Great place for science fiction/fantasy discussions online

I found this great science fiction/fantasy discussion board, where I've already gotten new read recommendations, had someone's cat say hello to me, and lots and lots of great geeky essence sprayed all over me.

Posting a link, in case any of my other readers are interested.

Such a relief. Hard to find people whose eyes don't glaze over when I try to have a good conversation about 'what-if's.

This discussion board is troll-free thanks to great moderators, and a big plus is that there's a ton of British people here. I'm hoping for some good Brit TV discussions in future.

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I'm posting one story a week, because currently it takes me roughly two weeks to write and edit one story.

The math is wrong on that, I know. Hopefully, we won't get into the negative too quickly here. Either that, or I'll have to pick up the pace somewhat.

Ray Bradbury once said it takes about a year's worth (52) short stories before a really good story comes out.

So far, there's seven, but there are about 60 kernels of ideas in various stages of completion, so I'm confident I'll get to 'good' level sooner or later. I'll make sure to have a lot of fun on the trip there.

See you next Tuesday with another story from my novel, 'Sanctuary'.

The Parable of Kefir and the Power of Commitment

 

My husband is lactose-intolerant, but I missed milk. We started hearing all about the health benefits of kefir, and how the greatest benefits come from kefir made from organic whole milk, not skimmed milk.

Lots of kefir in the stores, but only low- or non-fat kefir. Only Whole Foods and Central Market carried any whole milk kefir, and in very small amounts for a very high price.

So we decided to get some kefir grains and make our own.

We, meaning mostly me. :-)

The grains have to be ordered by mail. Then they need to be slowly activated in milk until they're awake and producing regularly.

And now we have a kefir 'pet' on our hands. One that is fairly demanding.

We had to buy special bottles to hold the kefir, that now (according to my ultra-careful foodie husband) have to be washed and sanitized each time they're used. Every 24 hours those kefir grains need to be fed, or they will starve. They're eating up two and a half cups of milk a day now. They could eat more, but if they did, I would be standing in a river of kefir every day, so I keep them on a strict diet.

Every morning I strain the kefir grains out into a clean bottle, and rotate it. Then I have to figure out how many ways I can stand eating kefir. Over rice? Good on potatoes? Yes. In a smoothie with some banana and mango and a little cocoa powder? Oh my, yes!

So why am I doing all this? Truthfully, I've never felt better internally than I do now since I've started eating this way. The gut bacteria is flourishing.

And...I think there's a moral here when it comes to my writing.

I think, for most of my life, I've written, and enjoyed writing and having written, but I've never taken it seriously. I've never 'turned pro' as Steven Pressfield would say.

A pro does what it takes to succeed. A pro moves through challenges to get to the other side, even if it hurts (and it does hurt from time to time).

So what does it take to turn pro?

It takes a decision...that something is good for you, and it's worth going through the pain and the drudgery and the constant cleaning up and battling to create something worth creating.

If I can be consistent enough to keep my kefir grains alive, I can write consistently.

Not every batch of kefir turns out good...and not every story posted here will be award-winning. But every story is one step in the direction of better writing. One step closer to the mountain.

The Williams Decision, Conclusion

If you missed the first part of this story yesterday, click here to read it.

The Williams Decision- Part Two

A side story from Sanctuary, the first book in the Gilesian Trilogy

Dwight whistled as he left school in the drizzling rain, looking around to see if any of the teachers could see how much he wasn’t worried about detention.

Once he turned the corner out of sight of the school, he sat down on the curb with his long legs extended out from beneath him.

“Teach her a lesson, then?”

Carnegie, his friend from band class, came out of thin air to sit down beside him on the street.

“Oh, I’m the devil all right. It was wild. Fun, making them squirm, though.”

“Did you tell her the truth this time?”

Dwight ground an ant beside his jeans into the rough concrete with his thumb, and examined the pulverized remains. “I never tell the truth. You know that.”

“Man, that ain’t true, DW…so I guess it IS true. You never tell the truth.”

They both laughed, and Dwight got up again.

“You coming to the park later? Maggie said she’s coming. She wants to see you.”

“Yeah, got something to do first though.”

“Not again, man. You got to let that go. Hanson’s not worth the beating you’re takin’.”

Dwight didn’t answer, but pulled a loose cigarette out of his coat and walked up the hill with his thoughts.

 “Dwight, I think it’s impossible that you can be that ignorant…that you don’t know the damage you’re doing to this family. I know your mother and I taught you way better than this….”

Dwight balled up the long yellow note he found on the polished mahogany side table in the great hall.

“Other kids get chore lists, ‘I love you’ notes…I get yelled at.” He muttered as he chucked the legal size sheet of paper into the corner of the room.

“Andrea? You there?”

No sound. Out shopping for dinner ingredients, maybe. He headed to the liquor cabinet under the high ceilings and the chandelier in the dining room.

The picture of Loyola over his shoulder stared at him as he opened the cabinet. Dwight turned to face him directly.

“Hey gomer, what’re you lookin’ at?”

He opened the door and pulled out the bottle of Evan Williams.

