasp. “I’d like to see your crew and equipment manifests.”

“Sure thing, come on with me.” Oblivious to the chilly greeting, the captain beckoned to them and turned toward a nearby exit. “We’ll stop by the bridge, then get some hot food in your bellies.”

Liana had never been on a settler ship before. Aside from command crew and operational technicians, the vessel was filled with civilian families. Husbands, wives, children – normal people going about normal lives as they hurtled toward a new home. So different from the strict military atmosphere she had lived in most of her life.

Something else struck her as they made their way to the bridge. Of all the families roaming to and fro, of all the children playing, all the busy crew scurrying to maintain the ship, not one of them looked hungry or bleak. If anything, they looked….happy. Content. Her mouth watered as they passed near what must have been the kitchen. It smelled like garlic and tomato soup.

“And here we are, home sweet home,” Captain Hart chirped.

They passed through a hatch and onto the diminutive bridge. Liana marveled at the difference. At maybe forty feet across, it only boasted eight crew on duty, and the computer equipment was serviceable but far from cutting edge.

Hart gestured to a console at their left. “Edwin, call up the crew and cargo details for the Commander, would ya?”

“Sure thing, boss,” a skinny, mop-topped technician replied. His fingers flew across the keyboard, and a moment later he scooted away and gestured at the screen with a flourish. “All yours, Commander.”

Without a word, Des Charognards bent to examine the lists. Liana craned her neck to look over his shoulder, and her eyes widened. These three family ships had enough food, equipment, and trained crew to sustain Freedom, with resources to spare! She felt a spike of resentment flash through her. How did they get all this? Did Marcus outfit his fleet differently than the others? No wonder they’re all warm and fat.

“It sure is a wild stroke of chance running into you folks,” Captain Hart prattled on. “Thought we’d be alone on this leg of the trip. You know, until we meet up with the others.”

Liana’s head snapped in Hart’s direction. She felt as though lightning had struck her. At her side, the Commander visibly stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath of air. “What do you mean, others?” she said.

He looked back at her, confused. “The others. You know, the other survivors. The ones who…” he paused, and realization crossed his face. “Oh, you thought it was just us?”

Des Charognards fixed the captain with a piercing eye. “What are you saying, Hart? Who else is there?”

Hart approached the console they had been studying and keyed in a command. A new list scrolled across the screen – two dozen ship names, with basic descriptions of ship type, crew and cargo. “Whatever that blast wave was, it took out the Concord and most of the companion ships. A few of us, though, got pushed out here. We were scattered, but we managed to modify our communications arrays to find each other.” He called up a star chart, and the ship names became pinpoints of light scattered over an expanse of space. “Working together, we managed to extrapolate where everyone is, and plot a new course to Novus.”

A thrill exploded through Liana. “You know where Novus is?!” The Commander remained still and silent.

Hart nodded with a wide smile. “Yes, ma’am, we do.” He pointed to the lowest pinpoint of light on the star chart. “See, that’s us. We’re the farthest from our destination. The others are each a little bit closer, but you can see that we’ve all been scattered along a similar arc. So we’ve established rendezvous points, and as we travel toward Novus, we’ll meet up with the other survivors bit-by-bit. By the time we find home, everyone will have been reunited in our own little fleet.” His smile grew wider. “Except, now that you’re here, I guess it won’t be so little anymore!”

“How far away are we?” the Commander demanded.

The captain’s face fell slightly. “That’s the one tough part. See, the wave was stronger than we thought at first. The journey’s going to take longer than it originally would have. We thought it would take generations longer, but now with your Slingshot drive we can drastically reduce it. Best guess….” He hesitated.

“How long, Captain?” Des Charognards snapped.

“….another fifteen years, sir.” Hart put on a brave expression. “But, with everyone to support each other, we can do it!”

Liana felt as if she had been slapped. Fifteen years? They were another fifteen bloody years away?! The colonies would be long established by then! She felt the overwhelming urge to throttle the good captain.

The Commander’s fists clenched until his knuckles cracked. The air seemed to thicken around him, and Captain Hart drew back with trepidation. Liana took deep breaths, struggling to keep her calm. Marcus. Marcus and his fleet did this to us.

With grim determination in his eyes, Des Charognards turned to their four escorts – with the red-slashed uniforms of security officers – and nodded to the leader. The officers returned crisp salutes, and each withdrew a defender capsule from a small sheath at their hip. Each resembled a short, thick baton made of black composite material.

Captain Hart took another step back. “Commander, what’s going on?”

The Commander’s voice became a growl. “This vessel, and all others once belonging to your fleet, are now under the direct authority of the colony ship Freedom. Your crew and resources are hereby commandeered, and will be transferred immediately to vacant positions in our fleet.”

Hart gaped at them, his eyes nearly popping out. The bridge crew looked stricken and shocked. “But, you can’t do that! You have no authority to -”

“While you’ve been wallowing in luxury, my people have spent six months frozen and starving!” Des Charognards barked. “Sacrificed by one commander, abandoned by the rest, yet still we’ve beaten the death sentence they laid on us. And now we’re our own fleet. Now we’re our own authority.”

“I’ll not allow you to -”

“Oh, but you will allow it,” the Commander stated. He nodded again at the security leader. The black batons popped open, twisting and transforming into sleek, high-powered assault rifles. “Your people will join us. Your resources will sustain us. Your ships will be broken down to repair and augment our fleet. And when we arrive at Novus, they will see that we are stronger without them.”

Horror painted Captain Hart’s face, then anger. Keeping his eyes on them, he rushed to the comm station and picked up the earpiece. “To Magellan and Yeager, we’re under assault!” he shouted. “Run -”

“They’re already boarded!” Des Charognards spat. “Your ships were ours before we ever spoke.”

Hart flung down the earpiece and jabbed a finger toward them. “It wasn’t just you, you know. We were all left behind! But I will not allow this to stand, and you will not destroy what’s left of Commander Marcus’ fleet!”

At the mention of Marcus’ name, Des Charognards’ face reddened and contorted in sudden, unbridled rage. Stalking forward, he drew a smaller defender capsule from his pocket. The device sprang open and shaped into a pistol, which the Commander put to Hart’s forehead. “No, you were left behind. We were betrayed.”

