These were inspired by recent nights out.
Poor, beleaguered Bo!
The transit drunks flock to her.
A fix: pepper spray?
~
Prepare as one might,
The night bus is proof against
The size of bladder.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Sorry for the silence.
Life stuff, followed by friend's birthday shenanigans and the resulting Consquences, happened. There should be a proper update tonight.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
50-word short story #2
Piper, Jimmy - it's on! Read the comments, everyone else, and post if you got 'em.
The mountains crumbled. The seas ran dry, spilling into the cracks in the earth. Volcanoes cooled. Winds stilled. Fire ceased to burn.
The survivors of humanity gazed upon their broken world as they drifted in their spaceships. Captain Rodriguez turned to his fellows and said, “Glad we left that place.”
The mountains crumbled. The seas ran dry, spilling into the cracks in the earth. Volcanoes cooled. Winds stilled. Fire ceased to burn.
The survivors of humanity gazed upon their broken world as they drifted in their spaceships. Captain Rodriguez turned to his fellows and said, “Glad we left that place.”
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Things in History You Should Know: Queen Crisantha
This is an attempt at writing one of my history articles about the world in which Strike takes place. It was fun times.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away – okay, Spira – us peasantry got it in the teeth a plenitude of times. And it wasn’t all that long ago, being more like a century and a half, give our take. Yet now we live in a happy fun world where the colonies are their own nations, parliaments reign supreme, and the nobility don’t have a whole mess of privileges with which to lord it over us lesser folk. And who do we have to thank for this?
That’s right. Crisantha fuckin’ Landrell. Queen Crisantha, that is.
Nevertheless, democratic reformer types don’t just magically spring fully-formed from the foreheads of the nobility. Sure, there had been revolutions, both peaceful and violent, springing up pretty much all over the Estelian continent and a suitably idealistic young noble might possibly, without further provocation, take up the cause of the downtrodden. Might, but not likely.
The key element here is the Shulmanian Revolution, in which that country, its last emperor having got himself killed through act of horse and his remaining relatives being so distant they might as well be on another hemisphere, decided that elections might be worth a try. Thus so did Abelard von Aschenheim became their first president, a couple of generations before Crisantha got started. Why is this relevant, you may ask? Well, it just so happens that Crisantha’s mother was a cousin of his. And that Crisantha was sent over to Shulmania in her youth to go get educated. And who was in charge of her education? Come on, now. You can figure this out.
So you have this young noblewoman, who’s next in line to inherit her father’s duchy of Belsworth and who also, incidentally and through the most technically correct interpretations, has more of a right to the throne than the then-queen Lucina did. And she’s off in foreign parts, getting her head stuffed full of ideas.
Now, if you’re a sensibly minded monarch, you’ll leave that branch of the family well enough alone and find some nice little cause they can distract themselves with. Queen Lucina was hardly sensible. In fact, most historians say, she was downright crazy. She had the Duke of Belsworth arrested, along with Crisantha’s younger brother Tiberian, and told the whippersnapper to stay out of the country, lest she have the two executed.
Too bad the prison conditions were so lousy that the duke died. Also too bad that rumours of torture, involving said duke and her brother reached the newly-fledged Lady Crisantha’s ears in not-far-enough-off Shulmania. (These later turned out to be true.) And you better believe that she declared it on. Or the 13th century equivalent thereof.
She got herself an army. This was easy enough, considering the Shulmanian Congress had already voted to support her and oh, incidentally, there were a lot of people down south in Spira that thought she might possibly make a better queen than Lucina. Wholesale oppression of the lower – and middle classes, who had quite the percentage of the nation’s wealth in their ample pockets – had that effect. Rebellion had begun.
It lasted an entire year, fracturing the country like a mirror that got a rock tossed at it. Brother against sister! Parent against child! Pristinian against Nelurian! (Although as those last two were foreign, no one was really paying attention to what they had to say about it.) Long story short, the ‘Belsworths’, as they were called, were victorious, despite more than their fare share of near finishes.
Crisantha celebrated her nineteenth birthday on February 29, 1211, the very day she was crowned. And your parents thought you were precocious. The former Queen Lucina was executed just afterwards and she was lucky enough to watch the whole, wonderfully choreographed coronation. Her last words were recorded for posterity; alas, they’re but a string of expletives.