Smooth stuff.

He drank right from the bottle, and grimaced at the kick, then closed the cabinet and grabbed the remote control, turning on the TV to where he left off watching The Grudge last night.

As he sat in the soft English armchair, his feet on the nearby ottoman, his mind emptied. No thoughts at all. The bourbon turned it all off, and replaced it with a quiet, uneasy peace. At least for a few minutes. Three, tops.

Then she arose again from the back of his mind, and he hated her.

She knew he was drinking, he knew it. He didn’t know how she knew. He’d sworn to himself that no one else would find out after his expulsion from Saint Pugnacious.

It wasn’t his breath. He didn’t do his drinking in the mornings anymore – learned his lesson on that one, for sure.

He only tried to talk to her. Dwight’s head fell back on the couch as he tried to recall that last conversation.

“Hey Crystal.”

She turned her head to face him, her eyes and face wary. “Hi.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“So listen, I wanted to ask you…Do you like art?”

“Who’s Art?”

Dwight smiled. “Not a who…a what. Art that hangs on the wall, paintings.”

Crystal looked embarrassed. He watched the blood in her cheeks color her face, and he could feel his fingers reaching on their own –he imagined touching her cheeks with his eyes, his nails…

“There’s a Rafael exhibit downtown that’s free on Tuesdays, if you wanted to walk over sometime.”

She wrinkled her eyebrows into a question. “With you?”

“Sure.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Dwight felt his frustration rise. She didn’t know him at all. She’s the new kid, and already this? “I don’t know. It’s fun? You do like to have fun, don’t you?”

Her hand pressed to the bottom of her neck, and his eyes followed her hand. “I’m kinda busy.” Her elbow pushed a book over the edge of her desk, as she shifted in her chair. The book fanned out as it fell, landing pages-side down. She reached for it in the same moment that he did, and his hand touched hers.

His eyes closed momentarily to feel her warm fingers, soft and pliable.

When they opened again, her eyes looked into his with…fear? “I’m not into art. Thanks anyway.”

She stood to leave, and he grabbed her hand without thinking. “What’s with you? I was trying to be nice.”

She wrenched it from his grip. A strength that surprised him.

“Lay off it.”

Then she ran out without a look back or a word.

Lay off it? Why would she say that, if she didn’t know? Would she tell anyone? His dad would kill him with religion if he got kicked out of another school.

Dwight raised the bottle again. Her words echoed in his head. Lay off it.

And then what happened in class before the suspension. Like he’d lost control of his entire body. She’d shoved his head forward into the chalkboard, making a knocking sound. That made him mad, although…how’d she do that? From clear the way back in her chair, when he was at least five steps away?

Something did. Something invisible pinned him to the wall, and rubbed him all over the chalkboard. No one could have done it but her.

She watched him the whole time. While everyone else screamed and ran. Watched as the police restrained him and took him to the office. The stares and whispers as he struggled between the two of them.

Embarrassment, crushing mortification, ran through his body again at the memory.

She’d pay for that. Good and hard, next time he saw her.

He whispered to her in class that karma always circles back, and she watched him, her hand on her neck again. Then the teacher sent him to Caller’s office.

Next time, his hand around her throat instead…

He took another swig, and looked at his watch. Near three o’clock. His friends at the Market expected him soon. She liked to walk close by sometimes after school to feed the ducks. This could be his opportunity.

He capped the bourbon and replaced it in the cabinet, and took off out the front door.

***

Hope you liked it. If you want to find out what happens next, it's in Chapter 1 of my novel, Sanctuary, available on Kindle at Amazon.

Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, and I'll give you...The Williams Decision

I've been a writer as long as I can remember. My favorite thing to do in all the world is stories - reading them, thinking about them, and now writing them.

I've written a novel that's been published on Amazon for Kindle, and I love it, but there's so much more than that.

I need a place for my other shorter pieces, and that place is here. For free. Forever.

I love the democracy of the Internet. I've learned so much from others' stories being made available for free, so now it's my turn to return the favor.

This story is a side story based on my science fiction/romance novel, "Sanctuary". The physical look of Dwight I took from a really sweet guy who might be horrified to find himself written out as a fictional character, so his identity will remain with me.

Enjoy!

The Williams Decision

A side story from Sanctuary

Part 1

The principal exhaled as she read Dwight Paulson’s name on her list of detentions, again. Surprised, and again, disappointed. 

After receiving suspension for three days, his name landed right straight back on the list almost immediately, from two teachers, no less. They complained that he disrupted the lessons constantly with his pointless chattering and distracted and irrelevant commentary, while they tried to keep the class on track to get them ready for state testing.

Then a massive disruption occurred last week, when he was called to the board to answer a problem, but he started knocking his head against the chalkboard for no reason. The teacher wrote that it looked almost like he fought against a strong wind, reaching for one of the other students, but slammed himself backwards against the board instead, smearing himself in chalk dust. The other students screamed and ran from the room, except for the one in front of Dwight, who never moved.

The police carried him out screaming and lunging at the girl.