With a snarl, he pulled the trigger.

Captain Hart’s body dropped to the deck like a bag of stones. Shouting and chaos broke out as the bridge crew rushed to defend their fallen captain. The security officers charged forward, shoving their rifles into faces and forcing the furious crew against the walls.

From the corner of her eye, Liana spotted movement. Standing behind them, forgotten, weak-looking Edwin slipped his hand into a small compartment and drew out a long, razor-edged dagger. With surprising speed, he charged toward the Commander’s back.

Time seemed to slow, and Liana watched the scene play out as thoughts raced through her mind. The Commander had been right about so many things – more than she had given him credit for. They had been betrayed and abandoned by their own people, and now this civilian crew wanted to live fat while they struggled and starved? Every day’s worth of suffering, every shred of the anger and resentment she had been pushing away for six months came crashing down, and she felt her heart turn to ice. They were their own people now, and one day their betrayers would know it. One day, they would fear them.

Slipping between Edwin and Des Charognards, Liana flicked her wrists. From beneath the sleeves of her uniform, two classic Earth-model pistols snapped into the palms of her hands. Training them on Edwin’s kneecaps, she pulled both triggers.

He went down screaming.

The Commander whirled around, eyes wide at his near demise. Clutching his knees and writhing in agony, Edwin glared up and spat in Liana’s direction. She wrapped herself in cold fury. Standing directly above him, she aimed between his eyes and pulled the trigger.

The bridge fell silent. Turning, she locked eyes with Des Charognards. He gazed down at her and nodded. “You remembered. Who does our survival depend on?”

She drew herself to full height. “On us. No one else.”

The Commander moved back to the computer display and pointed at the star chart. “We have a rendezvous to make, Colonel Ganti. Have a look.”

Liana examined the screen and understood his meaning. They would follow the Amelia’s plan to meet with the remnants of the Concord’s fleet, and soon those resources would be theirs.

“You’ve proven yourself capable, Liana. And loyal.” Des Charognards favored her with a look of pride and satisfaction. “How would you like to arrive at Novus with your own battleship?”

On the screen, she spotted it. At the fourth rendezvous point, they would intercept the Dauntless, a formidable vessel of war. A cold smile crossed her lips. “Commander Ganti. I like the sound of that.”

We hope you enjoyed this glimpse into the history of Exile Sun! You’ve now witnessed the birth of one of the six factions vying for dominance. The game’s events begin about two hundred years after this point. More stories are currently in development, and they will feature events related to the other five factions. Want to read them? You’ll have to buy the game! Every story will be included in the Commander’s Handbook. Watch for Exile Sun to hit shelves this summer!

People of Earth,

I have a confession to make. It’s not easy to say, but I’ve been neglecting you recently. I know, I know, there are good excuses. I’m eyebrow-deep in three separate writing projects, two of which have concrete and ever-nearing deadlines. Each one is close to my heart, and I’ve spent the past months diving into them like Scrooge McDuck (fully, and with gleeful exuberance). The byproduct is that I’ve taken a step back from my online endeavors to keep my nose on the keyboard (seriously , I type with my nose. It works for me, shut up), which means my writer friends haven’t heard from me as often, and you good people have received less maniacal ramblings about robot uprisings and deadly forest gnomes (laugh all you want, I know their queen).

It’s times like this when I’m truly grateful for the writing community, and for the awesome friends I’ve made online in the past year. Friends who tag me on Facebook, ping me on Twitter, and send encouraging emails. Friends who remind me that what could be a tragically solitary profession has, in actuality, opened up an entire world’s worth of like-minded artists just waiting to be your biggest cheerleaders. Friends like the amazing and brilliant Morgan Shamy – a writer destined for stardom, one of my greatest creative allies, and the one who tagged me in this 11 Questions blogger game, thereby coaxing me from my writing cave to soak up a little sun.

So, instead of maniacal ramblings about invasions, this time you get to read maniacal ramblings about myself. Brace yourselves:

1. Do you like being tagged in question games?
It is literally my favorite thing that has ever happened in the history of the universe.

2. If you could stay a certain age forever, what age would it be?
I would wait until I’m 104 years old and then stay at that age. Seriously, old people can get away with anything. Whatever you do, no matter how insane or inappropriate, people just say, “Well, he’s 104 years old.”

3. Do men like chocolate as much as women?
I love chocolate. However, I don’t think there’s a man alive who can match a woman’s deep emotional connection to it. I once made a dark chocolate torte for a dinner party, and my favorite part of the evening was watching the women gather around it like it was some kind of altar, nibbling at it and giggling quietly to each other with blissfully guilty expressions on their faces.

4. What would you name the autobiography of your life?
“Don’t Tell Anyone I’m Batman”

5. How do you balance social media and writing time?
As I said above, it’s a tough balance for me. I try to devote enough time to social media to keep building relationships and making new connections. Writing time has to take priority, though. Usually, if I have to choose between devoting time to one or the other, I’ll choose writing.

6. Describe yourself in one word.
Geektastic

7. What is your favorite writing-related website?
I love checking out the blogs of my friends like Morgan Shamy, Jason McIntyre, Jack Flacco, Leigh Fallon, Ellie Soderstrom and Ryne Pearson. I also find a lot of blog links on Twitter, and those have led to some educational and helpful articles. Very soon I’ll be querying, so I’m betting agentquery.com will become one of my best friends, too.

8. If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?
I’d go back to 1889 and take credit for inventing the margherita pizza. Then I’d aggressively build a pizza empire, and my heirs would be all-powerful pizza magnates! Muwahahahaha!

9. What fictional character do you most resemble?
Smaug, the dragon from The Hobbit (but only when I’m breathing fire)

10. Star Wars or Star Trek?
Noooooooo, don’t make me choooooose!!!

11. What’s the first word to come to your mind right….now?
Bubblicious.
Yeah, I don’t know why, either.

So, now it’s time for me to pay it forward! You bloggy friends of mine, consider yourself on notice! Specifically:

Jason McIntyre
Ellie Soderstrom
Ryne Pearson
Leigh Fallon
Darci Cole

And here are your questions:

1. What was the first thing you wrote that you were genuinely proud of?
2. If you were a food, what would you be?
3. What would your superhero name be, and what superpower would you have?
4. Your all-time favorite movie?
5. What’s one thing that helps you write your best?
6. Sweet or salty?
7. What’s one genre you’d love to write in, but haven’t yet?
8. Your favorite time-wasting activity?
9. If you were an evil overlord, what would you name your main henchman?
10. What’s your favorite word?
11. Can I have ten bucks?