Then the nobles who supported her got a nasty shock: she really meant her grand speeches of reform and democracy and egalitarianism. She stripped her former fellow dukes and duchesses of most of their privileges, particularly those of tax avoidance and their hogging of almost all of the seats in the House of Commons, not to mention all of the laws that gave them a free pass for almost any offense committed against someone of a ‘lesser’ class. Good thing the middle class supported her, then – the uppers wouldn’t lend her money anymore.
She carried along those lines for the rest of her days, fitting in a couple of scandalous affairs to spice up the quiet times. Counter-rebellions were quashed, including that headed by the late Lucina’s brother, Asher. (We don’t know what happened to him – if he died in battle or was captured, it was never reported.) Then she died in 1291, so peacefully as to annoy all of her enemies and having already declared that the monarchy was to be a strictly ceremonial position from that point onwards.
In interest of full disclosure, one of her grandchildren did have the unmitigated gall to attempt a coup, as did some other scions of the royal line over the years. And for some of the colonies, most famously Abelia, the transition towards self-government didn’t come fast enough for them, leading to their own rebellions to gain their independence. (This hasn’t prevented them from wanting to snatch independence from others for the sake of some sweet, sweet land.) And, yes, she didn’t do it alone – many of her prime ministers, including Evelyn Godsmark, did much of the grunt work in getting her reforms passed through Parliament in the first place.
It couldn’t have happened at all, though, if it wasn’t for one young woman on a revenge kick. Now that’s a moral for the ages.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away – okay, Spira – us peasantry got it in the teeth a plenitude of times. And it wasn’t all that long ago, being more like a century and a half, give our take. Yet now we live in a happy fun world where the colonies are their own nations, parliaments reign supreme, and the nobility don’t have a whole mess of privileges with which to lord it over us lesser folk. And who do we have to thank for this?
That’s right. Crisantha fuckin’ Landrell. Queen Crisantha, that is.
Nevertheless, democratic reformer types don’t just magically spring fully-formed from the foreheads of the nobility. Sure, there had been revolutions, both peaceful and violent, springing up pretty much all over the Estelian continent and a suitably idealistic young noble might possibly, without further provocation, take up the cause of the downtrodden. Might, but not likely.
The key element here is the Shulmanian Revolution, in which that country, its last emperor having got himself killed through act of horse and his remaining relatives being so distant they might as well be on another hemisphere, decided that elections might be worth a try. Thus so did Abelard von Aschenheim became their first president, a couple of generations before Crisantha got started. Why is this relevant, you may ask? Well, it just so happens that Crisantha’s mother was a cousin of his. And that Crisantha was sent over to Shulmania in her youth to go get educated. And who was in charge of her education? Come on, now. You can figure this out.
So you have this young noblewoman, who’s next in line to inherit her father’s duchy of Belsworth and who also, incidentally and through the most technically correct interpretations, has more of a right to the throne than the then-queen Lucina did. And she’s off in foreign parts, getting her head stuffed full of ideas.
Now, if you’re a sensibly minded monarch, you’ll leave that branch of the family well enough alone and find some nice little cause they can distract themselves with. Queen Lucina was hardly sensible. In fact, most historians say, she was downright crazy. She had the Duke of Belsworth arrested, along with Crisantha’s younger brother Tiberian, and told the whippersnapper to stay out of the country, lest she have the two executed.
Too bad the prison conditions were so lousy that the duke died. Also too bad that rumours of torture, involving said duke and her brother reached the newly-fledged Lady Crisantha’s ears in not-far-enough-off Shulmania. (These later turned out to be true.) And you better believe that she declared it on. Or the 13th century equivalent thereof.
She got herself an army. This was easy enough, considering the Shulmanian Congress had already voted to support her and oh, incidentally, there were a lot of people down south in Spira that thought she might possibly make a better queen than Lucina. Wholesale oppression of the lower – and middle classes, who had quite the percentage of the nation’s wealth in their ample pockets – had that effect. Rebellion had begun.
It lasted an entire year, fracturing the country like a mirror that got a rock tossed at it. Brother against sister! Parent against child! Pristinian against Nelurian! (Although as those last two were foreign, no one was really paying attention to what they had to say about it.) Long story short, the ‘Belsworths’, as they were called, were victorious, despite more than their fare share of near finishes.