She re-adjusted her glasses and looked in the silver wall mirror she kept to prepare herself for these sorts of encounters. Tired, she thought. She’d light her pinecone stress candle for some fresh scent in the room, but she couldn’t get away with it during school hours because of the fire codes. She lifted it and sniffed it for a little pick-me-up, while she stared into her own expression in the mirror. Soon her face reflected the look she wanted. The peripheral and ongoing battle of state testing would be nothing compared to this, and couldn’t be fought at the moment. Better stay focused on Dwight.

She replaced the candle. “Mr. Paulson? Come in please.”

A tall and lanky boy entered, with a blond crewcut that stood straight up in front. He smiled, and his freckles bunched around his smooth-looking apple cheeks. His long tan trench coat looked as though it belonged to a slightly larger man, and she noticed some slight fraying at the cuffs. The bloodshot rubber eyeball at his collar with a large safety pin through the middle somehow did not give the impression that this boy wanted to conform to institutional norms. 

Principal Caller raised a skeptical eyebrow. This kid looked like a Rockwell painting, but not quite. His smile didn’t touch his eyes, which looked a little dilated.

“Mr. Paulson, I blame myself that you’re standing here today. Apparently, the message I tried to convey to you with your suspension missed its mark.

His eyes widened, and he held his hands forward, trying to steer the conversation. “Let me explain…”

She continued. “When I allowed you to come back to my school, it is with conditions. Those conditions are that your behavior has to change, so that class can be taught and folks can learn. Yet, things continue just the same.” She indicated with her finger for him to sit down. No children towered over her during lectures.

He lowered himself into the chair opposite her desk. “Sorry, ma’am.”

She believed not a word. “Don’t you want to come back to school, Dwight? Finish your last year?”

“Yes.” He said with great conviction, while he shook his head ‘no’.

Let the lying begin, she thought.

“Right.”

“I need another chance. You don’t know what it’s like at my house – my dad. He will terrorize me if I get kicked out of another school. Make me spend all day doing the Spiritual Exercises this summer, then theological school. He’s already bought me the space, he says. I’m practically a novitiate if you don’t help me.”

“Would that be so bad?”

He shook his head up and down, his eyes very wide.

“According to school records when you transferred in, you were kicked out of Saint Ignatius Loyola because of…intoxication in class?”

He scrunched his eyes tight. “It’s not what you think, really.”

“And Mr. Taylor is complaining that you’re spending all your time in English class talking to the new transfer – Crystal Hanson – instead of paying attention?”

At Crystal’s name, he clenched his jaw. “Did she turn me in? She’s lying. She can’t leave me alone. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I’m getting blamed for stuff she’s doing! It’s not fair!”

“Mr. Taylor assures me he’s moved you away from her, yet these incidents continue.”

Dwight’s fingers balled into white-knuckled fists, but he kept them in his lap. “He’s lying. They’re all lying.”

“I know Mr. Taylor very well, even if I don’t know Crystal, and I can tell you he doesn’t lie. You, on the other hand…I seem to have a very difficult time getting the truth from you.”

“I’m telling you, she’s setting me up for something…I don’t know what. Just talk to her. You’ll see. 

I’m telling you she’s a freak, and she’s setting me up.”

“This meeting is not about Ms. Hanson, Dwight. It’s about you. Now, are you ready to take responsibility for your behavior and let us do our jobs?”

Dwight covered his face in his hands for a moment. As they fell, his smile that only reached the bottom half of his face was back. The effect chilled her.

“I can’t make you see…but yes, you’re right. This is about me, and I’m going to make it right. Please let me come back to school.”

And here’s where we pretend to understand each other.

“You still have to serve the detention you’ve been given, but I’m willing to overlook suspension at this time IF you will do your part. Let the teachers talk. Stay away from Ms. Hanson in school. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And get that nasty eyeball off your Burberry. Save the horror stuff for home, okay?”

Dwight looked down, surprised, and then he smiled again. He unpinned the eyeball and put it back in the pocket of his trench coat. “Okay.”

“Now get to class, young man.”

He rose to leave, and as he turned away, his smile once again changed in nature. It didn’t seem to her to be so much of a mocking smile as the teachers described in their reports. 

It looked haunted instead.

She crossed herself and closed her eyes for a moment as he left.

She turned her face back to the mirror.

Her power look fell away to the tired, sad look again.

Not a good look for a downtown Baltimore school administrator.

She pulled a list out of her desk, with a few student’s names written on it. She added ‘Dwight Paulson’ to the bottom of the list.

She would keep a very close eye on that boy at school for the next several weeks. She couldn’t afford to lose teachers in order to save the student, and for that, she was sorry. Pragmatism won out over idealism, and some students paid the price. 

Come to think of it…

She added another name to the list.

Crystal Hansen. 

A foster child, if she remembered correctly. She’d worked with Bennie Jones on a lot of other kids, so she didn’t have to worry about Crystal in that regard. Still, once a student’s name got on her radar, it never paid to forget about them.

***

Check out Part 2  if you're so inclined, and also take a look at  my novel 'Sanctuary' on Amazon Kindle if you'd like the whole story...