The story of Exile Sun continues! In the game, humanity’s first interstellar fleet has spent two hundreds years cut off from contact with Earth, stranded around a distant star. Players command factions of the now-splintered fleet, scheming and battling for dominance in the harsh environment. Previously, the prologue “Novus” introduced you to a piece of the game world’s history. This next story leaps decades forward in time, to the final year of their journey.

Freedom, Part One

“The fleet is back in formation, Colonel.” Lieutenant Grayson announced from the pilot’s chair. “All ships have reported in, and the Civilization has begun the countdown.”

Colonel Liana Ganti, first officer of the colony ship Freedom, watched the wallscreens’ real time display of their companion ships. Beyond their tight formation, the other colony ships’ fleets were repeating the same ritual. “And the Slingshot?”

The lieutenant consulted his display. “The Lambent Field drive is fully recharged, sir. We’re ready.”

Liana nodded. “Inform the Commander.”

Running a hand through her long black hair, she took a slow measured breath and worked to calm herself. Of course the drive was recharged. Wasn’t it always, after their pit stops?

Despite having been born and raised in the Outbound Fleet, she had always battled her nerves during this part of their monthly routine. This is all I know – shouldn’t it feel natural? Still, she couldn’t let the crew see her sweat. Not when she was so new to the rank.

Far to the right, a door hissed open. “Commander on deck!” called a fresh-eyed ensign. Sharp salutes snapped across the bridge as a tall, broad-chested man breezed through the hatch.

Without breaking his stride, Commander Vincent Des Charognards managed to touch a salute to his graying temple, flash an easy smile, and give the eager young ensign a pat on the shoulder. “Carry on,” he said in a deep, husky voice. “Today’s a big day.” He made his way swiftly across the bridge, eyeing every display with smooth efficiency.

Liana left the wallscreen and met Des Charognards at their adjacent command consoles. She nodded a greeting. “Commander.”

That roguish smile turned on her as he settled into his chair and leaned back. “How do we look, Colonel?”

“As expected, sir.” She tapped a few keys and sent the relevant reports to his display. Inside, she couldn’t help but marvel at him. They were about to blast themselves to three-quarters the speed of light, and he seemed as if they were taking a stroll around the corner. “Battery upgrades worked like we hoped. Colony ships recharged in two days instead of three.”

He chuckled. “It used to take over a week, from what I’m told.” Reaching out, he tapped the screen to cycle through her reports. “Two days isn’t long. How’d the trading go?”

“We got what we needed,” she replied. The fleets’ cargo holds were organized so that no single ship carried everything its occupants needed for the journey. As a result, each monthly stop served a dual purpose. The main purpose was to collect star energy and recharge the batteries that powered the each colony ship’s massive Lambent Field drive. If power levels dipped too low, they’d be unable to extend the field around their companion ships. The secondary purpose was to trade with other ships for any needed supplies and personnel. Apparently, the fleets’ forefathers had wanted to encourage the growth of an inter-fleet economy while they journeyed. “Everyone seems to be moving faster this time.”

Des Charognards nodded. His eyes twinkled. “Of course! Some of them must realize what day it is. Those that don’t will remember soon.”

Liana nodded and tried to smile. Tried to seem at ease.

“One year from today, Ganti,” he continued. “One year. Twelve recharges, that’s it. Then we’re home.”

“Yes, sir,” she managed to say.

“And how was your leave?”

Her smile faltered. “….um…”

The Commander raised an eyebrow. “The leave we discussed you taking while we recharged? The leave you haven’t taken in the six months you’ve been my XO?”

“Well, um….” she grasped for words, but good excuses slipped away. “….there just seemed….well, there was so much to be done, sir. I didn’t think….”

“Liana,” he lowered his voice and leaned close to her. “The new rank weighs on you. I can see it. You’re only twenty-eight, and you want to make a good impression, so I expect that. But, believe me when I tell you this – if you don’t learn to relax, this job will eat you alive.”

He fixed her with a no-nonsense stare. “I also expect you to follow my orders, even when the orders are take a vacation.” She moved to speak, but he held up a hand. “And if it helps, I’m already impressed. Understood?”

Liana hesitated, considering his words. You know he’s right. Stop ACTING like an officer, and BE one. She slowly nodded.

Des Charognards’ grin returned. “Good.” He gave her arm a familial pat and leaned back in his chair again, turning toward the wallscreens. “Now, Colonel, let’s enjoy the launch.”

Sitting back against her chair, she tried to mirror the Commander’s nonchalant air. It felt supremely awkward. Maybe she just needed practice. “Time to launch, Lieutenant?”

“We’re at the one-minute mark, Colonel.”

“This is my favorite part,” Des Charognards said, gesturing at the wallscreens. Like floating cities, the massive colony ships swung into their customary configuration, companion ships arrayed behind them. They formed a gentle arc like the outer edge of a boomerang – Civilization leading from the center, and Freedom taking the position farthest starboard. The Commander practically beamed at the Outbound Fleet. “So beautiful.”

“Counting down from one minute,” Grayson said.

Liana gripped her armrests and concentrated on steady breathing. At zero count, they would switch from thrusters to the Lambent Field drive and leap instantly to .35L, just over one-quarter light speed. In the ten minutes following, the field intensity would increase until they were hurtling toward home at .82L. That in itself marked an impressive advancement during their journey. Back when the fleet launched from Sol System, it took hours to make cruising speed.

“Thirty seconds to launch.”
 
The deck hummed beneath their feet as the Slingshot drive spun to life. She felt a familiar dizziness as the drive’s rippling distortion field passed through her, stretching to envelope their companion ships in its effect. To their port side, the Concord’s fleet shimmered behind its own field, as if Liana were looking at it through water. She rubbed her temples and shook the disorientation away. Never get used to that part.   
 
“Ten seconds.”
 
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” the Commander whispered with a grin.
 