Crisantha celebrated her nineteenth birthday on February 29, 1211, the very day she was crowned. And your parents thought you were precocious. The former Queen Lucina was executed just afterwards and she was lucky enough to watch the whole, wonderfully choreographed coronation. Her last words were recorded for posterity; alas, they’re but a string of expletives.
Then the nobles who supported her got a nasty shock: she really meant her grand speeches of reform and democracy and egalitarianism. She stripped her former fellow dukes and duchesses of most of their privileges, particularly those of tax avoidance and their hogging of almost all of the seats in the House of Commons, not to mention all of the laws that gave them a free pass for almost any offense committed against someone of a ‘lesser’ class. Good thing the middle class supported her, then – the uppers wouldn’t lend her money anymore.
She carried along those lines for the rest of her days, fitting in a couple of scandalous affairs to spice up the quiet times. Counter-rebellions were quashed, including that headed by the late Lucina’s brother, Asher. (We don’t know what happened to him – if he died in battle or was captured, it was never reported.) Then she died in 1291, so peacefully as to annoy all of her enemies and having already declared that the monarchy was to be a strictly ceremonial position from that point onwards.
In interest of full disclosure, one of her grandchildren did have the unmitigated gall to attempt a coup, as did some other scions of the royal line over the years. And for some of the colonies, most famously Abelia, the transition towards self-government didn’t come fast enough for them, leading to their own rebellions to gain their independence. (This hasn’t prevented them from wanting to snatch independence from others for the sake of some sweet, sweet land.) And, yes, she didn’t do it alone – many of her prime ministers, including Evelyn Godsmark, did much of the grunt work in getting her reforms passed through Parliament in the first place.
It couldn’t have happened at all, though, if it wasn’t for one young woman on a revenge kick. Now that’s a moral for the ages.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The 3-Day Novel contest...
...needless to say, was a bust. And what I did do was painful enough to turn me off of writing for a few days. I suppose I a) forgot how hard it was the first time and b) needed the registration fee to force me through it. But again, $50 is a fair chunk of change to spend on such a thing when you're unemployed, you know?
Happily, I'm working on a short story now and I hope to have it posted this evening or in the morning. And I should get some non-fiction going; that stuff is fun times.
Happily, I'm working on a short story now and I hope to have it posted this evening or in the morning. And I should get some non-fiction going; that stuff is fun times.
Friday, September 3, 2010
It Must Be Bunnies
Another 500-word, written in an hour story. Prompt provided by Isaac.
In the hall of the High Emperor, a debate of the gravest importance was underway.
Courtiers, clad in their house colours, swarmed about the throne. They shouted and seethed. Those with an arm free were using it to either raise their fist in the air or point at others in a most unseemly fashion. Every one of them held a small, furry mammal – one of a dizzying array of species then represented in the hall.
The High Emperor held his hand aloft for silence. Immediately, the courtiers ceased their bickering, aside from the occasional dagger-like glares.
“Gentlemen and gentleladies,” said the High Emperor in his ancient, highly-enunciated way. “This matter is too great to be wasted on such common prattling. We shall go through the candidates one by one and by those means, judge their qualities. Present the first candidate!”
Nobles being nobles, they had the order of precedence sorted out centuries ago. Thus it was that the Duke of Delia stepped forward, pot-bellied piglet in hand. He bowed as he presented it to the High Emperor, who picked it up gingerly. Soon, the piglet was squirming with glee as the High Emperor scratched it behind the ears.
“Yes, yes,” said the High Emperor. “Not as fluffy as we would like, but a charming and agreeable animal all the same. Given its species, we think it would grow into an intelligent beast, but how clean would it be?” After five minutes of petting the piglet and cooing at it, he returned it to the Duke of Delia. “Present the second candidate!”
The Duchess of Arshane was next, clasping in her arms a tiger cub. She handed it over to the High Emperor, whereupon it proceeded to gnaw and slobber upon his silken robes.
“Certainly adorable,” declared the High Emperor. “And fluffy. But we are concerned about its potential for destruction as it ages into maturity and also feel that it might be happiest frolicking on a reserve. Also, we believe that it would terrify the servants.” He shook his head, almost mournfully. “We are sorry, Arshane. But it cannot be. Present the third candidate!”
The Duchess of Arshane took this rejection with the stoicism for which her line was known. She reclaimed her beast and backed away into the crowd, the cub chewing on her brocade sleeves.
On it went. The monkey, the puppy, the kitten – all were examined and found wanting. Until Sir Lockley presented to him a most floppy-eared creature.