She kept her eyes forward, her face a stone mask. Just a few seconds and they’d be safely under way. Then she could stop being a little girl and help run this ship.
 
“….launch.”
 
The breath she’d been holding came out in a rush. Star lines stretched across the wallscreens, and Liana felt herself pressed back against the faux leather chair. Space hurtled toward them at impossible speed. An instant later, the inertial dampers kicked in and she sagged against the armrest.  
 
“Mark-three-five-L achieved. Approaching mark-four-oh in thirty seconds,” Grayson announced.
 
Beside her, Des Charognards chuckled. “Only twelve more, Colonel,” he said quietly. “Then you won’t have to hold that poker face anymore.”
 
Despite herself, she smiled, and the tension in her neck began to fade. “I’ll look forward –“
 
The ship lurched to the side. 
 
Liana tumbled from her chair and smacked onto the deck. Warning klaxons rang out across the bridge, clashing with the sounds of tumbling bodies and breaking glass. Shouts of alarm and confusion fired between the crew. 
 
“Report!” Des Charognards commanded over the din. 
 
“Some kind of storm!” Grayson responded. “Minor power outages, no major damage. Our companion ships report the same.”
 
“Is everyone through it?”
 
“Yes, sir, we just caught the extreme edge.”
 
“Why didn’t SPHERE pick it up?” Liana demanded, heaving herself to her feet and gripping the chair for support. Somehow, the Commander had managed to keep his seat.
 
“Sprang up out of nowhere, sir. We have a fix on it now.”
 
“Let’s see it,” she said.
 
Between the command chairs and the forward wallscreens, a glowing circle sprang to life and rose from the floor. Strands of light lifted from it and swirled together, converging into a three-dimensional holographic image. In seconds they were examining a hard light model of their ship, its fleet, and the colossal energy cloud roiling angrily beneath them. 
 
“We’re lifting away from it now,” Grayson said from the helm.
 
“Were any others affected?” the Commander asked.
 
“Concord hit it the same as we did, but the others were able to veer away.”
 
Liana followed Des Charognards’ gaze to the port-side wallscreens. Their neighboring colony ship had listed to the side, but was regaining its attitude just as they were. 
 
“Signal Commander Marcus and request their status,” he said to the Comm officer. “If they’re functional, bring us back into formation with -”
 
Proximity alarms screamed from the command consoles. 
 
“It’s shifting!” Grayson cried. 
 
Liana’s eyes whipped toward the forward wallscreens, and her insides melted. A massive jet of energy exploded upward from the storm and swept across their path, blocking the way for Freedom and Concord. Like a flaming ocean wave, it peaked high above them, then tumbled back toward the heart of the storm with their fleets directly in its path.
 
“Evasive!” the Commander barked.
 
The wave smashed into them with a thunderous crack.
 
Freedom shuddered and pitched sideways. Liana barely clung to her chair as crew and equipment careened across the bridge and bashed into each other. Damage alarms wailed over the groans of the straining ship. Half of the aft wallscreens went dark, spitting smoke and sparks.
 
“We’re……!” Grayson yelled, but the rest of his words were lost in the cacophony.
 
Violent tremors shook them as Freedom’s engines fought against the storm. Gathering herself, Liana ran to Grayson’s side with Des Charognards hot on her heels. Another boom rattled her teeth, and she grabbed onto the bulkhead for support.
 
“What’s happening?!” Des Charognards shouted.
 
“We’re caught in the wave!” Grayson called back, keeping his eyes on the displays and his hands on the yoke. “It’s trying to drag us into the storm! Engines are barely keeping up!”
 
“Can we break out?” Liana said.
 
“We can’t even move forward! And even that won’t last.”
 
A high-pitched electrical whine pierced the air. Liana ducked as light fixtures shattered overhead, showering them with blunted shards of glass. The bridge plunged into darkness. Seconds later, emergency lights winked on and bathed them in faint red light.
 
“What do you mean, it won’t last?” the Commander demanded.
 
“Storm’s dragging us down, Slingshot’s pulling us up – won’t be long before the stress tears us to pieces! We’ve already got hull breaches, and it’ll just keep ripping us open.”
 
“Then we can’t just wait it out, Grayson – we need a solution!”
 
A line of computer banks exploded, rocketing flame and shrapnel in every direction. Two ensigns flew backward to clatter against the aft wall. An officer dropped to the deck with hot shards of metal embedded in his chest. Failure alerts scrolled across Grayson’s display, and Liana knew the Commander was right. If they couldn’t break free, they’d be dead in minutes.
 
“Get a medic up here!” he shouted.
 
She grasped onto an idea. “What if we dump all power to the Slingshot? The spike might boost us enough to break free!”
 
Des Charognards shook his head. “No good! With the Concord this close, we could destabilize their Lambent Field or push them deeper into the storm.”
 
“She’s right, Commander, it might be our only chance!” Grayson pleaded.
 
“NO!” he cast a desperate stare around the bridge.
 
Liana could see him searching for another solution. Struggling to block out the screams of injured crew and rending metal, she wracked her brain for some other way to survive. The ship bucked and shivered under the strain, clouding her thoughts and filling her with dread. More wallscreen displays crackled and died, hissing and spitting arcs of electricity through the air. Another console caught fire and melted to slag. Fire suppressants must be offline.
 
The Commander swung back to them suddenly, eyes wide. “Charge the outer hull with an oscillating current! It may create a static barrier between us and the storm.”
 
“Yes, sir!” Liana leaned down next to Lieutenant Grayson and frantically tapped out commands on his console. She fought to keep her hands steady as the ship quaked under the assault. 
 
The tremors grew more intense. A stretch of piping burst through the ceiling to their left, spewing a jet of gas and sparks. She entered the final commands and punched Execute. “I think that should do it, sir!” 
 
In seconds, the battered ship began to calm. The violent rattling decreased, and Grayson managed to coax movement from the tired engines. He whooped with joy. “Might take a little bit, sir, but I think we can get out!” 
 
A relieved cheer went up from the remaining crew, and Des Charognards’ distraught expression relaxed into a tentative smile. He turned to the Comm station. “Signal our companion ships and inform them of our solution. Relay the message to Concord as well.”
 
Grayson’s piloting rig screeched an alarm and flashed red. 
 
“What now?!” Liana demanded. 
 
“Sir, that’s the proximity alarm,” he said, all humor drained from his voice. He stared over at the Concord. “This one’s only for ship-to-ship!”
 
She followed his eyes to their fellow colony ship. They were getting closer! Even through the Lambent Field effect, Concord was near enough for her to see flames trailing from multiple breaches. As she watched, another piece of the hull broke off and spun away. 
 
“What’s Marcus doing?” the Commander said.
 
“They’re not responding to our stream signal,” the Comm officer called. 
 
A furious shudder rocked the Freedom. More alarms and warning lights blared at Lieutenant Grayson. “Their Lambent Field is touching ours! It’s almost like they’re….” he stopped short, shaking his head. His voice filled with dread. “Oh god, no. Commander, I’m detecting a spike in their Slingshot drive. They’re dumping all power to it!” 
 
Des Charognards’ eyes grew frenzied. “Get me Marcus!” he bellowed at the Comm officer. 
 
“I can’t, they’re blocking our signal now!”
 
Liana felt lost, like they all knew something she didn’t. She stepped closer to the pilot. “Grayson, what’s happening?”
 
The lieutenant turned to her with dark eyes. “That maneuver you suggested – the one the Commander shot down? They’re doing it. Only, they’re going further and using our Lambent Field as leverage!” He gestured wildly toward the Concord. “They’re pushing against us to blast themselves free!” 
 
Cold fear seized Liana’s chest, squeezing like an icy fist. Crossing the bridge, she took her place next to the Commander and searched for anything she could do. But how could they stop it? The Concord wouldn’t listen!
 
Des Charognards ripped the comm device from the officer’s hand and held it to his lips. “Marcus, don’t do this. You don’t know what will happen,” he pleaded. “We have a way out. WE HAVE A WAY OUT!” 
 
“Too late!” Grayson cried.
 
Liana braced herself as the Concord’s Lambent Field spun like a tornado. In an instant, it doubled in size and crashed against the Freedom. Then they were spinning.
 
Freedom’s Lambent Field shattered. Inertial dampers gave out, and Liana found herself clinging to the Comm station as the world spiraled around her. She heard the engines scream as they struggled to compensate. With each revolution, the Concord came into view again. It was rising away, toward the edge of the storm. Rising to salvation.
 
One tired hand slipped from its desperate grip. Liana felt herself begin to fall away, until a firm arm grasped her waist and anchored her in place. Craning her neck to identify her savior, she came face to face with the Commander. His eyes bore into hers with molten fury. She gasped at their intensity, like she’d never seen before.
 
“They betrayed us,” he snarled.
 
Looking out the wallscreen at the escaping ship, she knew he was right.
 
“Something’s happening, Commander!” Grayson managed to shout, pointing as the Concord came into view again.
 
At the edge of the storm, it’s escape had stopped cold. The over-driven Lambent Field burst like a balloon, and a flash arced from the ship’s metallic belly. Liana winced at the intense light.
 
Taking on a life of its own, the flash exploded into a massive energy wave and swept across the Concord and its companion ships. They disappeared in the blink of an eye, as if erased from existence. Liana’s insides turned to water. The breath left her lungs as an entire fleet was blasted from existence before her eyes.
 
The wave continued on, hurtling in their direction at breakneck speed.
 
“Move us away!” Des Chagronards commanded.
 
“Controls are fried!” Grayson cried in despair. “We’re dead in the water!”
 
The advancing wave filled the remaining wallscreens with blinding light. In the last seconds, Liana closed her eyes and struggled to feel calm. So, this is how it happens. A wall of force slammed into them with a deafening roar. The world turned bright white, and sound seemed to muffle.
 
She felt herself tumbling through the air.

As you may have guessed, this one is a two-parter. I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into the world of Exile Sun! Upcoming stories will highlight different factions and different points in the game world’s timeline. To date, both Kickstarter campaigns were completed successfully, and both were overfunded! The game is set to debut this summer. If you’d like to get familiar with how it works, check out this link:

Exile Sun: Multiplayer Conflict Redefined

I’m proud to debut my first short story set in the world of Exile Sun: Multiplayer Conflict Redefined. In the game, humanity’s first interstellar fleet has spent two hundreds years cut off from contact with Earth, stranded around a distant star. Players command factions of the now-splintered fleet, scheming and battling for dominance in the harsh environment. This story is a prologue set in a time before the game’s events – specifically, the day of the Outbound Fleet’s launch from our solar system.

Novus

July 20, 2369
 
Centercore Station glittered in the morning sun. In its high orbit, the installation buzzed with activity. Hundreds of ships swarmed across its surface in the sky above Arcadia, Mars’ largest city. From merchant vessels to transport frigates, two-person fighters to bristling battleships, every size of ship and variety of crew bustled in final preparations, sharing a single purpose. They had each answered the call, and today was the day. 

Farther into space, seven ships hovered over the ordered chaos, waiting in a crescent formation. Their newly designed hulls gleamed in the golden light, identical except for the names and distinctive nose art painted on the sides. Each measured nearly a mile long. Even at a distance, their massive forms drew every eye. 

James Anders gazed through the window of his office on the Outbound Fleet’s flagship, the TSL Civilization. As the time approached, waves of ships lifted away from Centercore and floated out toward them. Each would be assigned a colony ship to travel with and directed to a designated spot in the caravan. 

Anders tugged absently at the neck of his uniform. The new rank insignias glinted conspicuously on the high collar. 

“Getting close,” a weathered voice said from behind.

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Think they’re ready?”

He nodded again, standing straighter with pride as he examined the gathering fleet. His fleet. “Yes, sir.” He started to speak, then hesitated. 

“What’s on your mind?”

Anders turned from the window and eyed the graying Chancellor of the Terran Star League. “Why me, sir?” He glanced down at the uniform. “Six months ago, I was commanding a transport. A small one.”

The Chancellor gave an exasperated smile. “They told me you keep asking that.”

He returned the smile. “Because no one’s given me the real answer. Promotion to Fleet Admiral and command of this mission? I’m only thirty years old, and I’ve only seen combat twice.”