The bunny cast a most disapproving look upon him – black, beady, and unyielding.
“Bunnies!” declared the High Emperor. “It must be bunnies!”
He let the astonished murmurs of the courtiers carry on for some time before holding his hand aloft again. “It appears we must explain our decision. Look upon the bunny. See its disapproval! Clearly, it is the most honest and forthright creature in this land! Therefore!”
The High Emperor stood, bearing the bunny on high. “The bunny shall forevermore be the symbol of this royal house!”
In the hall of the High Emperor, a debate of the gravest importance was underway.
Courtiers, clad in their house colours, swarmed about the throne. They shouted and seethed. Those with an arm free were using it to either raise their fist in the air or point at others in a most unseemly fashion. Every one of them held a small, furry mammal – one of a dizzying array of species then represented in the hall.
The High Emperor held his hand aloft for silence. Immediately, the courtiers ceased their bickering, aside from the occasional dagger-like glares.
“Gentlemen and gentleladies,” said the High Emperor in his ancient, highly-enunciated way. “This matter is too great to be wasted on such common prattling. We shall go through the candidates one by one and by those means, judge their qualities. Present the first candidate!”
Nobles being nobles, they had the order of precedence sorted out centuries ago. Thus it was that the Duke of Delia stepped forward, pot-bellied piglet in hand. He bowed as he presented it to the High Emperor, who picked it up gingerly. Soon, the piglet was squirming with glee as the High Emperor scratched it behind the ears.
“Yes, yes,” said the High Emperor. “Not as fluffy as we would like, but a charming and agreeable animal all the same. Given its species, we think it would grow into an intelligent beast, but how clean would it be?” After five minutes of petting the piglet and cooing at it, he returned it to the Duke of Delia. “Present the second candidate!”
The Duchess of Arshane was next, clasping in her arms a tiger cub. She handed it over to the High Emperor, whereupon it proceeded to gnaw and slobber upon his silken robes.
“Certainly adorable,” declared the High Emperor. “And fluffy. But we are concerned about its potential for destruction as it ages into maturity and also feel that it might be happiest frolicking on a reserve. Also, we believe that it would terrify the servants.” He shook his head, almost mournfully. “We are sorry, Arshane. But it cannot be. Present the third candidate!”
The Duchess of Arshane took this rejection with the stoicism for which her line was known. She reclaimed her beast and backed away into the crowd, the cub chewing on her brocade sleeves.
On it went. The monkey, the puppy, the kitten – all were examined and found wanting. Until Sir Lockley presented to him a most floppy-eared creature.
The bunny cast a most disapproving look upon him – black, beady, and unyielding.
“Bunnies!” declared the High Emperor. “It must be bunnies!”
He let the astonished murmurs of the courtiers carry on for some time before holding his hand aloft again. “It appears we must explain our decision. Look upon the bunny. See its disapproval! Clearly, it is the most honest and forthright creature in this land! Therefore!”
The High Emperor stood, bearing the bunny on high. “The bunny shall forevermore be the symbol of this royal house!”
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
3-Day Novel Jitters
First, a happy hello to those travelling here from Longshot Magazine. I hope you enjoyed the John A. article, lovable sot that he was.
Anyway, I have decided that I will indeed participate in the 3-Day Novel Contest that is happening this Labour Day weekend. Unofficially. $50 is a bit much for me right now and that money would be put to better use by the purchase of supplies for this venture. You know, like easy-to-prepare food bits, Pepsi Max, and booze. And tea. Lots of tea.
I'm getting nervous just thinking about it. No, I don't have any idea what to write about. Suggestions are welcome, but I assume, like last time, that it will come to me.
Okay. Breathe. Breathing's a good and much underappreciated activity. So!
There will be an actual content post later today. Cheers 'til then.
Anyway, I have decided that I will indeed participate in the 3-Day Novel Contest that is happening this Labour Day weekend. Unofficially. $50 is a bit much for me right now and that money would be put to better use by the purchase of supplies for this venture. You know, like easy-to-prepare food bits, Pepsi Max, and booze. And tea. Lots of tea.
I'm getting nervous just thinking about it. No, I don't have any idea what to write about. Suggestions are welcome, but I assume, like last time, that it will come to me.
Okay. Breathe. Breathing's a good and much underappreciated activity. So!
There will be an actual content post later today. Cheers 'til then.
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