“True.” The Chancellor’s head cocked to the side. “Let’s put aside the fact that you’ve refused multiple promotions. This mission is different – you’re not going into combat. We need young people with new ideas to lead it, not tired military men already set in their ways. After all, you’re quite literally the future.”

Anders sat at his desk and leaned forward to fix the Chancellor with a steel gray stare. The old politician met his eyes for a moment, then broke away to look at the wall. He cleared his throat. “That’s what the political ad copy says, anyway. Want to hear the real reason?”

“Since we’ll never see each other again, this seems like a good time.” 

The Chancellor pointed to Anders’ left arm. “That’s why.”

Anders instinctively flexed his left arm – or, what used to be his left arm. He looked down at himself. Although designed to look and function like flesh and blood, his left arm, leg, and half of his left torso were now highly advanced prosthetic implants. After six years, he had started to forget that the bionics weren’t real. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t be modest. Enemy raiders board your ship, and you get shot to pieces before driving them off.  Then you capture one that was left behind, treat his wounds, and insist on returning him to his people?” 

“He was just a boy, and misguided,” Anders dismissed. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“No, they wouldn’t. But that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” The Chancellor shrugged. “Top brass admired your guts, the other side treated you like some folk hero, and everyone else was amazed you lived.” He pointed at Anders’ chest. “Somehow, your storybook hero routine made them all love you. Trust you. It even ended a war.”

He nodded, finally understanding. “And you need that.”

“The fleet needs it. Sixty-eight years, James.” The Chancellor gestured out the window. “If they’re going to survive the trip, it’ll take more than a soldier to lead them. They need to be inspired. That’s why you.” He flashed a devilish grin. “And at your age, who knows? You may even live long enough to see Novus.”

Anders returned to the window. The last few ships were taking their place behind the colony ships. His attention turned to the immense ring-shaped structure hanging in the distance. When completed, it would form the first half of the Kline-Rolston Hyperspace Construct – what was being affectionately referred to as the Catapult.

“Well, then,” he said. “I guess there’s no time to waste.”

*** *** ***

“Admiral on deck!”

Anders stepped from the lift onto the bridge. He returned a salute to Commander Irina Gagarin and her crew. “Carry on,” he said, and a flurry of activity resumed across the two-hundred-foot command center. A wide oval shape, it perched on the top most level of the colony ship. The holographic wallscreens had been set to exterior display, offering a real-time panoramic view of the entire fleet. Gagarin fell in beside him, and they aimed toward the center where their consoles neighbored each other.

“How do we look?” he asked.

“The ship and crew are ready for your order,” the young, dark-haired woman replied with pride. While the fleet was his to command, the Civilization was hers.

Gagarin took her chair and gripped the armrests, as if forcing herself not to fidget. He could tell she was nervous, but determined not to show it to her crew or superior officer.

Anders didn’t feel like sitting – too many overlapping emotions raced through him. Standing over his console, he called up the current fleet statistics. They were fifteen minutes from the launch window, and everything was on schedule. The past month’s repeated drills appeared to be paying off. Only one task remained before launch. The task he dreaded most.

“Talk to them before you go,” the Chancellor had said as they parted ways. “Remind them who you are. Rouse them, inspire them, and they’ll follow you.”

Inspire them. Okay….

The com was in his hand. He raised it to his lips, thumb hovering over the Transmit button. With a long, deep breath, he willed his nerves to calm. Calmness meant survival – just like when his ship had been attacked. Just like when the blast had ripped through him. Be calm. He pressed the button.

“Good morning.”

Activity ceased on the bridge, every crew member stopping to hear the first official words of their leader. He knew the same would happen on every ship in the fleet. Thousands were listening.

“This is Fleet Admiral James Anders, on the TSL Civilization. Exactly four hundred years ago, Neil Armstrong took his first steps on Earth’s moon. On that day, for the first time, we showed the galaxy that we were here. In the centuries since, we’ve spread across the solar system, growing and learning and challenging our own potential. And today, we take our first steps into the great beyond.” Anders keyed a command on his console, sending a visual to all ships. On the wallscreen, the Andromeda constellation magnified and spun to face them. Zooming in closer, the image resolved around one star system and its planets. “Novus – that’s what we call it. In Latin, it means “new”. A new star, a new frontier.” He pressed another button, and the image changed to a full view of their fleet. “New ships – designed to lead us there, to terraform, to help us create a new home, and most of all….” The image changed to the colossal mechanical ring floating beyond them. “….to build a new way to travel. Each colony ship carries a piece of our companion ring, and irreplaceable technology that will bring it to life. On arrival, we will complete the first interstellar hyperspace bridge in human history. After that, the possibilities….”

Anders trailed off, suddenly disappointed in himself. His gaze had settled on Gagarin’s hand, still clinging white-knuckled to her seat. Ad copy – that’s all this is. You sound like a politician. He shook his head. What am I supposed to say? I don’t do this for a living. All I can say is what I know. What’s true. Turning, he glanced around the bridge at his crew. Dozens of expectant eyes rested on him, likely wondering what he was doing. Commander Gagarin rose halfway out of her chair.

More of the Chancellor’s words returned to him. “They trust you.” With that, he steeled himself and put the com to his lips again. Okay. The truth will have to do.

“Who of you is afraid? Raise your hand.” Anders put one hand in the air and used the other to key a command on his console. The broadcast display changed to a collage of live camera feeds, coming from the bridge of every ship in the fleet. He locked eyes with Gagarin and lifted his eyebrows in expectation. Her hand rose hesitantly, followed by the rest of the crew. In the next tense moments, sheepish and embarrassed hands on every ship slowly lifted into the air.

“Look at that,” Anders said into the com. “Every race, background, and profession from two dozen worlds, the best and brightest from every walk of life, and yet at this moment we all share the same feeling – no one knows what’s out there or what’s going to happen, and we’re afraid.” Determination swelled in his chest. He let it wash through him, permeating his words. “Our feelings unite us. What we are inside unites us. For the next sixty-eight years, we’ll share our lives together. We’ll fear, love, struggle, celebrate, and grow old together. We’ll support each other and reach out for the stars together. That is what it means to be human – to face our fears and fly right through them. To take chances and break barriers and achieve the impossible.” He examined the images on screen, etching the faces into his memory. “I’m already proud of you. All of you.”

The countdown clock chimed, signaling five minutes until launch window. Anders switched the nearest wallscreen panel to exterior view, allowing the sparkling field of stars to fill his vision. “In five minutes, we begin. Our future is out there waiting for us. Let’s go get it. Anders out.”

He released the com button.

A cheer exploded from the crew of his bridge, and every bridge displayed on their screens. Anders allowed himself to drink in the elation, the sense of possibility that permeated the air. He stored it away in his heart. Whatever happened tomorrow or the next day or thirty years from now, he wanted to remember this moment.

“Commander,” he said, turning to Gagarin. “Take us home.”

I hope you enjoyed this first glimpse into the world of Exile Sun! Upcoming stories will highlight different points in the game world’s timeline. Some will occur during the journey to Novus, and others will be concurrent with the events of the game. If this project grabs your interest, head over to Kickstarter and lend your support. There’s still time left to meet the overfunding goal!

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/gameknightgames/exile-sun-multiplayer-conflict-redefined

In case you weren’t aware, I’m a geek. I know! Shocking, right?

So, you can imagine my glee when this offer hit my inbox. How gleeful was I? So gleeful that I’m actually using the word “glee” to describe it! I mean, come on – no one says “glee” anymore unless they’re a fifteen-year-old girl, and unless the word is preceded by “OMG I so totally watched the new episode of”.

What’s this all about?

The Project: A new table-top strategy game called Exile Sun has been in development for a couple years (not by me). It’s a sci-fi game about space exploration, inter-faction struggles, and the search for pieces of a critical device. Not long after its first beta version, I briefly helped play test the game. Not only was it incredibly fun, but the combat system was by far the best I’ve seen in any table-top game. (If you know gamers, they can tell you about the importance of a great combat system.) The game’s development has grown by leaps and bounds since my tiny involvement.

My Part: What makes a great game even better? A great story! Since the beginning, the developers have built around a core concept and a basic storyline, but have focused more on building gameplay mechanics (as well they should). Now the time has come for the story to be fully developed, and guess who got the call? That’s right, yours truly has been asked to co-write the story for Exile Sun! I’ll be working on the game’s back-story, history and characteristics for factions and key NPCs (non-player characters), the progression of story-related events during gameplay, and various short stories set in the game world.

Don’t worry, my novel will still be getting the attention it needs. But I’ve loved table-top games since I was a kid, so this is a huge wish-fulfillment! I’ve already started working on some ideas, and I’ll post major milestones as they happen. In the meantime, check out the Kickstarter for Exile Sun! I’ve posted the link below. Watch the video, leave comments, and support the project if you have the means and feel so inclined. Thanks!

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/gameknightgames/exile-sun-multiplayer-conflict-redefined?ref=live

I’ve spent a few years observing writers as they embark on the month-long writing bender that is NaNoWriMo. I’m a big fan of the core idea. Inspiring more people to take on creative projects is a great thing, and it’s especially great for writers that have a difficult time finishing their projects.

On the other hand, some of the rules and common philosophies aren’t necessarily positive. After all, what good is a month of intense writing if it produces sub-par work and bad writing habits? With that in mind, here are the rules I’m breaking, and why:

1) 50K Words: In NaNoWriMo terms, reaching the 50K-word goal means you win. But, did you really win? I read a tweet today that basically said, “Reached my word count for the day. Most of it sucked, but at least I did it,” which is kind of like saying, “I operated on your brain. Sure, I cut out the wrong piece, but at least I finished the operation. Do you really need a short-term memory, anyway?” If you write 50K words, 25K of which are unusable, you haven’t written a novel. You’ve written a long outline, and wasted a lot of time and creative energy. The better way – quality over quantity. Don’t sacrifice good storytelling just to reach a word goal. Which would you rather have at the end of the month – a gold star and 50K words, or no gold star and 35K words of a great novel?

2) Your project must be new: Some writers will drop all the projects they’re working on for NaNoWriMo. They’ll leave perfectly good stories, even if they’re going great, and scramble for a brand new idea just to comply with the rule. I’ve been working on my novel since the beginning of 2011, and I intend to have it finished before the year’s end. I love this book – the characters, the story, the rhythm – and I’m having an amazing time writing it. So, why would I abandon it for an entire month to work on something new? The whole point of NaNoWriMo is to finish a novel, right? That’s what I’m using it for – to finish my novel.

When you get down to it, NaNoWriMo should not be about rule-compliance. It should be about taking whatever measures you need to be a better, more disciplined writer, and to complete a great story. If you can write 50K quality words in thirty days, by all means, do it! And good on you for being that awesome. If you need to work differently, it doesn’t mean you can’t play in the same sandbox as all these other writers. It just means you’re building your castle a different way – your way. Take pride in that. Own it, write an amazing novel, and be the writer you’ve always wanted to be.

We write because we love it. I don’t mean love in the “I love this pie” kind of way. I mean love in the desperate, hopelessly devoted, “I’ll never let go, Jack” kind of way. We’re writers because it comes from our soul. (I do love pie, though)

The funny thing about love, though, is that we don’t feel it in the same way every day. Some days, it’s a relentless burning in our heart that just has to come out. Other days it’s quieter and more subdued, like the easy affection between long-time companions. Then there are days when we just want to be alone. On those days, we know the love is still there, but for some reason we’re tired or stressed or feel creatively empty, and we want a break.

Sometimes taking a break is exactly the right thing to do. We step away, get some sun, free our minds, and soak up life before coming back and spilling it onto the page. What, though, about the times we aren’t able to be alone? Maybe we have a deadline that cannot be missed, or maybe next week’s schedule is filling up and today is the only day we’ll have time to write. When that day comes, what do we do? How do we rekindle our passion for writing when it really matters?

Here are some tricks that help me:

1. Listen to inspiring music. The right song can stir the heart and make us think. “Inspiring” means something different to everyone, so the style and genre are up to you – the important thing is that it makes you feel something. Personally, I’m a huge film score geek. In fact, several key scenes in “The Year of Lightning” were conceived and written while listening to soundtracks. Whatever you choose, make sure it’s something you love. Then turn it loud, close your eyes and let it flow through you. You never know what it might wake up inside you.

2. Read/watch something you love. Every time I watch an episode of Firefly or read a part of Watchmen, they put me in the mood to write. Why? Firefly is one of my favorite shows in the history of the ‘verse, and Watchmen is basically the Citizen Kane of comic books. Watching or reading something truly great makes me want to create my own greatness. It sparks my fire to write something that makes people laugh, cry, or gasp right along with the characters. It drives me to be a better writer.

3. Walk away for 20 minutes. “Wait a minute!” you’re saying. “This blog was supposed to be about writing and pie, not about walking away!” Well, you’ve got me there. And now that I think about it, there hasn’t been nearly enough pie in this blog. As far as the writing versus walking away issue, though, there’s a middle ground. If you don’t feel like writing, then don’t….for twenty minutes. Walk away and look at something else. Don’t think about writing at all….for twenty minutes. When your time is up, put that butt in the chair and start writing. Why twenty minutes? It’s enough to give our mind a break, but not so much that we’re tempted to stay away. We can’t accomplish much or go very far in twenty minutes, so when the time’s up our work will still be close at hand. Just that little brain-cation can be enough to refresh our thoughts if we let it. Then, once we’ve let ourselves slack off for a little while, we can get back to remembering why we love what we’re doing.

It’s rare for me to be sad over the passing of a public personality. Most “celebrity” deaths just float by as harmless news blurbs. I remember the last time clearly – the morning it was announced that Mitch Hedberg had died. He wasn’t a huge celebrity, but his comedy always made me laugh, and his delivery had a gleeful innocence that never failed to be endearing. Something about Mitch made you feel like you knew him, even if you’d never met.

That happens when someone pours what they are into what they love. The person and the “thing” – whatever it may be – become synonymous, so much that getting to know one feels like getting to know the other. I think that’s why so many people responded to Steve. You looked at what he did, and through it you saw who he was.

Patton Oswalt commented that Steve Jobs was the closest thing we had to Tony Stark. It’s true. He was brilliant, creative, unapologetic, and far ahead of his time. That glowing Apple logo has changed our Earth every bit as much as Stark’s arc reactor changed Marvel’s. Steve brought us the future, and he made it simple, beautiful, and so much fun.

Almost every creative thing I do, I do on a Mac. Every book chapter, every blog entry, every video – a Mac helped it happen. It will continue to be that way, I think, for a very long time. So, when I say thanks to the man I’ve never met, it’s not just because he gave us some cool stuff. It’s because what he created helps me create better. For me, at least, that will be his legacy.

A couple years ago, I spent about six months as one of the lead writers for a humor blog. That site has since gone the way of Michael Bolton’s career, but I did manage to keep a few of my past articles. We were allowed to be as off-the-wall as we wanted (I know, I know, you can hardly believe that I would write something off-the-wall…hey, stop laughing!) and it was a good way to let my id takeover and just write whatever craziness came to mind. So, here’s one of the old articles – a little glimpse into part of my (very weird) writing past.

Death Ray for Sale (Slightly Used)
That’s it! I’m giving up, America. After years of toil and the relentless pursuit of evil, I am the without doubt the worst super-villain in the history of everything. I’ve tried to pretend, but I can’t hide it anymore – it’s over.

I first learned the advantages of an evil-centric lifestyle during childhood. It was second grade, and little Derek Mann had just knocked me down and called me a sissy. Granted, I had just cried for an hour after learning my entire family had been killed in a freak knitting accident, so he might have had a point. I was being kind of a crybaby. But that didn’t stop me from drying my tears, standing up and kicking him into a wood chipper. To this day, I have no clue what a wood chipper was doing on an elementary school playground, but it certainly was convenient. In fact, every day since then, my henchmen bring a wood chipper wherever I go, just in case someone mouths off or brings me the wrong sandwich. For the last time, I SAID NO PUMPERNICKEL!

Life continued about how you’d expect. I bounced between foster homes, forced to keep moving as each family met with knitting or wood chipper-related deaths. Coincidentally, of course. I mean, it’s not like I had anything to do with those unfortunate events. Look, just drop it, okay?! Anyway, I spent six months shining shoes at Grand Central Station, two years running guns for the Yakuza, and four days as a Boy Scout troop leader. Stupid, weakling Boy Scouts with their “no stories about federal prison” and their “no battles to the death”. Moving on from there, I toppled my first government and assumed the throne of a tiny country nestled somewhere between Mongolia and South Dakota. The natives called me Kawonda Nacho Dorito Cheewah, which loosely translated means “the pasty white doom who raised his fist in defiance of the gods and wrested supreme power from our previous overlord, six-year-old Billy Anderson of Madison, Wisconsin”.

Life was looking up! I was on my way to becoming a real, bona fide super-villain. That is until……..he showed up. The bane of my existence – yes, it was the dreaded super hero. Ugh, why do they all have to wear spandex? Do they hope our gag reflex will keep us from fighting back?? The dreaded Particle Man had the ability to explode into tiny, meaty chunks, and then put himself back together. Now, that may sound like a lame power, but you try getting a chunk of super hero in your mouth while making a grandiose villain’s monologue, and see if you’re feeling particularly evil afterwards. To make a long story short (too late), I lost my kingdom and my respect in the villain community. I’d forgotten who I really was. Even unnecessary wood chipper deaths no longer amused me.

It was then that the final blow came. The accursed Particle Man turned out to be Derek Mann from second grade, who through some insane coincidence I had kicked into a magical wood chipper. That’s right, I gave my nemesis the powers that would eventually destroy me. Why on earth would anyone enchant a wood chipper?! Somewhere along the way, I forgot what a powerful force irony can be.

I have to confess, America, I snapped. So I scraped together what savings I’d hidden at the Third Bank of Doom and bought the biggest secondhand death ray I could find. After mounting it on my ’87 Honda, I prepared to destroy the world and end my suffering. That is, until Particle Man crawled into the barrel and exploded! It took three weeks to clean him out of the firing assembly, and by then Interpol had managed to track me down. I escaped with the ray, but didn’t even get to kick one government agent into a wood chipper!

I’ve failed you, America. I’m not the global threat I swore to be, and you deserve to be conquered by better villains. I don’t even care anymore. So the first person to email me with a reasonable offer for the death ray, it’s yours. Take it off my hands today and I’ll throw in a crate of wood chippers.